He looked at Merrihew. She had a plastic waterproof watch pinned high on her fisherman’s vest, like a nurse. She flipped it up to read the time.
“Straight to Paddington,” she said. “I might make it in time for the 12:47 that stops at Ledbury.”
“Not since 1965,” replied Thurston. “Beeching cuts, remember? Earliest you’ll catch now is the 2:26 to Hereford.”
Merrihew shrugged crossly. “I might as well go to Paddington now, anyway.”
“Merrihew’s to Paddington,” said Thurston into the phone.
He replaced the handset, closed the hatch, and beamed at Susan.
“I look forward to having you all sorted out soon, Miss Arkshaw. Goodbye.”
Susan nodded, repeating the action as Merrihew waved and followed Thurston to the stairs. There, the guardian cousin Sam had stopped writing limericks and had already slung on her ammo bag, buckled the scabbarded sword to her belt, and was holding the AK-47, her left hand now gloved, the silvery skin hidden. She preceded the two Greats down the stairs. The blackthorn stick remained behind, leaning against the wall.
“Want a Jaffa Cake?” mumbled Merlin, his mouth full.
“No thanks,” said Susan. She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. “How long is this all going to last?”
“What do you mean by ‘this’ exactly?” asked Merlin.
“Me being guarded by you and thugs and goblins attacking me,” said Susan.
“Well, the May Fair goblins won’t do anything,” said Merlin. “They’ve shot their bolt; I doubt they’ll have the strength to do even a nighttime May Dance for a few years.”
“You’re not answering my question,” said Susan.
“It’s not an easy question to answer,” said Vivien. “There are several possibilities. One is that we will quickly discover who your father is or was, and that, in turn, will lead us to working out who or what is interested in you and then we can deal with that situation. Presuming this can be handled satisfactorily, then you will be no more at risk than any other mortal who has had some chance contact with the Old World.”
“And I suppose the other possibilities are a lot less good for me,” replied Susan, rather bitterly. She looked at Merlin. “I wish I’d never met you!”
“If you hadn’t, you’d be dead, I think, or a prisoner at least,” said Merlin. “You chose to seek out Frank Thringley.”
“I was about to leave when you turned up,” said Susan.
“I don’t think so,” replied Merlin. “The only way in and out of that house was the upstairs window. I wondered why the doors had been so carefully locked and warded. I conclude that it was to keep you in. At least until Thringley handed you over to whoever or whatever he answered to.”
“Really?” asked Susan.
“He’s telling the truth,” said Vivien. “We can nearly always tell. A right-handed thing, you know. ‘Verum ponderet dextrum.’ The right hand weighs the truth.”
“And like I said, you saved my life later,” said Merlin. “Clearly, we are meant to be together.”
Vivien snorted.
“Don’t fall in love with my brother, whatever you do,” she said. “The left-handed are not reliable in matters of the heart.”
“Oh, come on, Vivien! You were left-handed until last year—”
“But I’m not now, am I? What is it with you lot and Jaffa Cakes? If you’ve stopped stuffing your face we should take Susan down to see Grandmother. Better to do it now, while the sun’s shining.”
“It isn’t down there,” said Merlin.
“The sun affects things, even if you can’t see it, as you well know,” said Vivien. “Just as with the moon. Come on!”
Susan planted herself more firmly in her chair, hands gripping the armrests.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where we’re going and why you are both so obviously nervous about going to see your own grandmother.”
“The where is the easy part,” said Merlin. “Downstairs. I suppose you might say the sub-subbasement. Below the air raid shelter from the war. There’s a Roman temple, a mithraeum . . . Grandmother . . . Well, let’s see how to put it—”
“She’s not simply our grandmother, as such. She’s, uh, all our grandmothers. They’re sort of spiritual remnants that inhabit the place,” interrupted Vivien. “They go back a very long way, and you can never be quite sure which particular . . . er . . . grandmother you’ll get. She changes.”
“So they’re ghosts?” asked Susan.
“We don’t use the term; they’re what we call Shades, mythic relicts of strongly magical once-living entities—”
“Ghosts,” repeated Susan firmly. “Are they dangerous?”
“Yes,” said Merlin as Vivien said, “No.”
“And no,” continued Merlin. “It depends.”
“Grandmother is only dangerous if she forgets we’re related, or one of the dogs decides they don’t like your smell.”
“Dogs! What dogs?”
“Well, there’s always been a tradition of the elder women of the St. Jacques clan keeping dogs, and so there are Shades of their dogs as well as themselves.”
“What happens if they do forget you’re related or the dogs don’t like how you smell?” asked Susan.
“We run away, of course. The trick is to stay near the gate. And wear sensible shoes. You’re okay on that point.”
“But I’m not related to begin with,” said Susan.
“Yes, but you’ll be with me,” said Merlin. “I’ll hold your hand. Like in the fair.”
“I hope not,” said Susan. “My shoulder still hurts from being dragged all over the place.”
“Actually, you know what?!” exclaimed Vivien. “We can put Grandmother in a good mood straight away. Whichever one she is.”
“How?” asked Merlin. “Do they ever have good moods? I’ve only met her once and she was cranky as anything. Besides, how would you know?”
“I’ve been down three times and, unlike you, I study. She . . . all her incarnations . . . like gifts. You give her your glass rose, Susan,” said Vivien. “Goblin work, from the May Fair. She can probably even touch it. She’ll love you then.”
“I was going to keep it,” said Susan.
“It won’t last past sunset anyway,” said Vivien. “It’s goblin work. Made under the sun, it’ll disappear at dusk.”
“Oh,” replied Susan. She shrugged and got up. “All right. I didn’t realize. Typical. Your grandmother . . . grandmothers . . . might as well have it.”
“If only we had a goblin bone as well,” muttered Merlin. “For the dog. I hope it’s not that horrendous wolfhound, Nebrophonus. Or are they all like that?”
“Shut up, Merlin,” said Vivien. She smiled at Susan. “It’ll be fine. Come on.”
Susan took one last look around before they started down the stairs. She still couldn’t figure out how they were so much higher than the other buildings, but apart from that, everything looked perfectly normal. The steady flow of traffic on Park Lane, people wandering around Hyde Park, the contrails of jets headed to Heathrow in the sky above.