Suddenly, every Psi in the Underground was powerless to stop their escape. They shrieked as Ilsa, Eliot, and Fyfe swooped low above their heads to aim through the tunnel that would take them to the surface. When they finally burst into the waning evening sunshine and left the Psi border guards far behind them, Ilsa was so giddy on adrenaline she botched her landing, turning human too soon, and went sprawling onto the pavement.
24
Fyfe helped Ilsa up, a cocky grin pulling at one corner of his mouth, but an alarmed glint in his eyes.
“Do I want to know what that was about?” he said.
Before Ilsa could reply, Eliot stepped between them, gaze searing into Fyfe. “You followed us,” he said darkly.
“I think the words you’re looking for,” snapped Ilsa, hands on hips, “are ‘thanks for saving our hides’. We’d be throw rugs by now if it weren’t for him.”
“If anyone recognised Fyfe or me, that future is still not beyond the realms of possibility.” He had turned his ruthless fury on Ilsa now, but that was fine with her. At least she deserved it. “If the Psi hesitate to skin us, Hester certainly won’t. You broke the Principles.”
“Well the Principles are stupid,” said Ilsa, the injustice fresh and still burning.
Eliot rolled his eyes melodramatically and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Stupid,” he intoned.
“We din’t hurt no one! Well, no Psi, anyhow. And we got what we needed.”
“Which was what?” Their heads snapped to Fyfe, and Ilsa could see his investigator’s mind picking through every detail of the afternoon. There would be no keeping anything from Fyfe any longer. “Tell me what you’re up to and I’ll take the blame,” he added when no one answered. “If this comes back to bite us, I’ll say I was conducting some field research, I set a dampener off by mistake and it escalated. Hester’s never been able to shout at me.”
Ilsa and Eliot exchanged glances.
“Of course, the business with that Oracle will be hard to explain.” Fyfe’s expression was exaggeratedly grave. “But with the details I’m sure I could make something of that as well.”
His eyes darted between them as they stared it out. Something in Eliot’s expression revealed layers of unease Ilsa couldn’t account for.
“He saw everything,” she said. “And we owe him. And we ain’t getting nowhere fast just the two of us.”
Eliot closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh. “That’s a double negative,” he muttered, stalking past them in the direction of a drab-looking pub.
* * *
The Screeching Hen sat on another “weak spot”, and just like its equal in the Otherworld, it was particularly grim. The saloon was in the cellar; a narrow space little wider than a corridor with too few windows and too-dark wood. Even the necessary presence of a roaring fire did little to brighten the room, so on heady, late summer evenings such as this, it was inevitably deserted.
They took a table in the corner furthest from the bar, ordered a carafe of wine, and sat with heads close together.
“Why are you carrying an arsenal of dampeners?” began Eliot.
“Fail to prepare, prepare to fail,” said Fyfe. “When I saw you were sneaking off together, I assumed it was out of Camden. That, or a love affair.”
Fyfe seemed to regret the words as soon as they left his mouth. The awkwardness leached around the table from one pair of eyes to the next, like a round robin.
So Ilsa jumped in and explained everything she and Eliot had been doing. She started with Eliot’s discovery that Gedeon was using the city’s vemanta supply to control its Oracle users for information.
“That’s awfully clever,” said Fyfe, eyes cutting to Eliot. “It sounds like… well, it sounds like something you’d come up with.”
Eliot stiffened. Malice flashed across his features, but Ilsa kicked him under the table and he calmed himself. “I don’t know where Gedeon is, Fyfe.”
“I believe you,” Fyfe mumbled, and he swallowed a long gulp of his wine. “I just meant that it was very well done.”
Ilsa went on with how they had used a little bribery themselves to find Brecker & Sons, and what they’d managed to get out of Freddie Hardwick before their time was up.
“Gedeon din’t go to the Docklands to get that apprentice at all. He was trying to break into some crypt.”
“One would assume a crypt at the temple would be for dead Seers,” said Fyfe, frowning. “But disgraced Seers are executed by fire and their ashes are poured into the Thames.”
“And we know how well the Docklands like to execute their leaders.”
Fyfe nodded. “They’ve done away with two in my lifetime, if memory serves. If a crypt existed for the remains of the honourable ones, it would be no surprise if we’d never heard of it. It would be practically unused.”
“Lucky for us,” said Eliot. “The less that’s down there, the less Gedeon could have been looking for.”
“But Hardwick said whatever Gedeon was looking for weren’t in the crypt,” said Ilsa. “So what would he do next? Where’s he gonna look?”
Fyfe shook his head. He was chewing his lip, lost in thought. “That’s not a good question.”
“Pardon?” said Ilsa, affronted.
“No. I’m sorry. I mean… of course it’s a good question, it’s just not the one we need to answer. Eliot, that acolyte you interrogated. He told you Cogna met with Gedeon at the border of the Docklands.”
“That’s correct.” Understanding dawned in Eliot’s eyes. Ilsa reached it too. “Because Cogna saw him coming.”
“Hardwick said Gedeon din’t want Cogna. Cogna wanted Gedeon.”
“So the question’s no longer what Gedeon would do next,” said Fyfe grimly. “It’s what Cogna’s going to do.”
There was a silence as they all came up short. Ilsa couldn’t anticipate her brother’s next move with so little information, let alone some Oracle’s.
After a long, aching moment, Eliot shook his head and downed his drink.
“Gedeon has abandoned the Zoo, robbed from half the city, and broken the
