Quare.’
‘I assure you I did no such thing.’
‘Not consciously, perhaps. Yet do you not find it telling that we were discussing this very place before we set out? In the past, the mechanism – or some lively spirit bound within it – fastened upon my intent and translated it into action. And indeed, it was that demonstration I hoped would convince you of the truth of my words. But this time I believe it was your intent that was translated, that overpowered my own. For some reason, Mr Quare, it is you who are the master of this magic – or, if you prefer, this science indistinguishable therefrom. Whatever it is, it answers to your whim above my will.’
‘B-but why?’ Quare stammered. ‘How?’
‘No doubt the answer lies in your connection to the hunter. Both artefacts had their origin in Märchen, after all, and both, or so it seems, were crafted by the same hand. Your blood brought the watch to life, whether here on this rooftop or later, in Magnus’s laboratory: provided it with a motive power it had lacked until that moment, and through that shedding of blood you gained a second life, for the watch stepped in when you were mortally wounded and miraculously preserved you. Perhaps even now, for all we know, it is the only thing keeping you alive.’
Quare shuddered, still on his knees. The afternoon was drawing on towards evening, the sun dipping low in a hazy, coal-smudged sky. His shadow, and that of Longinus, stretched across the dirty rooftop, a stark reminder of what he had seen as they travelled here. Longinus had called him the master of the magic, yet he did not feel himself to be the master of anything, least of all himself. He wanted to run … but run where? To lash out … but against whom? There was no place of refuge, no enemy to strike.
‘Come,’ said Longinus gently, as if pitying his distress, and once again extended a hand to him. ‘The hour grows late. We must ready ourselves for what lies ahead. Let us return to my house.’
Quare drew back. ‘Do you mean to take us back by the same route that brought us here?’
‘There is no other way,’ Longinus said. ‘For all its risks, it is safer than trying to navigate the streets of London, where we may be recognized and apprehended at any moment.’
‘And once we are safely returned, what then? Will we step from your house to the guild hall in the blink of an eye?’
‘Alas, that is beyond my power. The presence of so many ticking timepieces fences me out, even were I to try and step directly into the Old Wolf’s den. His clocks may keep a common time, yet though that regularity does not, as it were, throw up an impenetrable wall, like the one protecting my own house and its environs, it does engender obstacles, like the bars of a cell that are too narrow to squeeze through from either side. But never fear – I have another way to get us into the guild hall.’
‘You mean for us to return as we escaped – through the air? I tell you truly, sir, I am sick to death of such unorthodox means of transportation as you seem so readily to employ.’
Longinus smiled. ‘I assure you, Mr Quare, I have in mind a more mundane means of entry.’
Quare grunted. He took Longinus’s hand and allowed the other man to pull him to his feet. ‘Somehow, I do not find that comforting.’
‘But you believe me, don’t you?’ Longinus asked rather anxiously. ‘Surely, after all this, you must believe!’
‘I don’t know what I believe any more,’ Quare said. ‘I cannot explain how we came here; I cannot even explain what I saw along the way.’
‘What did you see?’ Longinus asked, peering at him with genuine curiosity. ‘All those years ago, when I escaped from Märchen, Corinna told me that the Otherwhere revealed itself differently to everyone who passed through it. That is why I warned you to close your eyes, as she had warned me, once upon a time. And to as little effect. To me, it has always seemed as it did then: a maze of corridors, with doorways leading to various destinations. Somehow – until this evening – I have always moved unerringly to the correct door; the rightness of it has always been apparent to me. But this time, I could sense immediately that the door was wrong – it