has already chosen, and I must respect his choice.”
A tear rolled down Master Haywood’s face. “But what about the Conservatory? If you set foot on Atlantis, you will never return. And you will never study at the Conservatory.”
“Did you really think that by tomorrow or next week I would change my mind, and be content to throw myself into my studies so that I might yet do well on next year’s qualifying exams? And even if I did, have you forgotten who I am? Have you forgotten that as long as the Bane endures, I will never be safe?”
Master Haywood covered his face with his hands. Iolanthe got to her feet. What else was there to say?
She returned to the laboratory, sat down on her usual stool, pressed her fingers to her temples, and tried to think. There was always the sea route, of course. Titus had an account with the Bank of England to which she had access, and there was enough money in the account for her to hire a vessel—or buy one outright—to cover a thousand miles of open ocean. But the speediest steamer would still take at least thirty hours to traverse that distance. And even she, with her powers, could not create an ocean current that moved much faster.
The pages of Kashkari’s two-way notebook moved—as if someone had set a thumb against their edges and riffled them.
She stared at it. She had used two-way notebooks when she was a child—most schoolchildren had, buying them from hawkers, as no parents or parental figures would make such purchases, given that their predominant use was for chatting with friends during class, while still looking as if one were taking notes and paying attention.
Over the years two-way notebooks had been adapted so that they could receive messages from much longer distances, rather than from only a few feet away. But because part of the underlying construction was so flimsy, no one had ever been able to make them truly secure. Titus had always refused to carry one, for fear it would give away too much if his person was ever searched.
The pages of the notebook flipped again.
Even if Iolanthe wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to read the message, unless she knew Kashkari’s password. The security was lax, but still enough to stop a casual peeper.
The contents of the front page of The Delamer Observer, which lay next to the notebook, changed. Not that much could be gleaned from the front pages of any newspaper these days—valuable information was much more likely to be found concealed among the tiny and numerous advertisements on the back inside pages.
She blinked and pulled the newspaper toward her. At the bottom of the front page, a small headline read, Cargo Loads Diverted to Delamer North as Hubs at Delamer East Undergo Maintenance.
The article was short.
Several of the Domain’s longest-serving freight translocators were demolished this morning. Translocators 1 to 4 had long functioned as the capital’s, indeed, the realm’s most reliable vessels for transatlantic cargo shipment. That slack has now been taken up by translocators at both Delamer North and Riverton West. Delamer East’s translocators are expected to be rebuilt to current standards and return to service by the beginning of next year.
Translocator 4 at Delamer East was the one for which Titus had a destination disruptor!
Was the message in Kashkari’s notebook from them? Had Titus too discovered this unhappy turn of events and was trying to contact her? But why her? What could she do from a lighthouse at the very north of mainland Britain?
Of course, the diary. Faced with such a challenge, Titus would immediately want to consult his mother’s record, to see whether any of her visions might provide a clue as to how he ought to proceed.
She picked up the notebook and tried to think from Kashkari’s perspective. Two-way notebooks did not work with countersigns, and they did not tolerate long, complex passwords. So it had to be something relatively simple. And Kashkari, who spent the majority of his time at school, would want something that his classmates could not guess, something that belonged to his secret life as a young rebel.
“Amara,” she said.
That was not it.
“Durga Devi.”
No.
“Vasudev.”
Still not right. Of course, Vasudev Kashkari had come to Eton and met quite a few people in Mrs. Dawlish’s house. So his name would not do. Was it their sister’s name, then? Or his parents’ names? She didn’t know what any of them were called.