'Miss Venner!' Professor Carmichael was calling.

Delphine looked away.

'No!' The ragged strands radiating from Miss DeGroot's shoulder began singing with mounting tension. They were puddled in tarry liquid. It smouldered. 'Come . . . ' She swiped at Delphine with her good hand. 'Here . . . '

Delphine began backing away. Miss DeGroot's face fell. 'Please. Don't leave me here.' She grunted and gasped, advancing her trembling fingers an inch, half an inch.

The yeasty stink grew stronger. Delphine took another step back and her heel slipped in something black and viscous. Dark fluid was pooling around her. It seemed to be bubbling up through the floor.

'Delphine!' said Mother.

Miss DeGroot cried hnnngh and jerked backwards. Around Delphine's feet, shapes started rising from the fluid. She tried to run and something whip-thin coiled round her ankle. Delphine yelled and grabbed at it. A wet, knuckled appendage lunged from the black water and snared her wrist. More were rising sticky, half-formed tendrils, grasping for her, clutching.

She twisted to look at Miss DeGroot and saw her crouched, her shoulder almost to the floor, raw, living flesh flowing into the smoky dark pool beside the hearth.

Delphine felt a tendril oozing round her throat and tried to claw it loose with the crab hook. A second, thicker limb slid round her rib cage. Above her spread the lunar mandala, a shining diadem.

'Let go!' she said, but she barely had the breath. The ringing in her ears grew deafening.

She heard footsteps. 'Delphine!'

'Everybody stop!' Miss DeGroot lay on her side. Her panting echoed through the banqueting hall. 'Nobody take . . . another . . . step.' Slowly, slowly, she clambered to her feet. Pale tissue trailed from her shoulder into the steaming pool beside her. She took a breath. She glanced at Mother, Professor Carmichael. 'If you move, I will hurt her.' The thicket of limbs binding Delphine squeezed. 'I'm not a bad person. I just . . . ' She gripped her brow with her human hand. 'Just give me a moment to think.'

CHAPTER 36.

MERE OBLIVION.

Martin Wightman emerged in the Great Hall, panting. His breaths echoed in the cavernous space. What were those idiots playing at, staying behind?

Well, he supposed it didn't matter. This was clearly a nightmare.

The full moon shone through the portico windows. He allowed himself to admire the play of silverblue light, marvelling at the complexity of the delusion. He could smell smoke. There were bodies all over the floor, mostly winged fiends. They were black and sticky, as if scorched. He wiped a palm across the ridged scar on his scalp. The sweat on his fingers felt warm and slick. Incredible.

The body of a minotaur lay in the centre of the chequered floor. Funny it had two arrows sticking out of its wide back. They were the same type the Society used for archery practice he recognised the red fletching. His mind had obviously taken elements of the real world and reused them for his dream. He walked over and tapped the shafts with the back of his finger. Lodged in the creature's withers, they shivered.

There was something queer about the minotaur's head. He peered at it, frowning.

A noise from the top of the stairs. Despite his certainty that all he saw and felt was no more than a nasty hallucination and it was, of course it was, what sort of pillock believed in goblins his belly cramped. He would very much like the dream to end now.

A man stepped onto the staircase, clutching a bow. He was wearing some sort of sling.

Mr Wightman squinted.

'Mr Venner?' His paunch dipped over his belt as he exhaled. 'I thought you were another monster.'

Mr Venner said nothing. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Mr Wightman could not see his eyes.

Mr Venner reached into his sling. Very slowly, he withdrew two long, pointed objects. Mr Wightman took a moment to realise they were horns.

He glanced at the dead minotaur. Protruding from its flat brown skull were two rough nubs.

'What in Hell's name?' said Mr Wightman.

Mr Venner's chuckle echoed through the bloody hall. He lifted the horns to his temples.

'Moo.'

Henry kept the shotgun trained on the grimacing bat-monster and tried to forget about the pain in his legs.

'Surrender,' he told the hunched beast, his voice echoing through the low, rocky chamber. 'Tell your master the fight can't be won. This chamber's rigged with explosives look for yourself.' He gestured with the gun but the valet, shuddering, did not look up. 'In fifteen minutes I'm going to detonate the charges and if you and your forces haven't retreated through it you'll be cut off from your homeland for all time.'

He wasn't sure if the creature had heard. It was barely conscious, sprawled in the middle of the room, beside the swirling black pool. Perhaps an old battle wound had opened up during their fight. Perhaps it had taken a blow to the head earlier on which was only just taking effect. Still, if it couldn't get back to its master, the plan was ruined. Stokeham needed to order a retreat needed to believe Henry was prepared to blow up the chamber and strand the troops in England. Of course, if Henry really did detonate the charges, then yes, Stokeham would have no way of getting home, but the remaining troops would fight with the tenacity of cornered rats. Henry was gambling that Stokeham would not call his bluff that, as someone who had lived for more than a century, Stokeham was prideful but patient, and would sooner withdraw than die in a glorious last stand.

But to order a retreat, Stokeham had to know the battle was lost. Henry was not sure the creature before him was capable of climbing a flight of stairs, never mind running back to the Hall to deliver terms of surrender.

'Do you understand me?' said Henry.

The beast grunted, spat blood.

'Don't test me. Do you understand?'

It nodded.

'Good. And do you agree to tell your master my terms?'

The valet pressed a claw to its stomach. It nodded.

'That's what I like to hear. Now, off you go.'

Blood foamed over the creature's lips. It mouthed something.

'What?' said Henry. He hadn't thought the beast could talk.

A tendon stood out in its neck as it strained to lift itself upright. Its shrivelled wings pumped. It spat more blood. Its lips worked through the same motions.

Henry could not make out words. He leant forward.

'Don't toy with me.'

The valet exhaled, spluttered. With its good hand, it steadied itself against the raised edge of the pool. It tried again.

Henry watched the movement of its thin, furred lips. He felt he almost had the words, but for whatever reason the creature was unable to aspirate them.

'I've no time for this. Whatever you've got to say, I don't want to hear it. Go. Tell your master. You've now got fourteen minutes.'

The valet dropped to one knee, gasped with agony, clawing at its gut. Blood stippled its lapels. Still, it mouthed through the pain.

Henry watched its lips.

You must . . .

He leaned in nearer. 'What? I must what?'

The creature's jaw was taut. The capillaries in its eyes had burst. It inhaled in three jagged stages, wiped the blood from its lips.

You must . . .

It collapsed into wheezing.

'What?' Henry was at the pool edge. He could make out the hiss in the thing's throat, could hear it trying to speak.

Be . . . ware . . .

The valet thumped a fist against its heart.

'Beware? Beware of what?' He could almost hear the words.

Be . . . ware . . .

'Of what?'

Be . . . ware . . .

'Why?'

The claw flashed up from under the valet's velveteen jacket and connected with Henry's jaw. The force of the blow lifted him up onto his heels, enough time for the creature to swat the shotgun from his grip then climb onto the lip of the pool, swinging round behind him to put him in a chokehold. Henry grasped at air; the weight of the valet dragged him backwards.

In the shadows, he caught a glow of huge eyes: one of the Little Gentlemen watching. If this creature killed him, they would be next. Henry felt a blow to his temple and his vision pulsed with sparks. He tried to reach behind his head but he was losing strength. He had one last move in him before he passed out. His heels were pressed against the raised edge of the pool, the yeasty smell building in his nostrils. He made his decision.

Henry grasped the arm around his throat and dug his fingers in. He shut his eyes. He kicked his heels against the wet stone floor and pushed himself backwards into the pool. The valet realised too late what was happening and tried to let go, but with the last of an old man's dogged, bloodyminded tenacity, Henry dragged the monster in with him.

The black liquid plopped like a peat bog. Henry felt it close over his head, oozing into his nostrils, pushing past ceramic dentures into his throat. He pressed his tongue against the upper plate and felt it crumble like mint cake. The crackling in his ears dropped to a rumble. He was numb. His eyelids tingled as the fluid melted them, ate into his corneas. He bit down, and his tongue had dissolved. The rumbling grew louder than his thoughts.

He broke apart on the tides.

CHAPTER 37.

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS.

'Put her down, Patience.'

It was Mother who spoke. She stood five yards or so from Miss DeGroot.

'I said give me a moment!' Miss DeGroot bunched a clump of hair in her fist and took some deep breaths.

Delphine struggled but she was held fast. She glanced down at the tendril wrapped round her wrist. It was fat and translucent, sweating like melted cheese.

'Is this what you want to be?' Mother stood with her hands on her hips. 'Really? A bully?'

'What I want, Anne, is justice.'

'Then let my daughter go. She's not your enemy.'

Delphine felt the grip on her throat slacken.

'I couldn't help it,' said Miss DeGroot. 'I didn't mean to. Ivan . . . he forced me into this. Look at me. Look what he's done.'

Mother licked her dry lips and took a breath. Delphine could see the fatigue flickering at the edges of her eyes.

'You're right to be angry. It's wrong to exploit the innocent to satisfy one's own needs. So now you must make a choice. Are you someone like that . . . ' Mother took a step forward. 'Or are you someone who helps?'

Delphine shunted with her elbows, trying to ease the pressure on her lungs. Miss DeGroot's grip loosened a little further. Delphine inhaled, her nostrils filling with the peaty, beery smell.

'I can't go back now,' she said. 'You heard Ivan. It can't be undone. I've chosen.'

Mother's gaze shifted to Delphine. Her expression softened.

'Nonsense, Patience. We are always choosing.' She glanced at the body slumped in the fireplace. 'I don't suppose he can ask any more of you. You're free. Now. Who do you want to be?'

Miss DeGroot's eyelid trembled. She looked to Delphine, then down at the waxy cables hanging from her shoulder.

'I want to be human,' she said quietly.

'Then choose accordingly.'

Miss DeGroot stared at the floor for a long time.

Delphine felt the tendrils binding her sag. They fell away, sliding back into the black puddles. Delphine staggered, found her feet.

She glanced up. Miss DeGroot spat a purple-blue mist. Something small and hard was sticking out of her windpipe. Reggie spluttered.

Miss DeGroot twisted to the left. An arrow was protruding from her neck.

Delphine turned. Daddy stood in the doorway, soaked in blood.

'Giddy?'