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Yannick froze midstep. “You’re—Agnes, Havelock doesn’t—”

“I don’t care what Havelock thinks.” I turned and marched to the back of the shop, leaving Yannick to trail after me. “He’s dragged me and the cats into this mess, without even so much as an apology, to hide his precious shop. It’s only fair that I should see what I’m being used for.”

“Agnes, you really shouldn’t—He doesn’t like anyone in his workshop; he only barely tolerates me.”

Yannick hovered at my elbow, looking simultaneously worried and apologetic, as I dragged the rug aside and grasped the chain on the trapdoor. Élise stepped forward to help.

“If he comes back while you’re down there…” Yannick trailed off.

“He’ll what?” I said. “Blast my head off? He won’t. He needs me.”

Élise and I lifted the trapdoor while Yannick muttered to himself and knitted his fingers together. Still, he made no move to stop me, which I suspected he could have done, if he’d really wanted to. He was a magician, after all. No—it was clear that Yannick wasn’t truly afraid of Havelock. Why, I had no idea.

I wasn’t about to tell him the real reason I wanted to get a look at Havelock’s shop. Namely, that I’d begun to suspect he was lying to me.

Not about everything. Likely his warnings about Valérie had been true. But why was Valérie so convinced Havelock had Vortigern’s book? Wasn’t it just as likely that he did and didn’t want to give it up?

And if Havelock had the book, why shouldn’t I take it and give it to Valérie?

I didn’t doubt Valérie’s malicious intentions—I’d seen her, after all—but I had no reason to believe she was any worse than Havelock, or would do any more damage with a dangerous Artefact than he would. After all, it hadn’t been Valérie who had unleashed an apocalypse. If I gave Valérie the book, she would go away and leave the shelter alone. This felt even more important after what I’d heard about her followers.

Élise had fetched the oil lantern from the counter, and she set off down the steep wooden staircase below without another word.

“You really shouldn’t,” Yannick said, still wringing his hands uselessly.

“You might be right,” I said. “But there are plenty of things you magicians shouldn’t do, yet you do them anyway. So you’ve no place to lecture me.” And I followed Élise.

The staircase was so steep that I felt safer going sideways, clinging to the railing like an old woman. It kept going down and down, much deeper than I’d expected. Consequently, I wasn’t able to look about me until I stepped onto the floor, which was, to my surprise, made of creaky oak—I’d been picturing stone or earth, like the floor of a cave. Perhaps a cauldron bubbling over a fire.

My first impression was of utter disorder. The space was about the size of the shop above, I thought, and should have felt roomy, particularly given the impressive height of the ceiling. But shoved against every wall were towering glass-front cabinets filled with an assortment of the most random objects, and towers of boxes and crates filled the remaining floor space, offering only narrow passages between. Some objects had the look of archaeological finds, ceramic vessels or stone carvings, while others were more contemporary, including a gumball machine and gramophone. Near the centre of the room was a massive table where someone had clearly been writing, for by the single chair were a stack of papers and pen, in addition to the piles of books and coins and other miscellany. The place was illuminated by a warm, gentle glow, emanating from small globes of light set into the ceiling and walls, which gave it an air of an enchanted museum. It was a curious thing, for the light was uneven and flickered like starlight. I went towards one of the lights, which was surrounded by an odd, net-like lampshade.

As I leaned closer, the light darted sideways into a crevice in the wall with a quick, many-legged sort of skitter.

I recoiled. “They’re spiders!”

“Yes,” Yannick said, grimacing, though there was admiration mixed into his expression. “Havelock grew tired of chasing them out, so he put a spell on the entire place: any spider who strays here develops a sort of bioluminescence. Well, if we can’t be rid of them, why not put them to use? And it saves on lantern oil. He called it economical.”

Élise shook her head. “Of course he likes spiders. Proper familiars for a witch king.”

The lighting no longer struck me as particularly cozy. My skin tingled as if the things were crawling on me.

Against the wall, behind the landing of the staircase we had just descended, was another set of stairs. “How deep does it go?” I said.

“I’m not sure,” Yannick replied. “This is his workshop, but below this are three more floors, mostly crammed with Artefacts, like this one. There’s a trapdoor in the lowest floor, and I don’t know where it leads. He keeps it locked.”

“Another trapdoor,” I muttered, exchanging a look with Élise.

“Maybe it leads back to the shop,” she said with a mirthless smile. “Or some hellish otherworldly version.”

I shuddered. “Or the Fifth Fathom of the Rivenwood.”

“Not possible,” Yannick said. “All doors to the Rivenwood lead to the First Fathom.”

“Why?” Élise asked.

Yannick seemed to ponder. “It’s difficult to explain. The Rivenwood doesn’t obey our laws of nature. You can reach the other fathoms from anywhere in the forest—it doesn’t matter where you start. The farther you walk, the deeper you go.”

“That’s clear as mud,” Élise muttered.