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‘It isn’t easy,’ Joan hedged. And to forestall questions about that, she added, ‘Why? Where would you go?’
‘If I could go anywhere and come back?’ Nick’s eyes creased with a hint of sadness. He was thinking about his father—Joan could see it. About how much he missed him. ‘I—’ He seemed to decide to say something lighter. ‘I’d go further into the future, I think. I want to know what happens.’
Joan bit her lip. Part of her wanted to acknowledge what he hadn’t said. But she followed his cue to keep it light. ‘You wouldn’t mind being spoiled?’
‘Well, maybe I’d leave some of it a mystery.’ Nick smiled a little. ‘Why don’t we travel together sometime? See what happens fifty years from now?’
Joan felt strangely tongue-tied at the half-joking offer. Even after a night without sleep, he was ridiculously attractive. Butterflies started in her stomach. She made herself answer in the same tone, though. ‘I’ll go with you if you come with me to Londinium. I always wished I could visit. I always—’ She stopped herself abruptly.
A trip to Londinium and back would cost eight thousand years of human life between them.
‘Deal,’ Nick said. His smile warmed, the trace of sadness gone. Joan felt butterflies in her stomach again. This time, though, the feeling was mixed with horror.
The monster world was full of wonders. But it was as terrible as it was beautiful. It was a world where you could look out of a window and see a Tudor city. But it was also a world where people would steal human life just to have a holiday in another era.
As Joan opened her mouth, someone nearby said: ‘—the operation in Milton Keynes.’ She jolted to a stop, exchanging a look with Nick.
They were outside a small, dark room, the Portelli windows set to night. Golden lamplight illuminated pairs and trios of people playing cards and chess and something with wooden tiles inlaid with gold. Between the tables, bronze statues stood like sentinels: a wyvern on its hind legs, a serpent with scales raised like hackles, a minotaur with bulging muscles and curled horns. Their heads were overly polished, as if the gamblers sometimes touched them for good luck.
Conversation bubbled, loud and occasionally rising to tipsy laughter. Joan had no idea who’d spoken. There must have been twenty people in the room.
The same voice sounded again: ‘—guards all over.’ And this time, Joan saw who’d spoken. A woman at the back of the room with glossy red hair. She was talking to a man. The two leaned close then and had a whispered conversation, too low for Joan to hear.
Joan exchanged another look with Nick. They really should go back downstairs and wait in the room for Gran to arrive. They needed to lie low. But she wanted to hear more. Reckless and impatient, Aaron would have said. He’d been a balancing influence on Joan. Nick, though, was sharp-eyed with interest.
They walked into the room together and settled by the window, pretending to admire the view. Cigar smoke hung in the air. Joan could taste it in the back of her throat, woody and floral.
Nearby, the red-haired woman and the man were playing the chess-like game that Joan remembered from the Serpentine. The woman moved an elephant piece diagonally. ‘Ready to cut your losses?’
‘Still like my chances,’ the man said, voice deep and amused. He rolled an object between thumb and forefinger—one of the wafer-thin coins sold at the market. And that was strange. The cherry vendor had given Joan monster coins in change, but they’d all been silver and angle-edged. So what were these gold wafers? The man placed his wafer by the board and moved a ship piece. ‘Want to cut your losses?’
Joan needed them to return to the other conversation. She said to Nick: ‘What do you make of all that stuff in Milton Keynes?’
Nick didn’t blink. His answer was as smooth as if they’d discussed it beforehand. ‘Seems like everyone’s talking about it.’
The woman added another gold wafer. She moved a pawn. Joan opened her mouth to try seeding the conversation again, and then the man said abruptly: ‘Has your family been hearing what we’ve been hearing?’
The woman’s answer was cautious. ‘Depends. What have you been hearing?’
The man lowered his voice. ‘That the Court’s been detecting huge fluctuations in the timeline.’
Joan held her breath. Corvin Argent had talked about fluctuations too. What did that mean?
Beside Joan, Nick said, ‘Huh.’ There was something off-key in his voice. He was staring out the window.
Joan glanced over, but couldn’t see much of the view; it was darker than the dusk of the market. The only light out there was the glow and flicker of torch flame.
The woman lowered her voice too. ‘Can’t be true, though, right?’
‘Can’t be true,’ the man agreed.
The smoky air seemed to stick in Joan’s throat. Nick was still staring out the window, and it suddenly struck her as absurd and stupidly irresponsible that she’d brought him with her into a monster inn. What had she been thinking? All her justifications seemed thin now. She should have left him somewhere far away. Somewhere safe and human—a hotel. She should have left him there and never gone back. This world was dangerous. Joan was dangerous.
Nick whispered to Joan, ‘Look.’ That strange note was still in his voice.
Look? Joan squinted, trying to see what Nick was seeing. She could just make out water below: the Queenhithe Dock at night, lit with torches. The reflection of flames moved in the murky water. Beyond were ramshackle wooden buildings—only a storey high.
Wait … there was something on the water. Joan pressed closer. The modern dock had been silted up and unusable. Boats would have run aground if they’d tried to moor there. In the view through the window, though, the water seemed deeper, and there was something hidden in the dingy light. A long, thin boat, its bow curled at the tip like an animal’s tail.
