‘This is the Mime Order’s first move against Scion,’ I told them. ‘We’re basing this plan on intelligence stolen from them, which appears to be reliable, but I can’t guarantee that the mission will be successful. Or that something won’t go wrong.’ I looked at each face in turn. ‘None of you are under any obligation to do this. Just say now, and you can return to your cells.’
The silence stretched on for some time. The seer gnawed her nails, but said nothing.
‘We’re all with you, Underqueen,’ one of the capnomancers said.
The rest of the team agreed.
It was utterly dark by the time Nick led the way from the safe house. Eliza sat down on a dusty barstool and watched us go. ‘We’ll be back soon,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘Go get ’em.’
A perishing wind howled by the river. There was no moonlight to betray us as we approached the ice, taking care to erase the footprints we left in the snow.
The silhouette of the warehouse loomed over the Thames. It was exceptionally rare for the river to freeze to this extent – according to the records, it hadn’t happened in over a century. Most of the surface was clearly too brittle to stand on, and the middle was as swift-flowing as ever, but a vein of thicker ice jutted into the water and ran right past the warehouse, providing us with our entrance. When I tested it, a tissue of silver threads surrounded my boot. Nick hovered nearby as I risked the other foot.
‘On a scale of one to lethal,’ I said, so only he could hear, ‘how dangerous is this?’
‘I think we’ve done more dangerous things. Maybe.’ He joined me on the ice and rocked his weight. ‘It’s a plan, Paige. That’s more than any of your predecessors have had.’
I turned to the rest of the party. ‘Here we go,’ I said. ‘Spread out as much as possible.’
We set off. Every step ratcheted up my pulse. The cold alone could finish us off if the ice were to give way, and if it didn’t, the current certainly would. This was an ancient artery of London that we walked on, one that had never been known for its mercy.
The crossing took time. Nobody dared walk too quickly. The seer, who knew the area best, led the way, delicately stepping around the thinnest patches. After what felt like days, I spotted the rusted ladder, almost hanging off the wall and missing several rungs. As we inched closer to it, Driscoll hit a weak spot in the ice. One booted foot splashed through it, into the river, before one of the others grabbed him. The impact quivered right the way along the ice shelf and turned us into statues. When it became clear that we weren’t about to meet a watery end, the other summoners hurried to get Driscoll to his feet.
When we were in the shadow of the warehouse, Nick gave the seer a boost onto the ladder, causing a web of cracks to materialise. I went next. The relief at being off the ice was almost enough to tame my nerves.
At the top, the seer squatted beside the fence. When she found the shallow ditch that had been dug beneath it, which was well-hidden by a sheet of corrugated metal, she clawed her way under.
Save for a pair of security guards at the main gate, which was chained shut, the place was deserted. I scanned our surroundings. The warehouse was bordered by a desolate expanse of concrete, where a SciORE vehicle, presumably containing whatever was needed to repair the core, was parked and empty. Footprints littered the snow around it. I reached for the ?ther, letting my sixth sense wash everything else away.
‘There’s nothing below us,’ I said to Nick. ‘No dreamscapes. No activity.’
‘If you can’t sense anything below ground, maybe it’s because there’s nothing here to sense.’ He swallowed. ‘This might be a dud lead.’
‘Warden and Mira both said the core was probably some kind of ethereal technology,’ I said. ‘Scion could have concealed the facility in the ?ther. Stopped voyants being able to sense it.’
‘Right.’
Beneath my boiler suit, my skin was clammy. The seer beckoned from the other side of the fence. One by one, we scrambled into the gap and burrowed through the snow on the other side, soaking our hands and knees. The redhead and the capnomancers would stand guard outside while the rest of us went in to investigate.
We broke into a run, keeping low. When we got within spitting distance of the warehouse, I motioned to the redhead to join us and told her to wait for Nick to flash his torch from the doorway. One flash, and she could send in the other team members. Two flashes meant that they should get back on to the ice and out of the district.
The seer led us towards the warehouse. As she slipped inside, snowflakes drifted from above.
Our footfalls echoed as we stole into the building. As far as I could tell, it was unguarded. A draught wafted across my face, carrying the stale odour of cigarettes and purple aster. Beside me, Nick switched on his torch. As we walked down the length of the warehouse, Maria’s boot snagged on a glass bottle marked LAUDANUM, making us all start. It rolled through threads of dried aster and unsettled several plastic bags.
The seer stopped at the end of the hall. The wall in front of her was taken up by a vast transmission screen.
‘Look,’ I said.
Nick dipped the beam of his torch. There, sunk into the floor in front of the screen, was the trapdoor.
‘Paige, be careful,’ he said, but I was already crouching beside it. Finding no evidence of a lock or bolt, I grasped the handle and heaved it up.
Beneath it, there was nothing but concrete.
Nothing.
I stared at the place where a ladder should have been. It took moments for panic to engulf me. Not a trapdoor. Just a trap. I turned to warn the team, to tell them to run – but before I could get out a single word, I found myself wrenched upside-down, high above the others’ heads, pinioned in a net. Blood surged through my body. My heartbeat rustled in my ears and throbbed behind my eyes, drowning out the shouts from below. The mesh around me was so tight that my elbows dug into my waist and my knees were jammed together. Gritting my teeth, I pushed my fingers towards the knife inside my jacket, but moving my limbs was close to agony.
As I struggled, the transmission screen switched on, and a white background cast light into the hall, stretching out our shadows with it. When my eyes adjusted to the glare, I found myself looking at the face of a woman.
She had to be seventy, at the least. Lines branched through her sun-beaten skin. A pinched nose, a seam of a mouth, and a head of white hair, combed back from a raw-boned face. The eyes in that face chilled me to the heart of my being. They were black as pits.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘Paige Mahoney.’
Her voice was calm, crisp as pressed linen. The feeling it induced in me was like nothing I had ever experienced. Detachment, numbness, followed by a rush of dread through my bones. The way she said my name was oddly thorough, each syllable sharply enunciated, as if she was determined not to let a single part of it escape her tongue.