It was past midnight before the last guests had left and Torrens could lead Hex down to his uncle’s study. Torrens knocked and went in immediately without waiting for an answer. ‘Uncle,’ he started. ‘I want you to meet a friend of mine.’ Hex had come in too, but they stopped short, as they realised that there were two people in the room. The men, who were standing bent over a table examining the starcharts that were spread on it, turned as the boys came in.

The tall thin vague man, with an astonishing white beard and whiskers, contrasting with a completely bald head, and a severe set of spectacles perched on a beak of a nose, Hex took to be Councillor Wallop. He was still in evening dress, although he had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, so that the freckled boniness of his wrists was even more apparent. The short stout fellow with him had unkempt grey hair and was clothed in a sort of homespun robe that reached to the floor. He had glittering black eyes, like those of a badger at bay, which narrowed at the sight of the two boys and then remained fixed on Hex.

‘Torrens, my boy,’ said his uncle reproachfully. ‘You interrupt me, as usual, at a most inconvenient juncture. Godolphin, I think you have not met my nephew Torrens and – ‘ his eye strayed to Hex, ‘this is his friend – Mr Constantine.’

He fixed Torrens with an eye which, suddenly, did not appear at all vague: ‘This is the Constantine that we have been hearing so much about lately in the news? Young Welbeck’s assassin?’

‘Indeed, he is not!’ said Torrens hotly, before Hex could protest. ‘This is Hex. He is my friend and he is no assassin!’

‘A pity,’ said Stephanius Wallop. ‘If he were, I would have wanted to congratulate him on his decisive and felicitous act. The Empire may yet survive to thank the unsung hand that has rid us of that arrogant talentless whelp.’

Hex blinked. Somehow he had not expected the great Councillor to be like this. He knew little of Stephanius Wallop, other than that he was renowned for his philanthropy and his devoutness, in the grand tradition of his ancestors. He had not had the pleasure of the acquaintance of many, or indeed any, philanthropists or templemen in his life, but he had somehow thought that when he met one, he would be more – well – holy, inclined to mutter pious sentiments and to have strictly conventional views on the more significant sins and vices.

Torrens cast a triumphant look at Hex, as if to say, I told you so. ‘Stephanius,’ he said eagerly, ‘you must listen to what Hex has to tell you. Heppleworth is implicated!’

‘Is he, indeed?’ said Stephanius calmly. ‘Well, you shall tell me your tale all in good time, young friend of Torrens, but it must wait till morning, for Magus Godolphin and I have not yet concluded our matter.’

But the Magus shook his head and, reaching out, took the Councillor’s wrinkled age-spotted hands in his own warm brown ones.

‘No, my old friend, one moment is as good as any other for parting.’ His voice was whiskery and earthy; it sounded dark brown, like good rich soil. The Magus seized up his cloak, which was lying draped on the back of the high armchair by the fire, and wrapped it around his shoulders, but instead of completing his farewells, he turned to Hex and said, ‘Tell me, my boy, where do you hail from?’

Surprised, Hex said, ‘I, sir? From Lisle.’

‘Lisle, indeed? Good, good.’ His eyes twinkled sideways at Stephanius Wallop. He turned back to Hex and added, ‘And how many years have you, my lad?’

‘I’m sixteen, sir,’ said Hex, too puzzled at the Magus’ odd interest in him to mind the interrogation.

‘Sixteen?’ Godolphin seemed to do a calculation in his head and his badger’s face brightened. ‘Yes, that would be right. Sixteen.’ He smiled and then gave a great shout of laughter. ‘So it was true! I should have known. She was ever a wild thing.’

The three Chosen stood staring at the mage, waiting for him to explain himself, but instead he now seemed ready to go, busying himself with cramming the starcharts that he and the Councillor had been poring over into his battered leathern bag. He kept on smiling and chuckling to himself as he did so, in a most aggravating fashion, until finally he straightened up and addressed himself to Stephanius thus: ‘It is a sign, my old friend. I take it as a sign that the stars themselves smile on my adventure. Was it not she herself who told me, all those years ago, to watch the stars – to look for a time when the Hawk seems to cross the Archer’s bow, as he sinks in the southern sky just before the dawn? I’ve counted; I’ve spoken to the Watchers among the Hidden, they tell me I have counted right. When the Hawk lures the Archer, that is when the Portals quiver and I shall have my chance! Ten years – it happens every ten years. The time is on the cusp. I have laid my plans and now this – yes, yes, it means one more task to perform, one last word to that man of secrets, but I welcome it – ‘ He nodded at Hex mystifyingly as he said this, ‘then at last I can follow her, to take the paths to her own world!

‘ So now at last I must bid you farewell, Stephanius, my old friend.’

He folded Stephanius’ lean and bony body in a great bearhug and stood back, still clasping his hand. The great Councillor and the Wilder mage stood facing each other across the dying fire.

‘I fear for you, my friend,’ said Stephanius gravely. ‘And yet I almost want to go with you. Your path is perilous. The Worlds’ Portals seek the right person at the right time, you say – but are you that man?’

The older man smiled. ‘I feel it in my heart, friend. She and I were meant to meet again – here? Or in another world? Who can say? But it is a great quest that I go on now! It makes my heart feel young again.’

He turned back to Hex and Torrens. ‘And you, my fine young fellows. You are at the start of your own journeys and I see great sorrow and terror in your paths, and also great solace in your friendship – a solace such as I have found with your uncle. He is a great man, Torrens. Esteem him, as I have esteemed him.’

Hex felt himself filled with awe at these resonant words and tried to tell himself, as he had been taught at Fenech, that this was just typical Wilder grandiloquence. Most of what the Magus had said was utter gibberish to him – all he had really gleaned was that he was going on some kind of journey, but to another world, whatever that meant. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to sneer. Sorrow and terror? Why did these words fill him as much with elation as with anticipatory dread?

Only when Godolphin had left did the Councillor finally turn to the boys and say: ‘Now, what was so terribly urgent that you had to interrupt this parting of two old friends? What is all this about Fontana Heppleworth? What is the wretch up to now?’

He heard their story impassively and when they were done remarked, ‘And you say Cornelia Heppleworth is here now? And she knows nothing about her father’s part – alleged part – in the death of her cousin? Extraordinary. I want to meet this young woman, who defies her family and risks everything she has – which is considerable – to put her fate in the hands of such an unpromising fellow as yourself. I mean no offence,’ he added kindly to Hex. ‘I mean, unpromising by the standards of the people she has grown up with and been taught by. Tell her to come down.’

Hex crept back up the stairs and tapped gently on the door of Cornelia’s room. When there was no reply, he poked his head in. There was enough moonlight coming through the window for him to be able to see quite clearly that there was no-one in the bed and that, in fact, it had not been disturbed.

Cursing Corny under his breath, he checked rather hopelessly in Torrens’ room, but she was nowhere to be seen. Racing back down the stairs, considerably less cautiously, he enlisted Torrens in the search for her. It did not take him long to report back that, as far as he could tell, Cornelia was not in the house at all.

‘What’s happened to her? Could she have been kidnapped? Could that fellow of her mother’s have seized her somehow?’

‘It’s not possible. How could he have followed you? How could he have found you, or got into the house?’

‘Some Wilder enchantment, I suppose.’

The Councillor shook his head. ‘The whole house and grounds are spellbounden. No-one can enter the house who has not been invited in. It’s a standard precaution. I doubt you would find any house on the Hill that doesn’t have the same protection. Especially in times like these. All the great families are targets – especially since Welbeck’s death.’

Hex hesitated, then said reluctantly: ‘The thing is, she’s been acting strangely ever since she got away from that fellow.’ They looked expectant and he elaborated, ‘Blowing up over stupid things, I mean. Look, I’d better go out and find her. It’s not safe out there.’

‘I’ll go with you then,’ said Torrens. They were heading for the door into the garden, but just as they reached it, the door opened inwards and Cornelia herself slipped through it. Walking straight into the boys, she gave a little scream, immediately suppressed, and jumped back involuntarily.

‘Corny!’ Hex, overwhelmed with relief and exasperation, could not help giving her a little shake. ‘Where have you been, you blithering little fool!’

Corny didn’t protest, but Torrens prised Hex’s hands off her shoulders and swiftly put his cloak round her. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘You’re back now. You’re shaking. Come back to the house. We’ll talk about it there.’

They hurried back to the house in silence, Hex longing to interrogate Cornelia, but restrained by Torrens’ protective presence between them. Soon they were back in the Councillor’s study, Corny in the biggest leather armchair in front of the fire, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and staring over the brim, with wide eyes, at Hex and the Wallops.

‘ I just went for a walk. I told you,’ she replied to their repeated questions. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to clear my head. It’s so nice and cool outside. I’ve been here before, you know. Not – not to Ashurst of course. But to the Hill. To Carstairs.’ This was the Degaletera residence at Norton. Hex had never been there, but Torrens knew where it stood, of course, in the most commanding position on Pontifex Hill.

‘You didn’t go up there, did you?’ Hex burst out, unable to restrain himself. ‘By all the gods, Cornelia, do you want to get us caught? Why don’t you run straight home to your mama and be done with this charade?’

‘Let me finish, you great ox!’ retorted Corny, with a touch of her usual spirit. ‘I just meant that I know the Hill. It’s perfectly safe – the whole place is so bounden, no Wilder could get within a mile of it, if he didn’t have the right permits. Excuse me, sir,’ she remembered to add to Stephanius, but clearly without any intention of doing anything but what she wanted, ‘you have been very kind. Thank you for my chocolate. I’m very tired and I’m going to bed now.’

And without waiting for permission, she slipped out of the armchair and left the room. They could hear her footsteps, plodding up the stairs, getting fainter as they rose.

Stephanius stroked his eyebrows absent-mindedly. ‘So that is the young lady,’ he said, sounding greatly entertained. ‘Cornelia Heppleworth. I know her mother of course. I’ve known Anna-Belinda since she was a child, no older than Cornelia is now. And whatever ill can be said of her – and much has been,’ his eyes twinkled over the glistening top of the brandy glass, ‘no-one has ever called her stupid. Very bright, one of the brightest women I’ve ever met. Apart from Juliet Breitling, of course, but in a very different way. And with a will of steel. It isn’t easy for the gentler sex within the Bounds – and to be the younger daughter of the Dega! Not an enviable position. I see young Cornelia has inherited some of her mother’s mettle.’

‘Corny’s nothing like the Dame,’ Hex said hotly, before remembering that it was scarcely polite to contradict the man who was not only his host, but his protector, and one of the most senior figures in the Empire.

Stephanius Wallop didn’t seem to mind. ‘Is she not?’ he said mildly. ‘Is she not? Well, we shall see.’