You feel a bit silly huddling in a shop doorway about to jump into an invisible hole in the ground, but nothing can stop you now. You’re getting the hang of this adventuring malarkey.

You drop through the portal, the ground suddenly solid beneath your feet. There are no welcoming scents here, just the subtle waft of aftershave, which seems to be coming from the room ahead of you.

Pride is nowhere to be seen.

Stepping forward to hover in the doorway, all you can see is a central fireplace surrounded by comfortable armchairs, all of which appear empty, but what is drawing your eye is the series of floor-to-ceiling windows circling the room and the intense blue glow coming through them.

“Where am I now?” you mutter to yourself as you cross the threshold.

“That’s classified.”

You jump at the sound, peering around the circular room.

A man is staring at you over a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. “Looks like you took a wrong turn.” He looks you up and down, and you wonder what Kane’s magic has done to your clothes this time, but you’re still wearing the jumpsuit. He goes back to reading his paper. “Take your frisbee and go.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I know about that.”

You move further into the room. “But you’re not going to take it from me?”

“As long as you promise not to get into trouble with it,” he says. “I don’t want to be chasing a púca smuggler around Europe anytime soon.”

“I have no idea what a púca is,” you tell him, trying to avoid promising anything, but his intense blue eyes quickly wear you down. “I promise,” you say, even though you really shouldn’t.

“Because I’ll come after you if you do.”

You gulp and nod. “Who are you?”

“Let’s just say I was Home Secretary a time or two, and it’s still my job to keep artefacts like that frisbee off the streets.”

“Why aren’t you taking it, then?” you ask.

He lowers his newspaper. “Honestly? You look harmless.”

You bristle at the accusation. You’re as fierce as a tiger, bold as a lion, swift as a...

“You cowered at a bun-throw.”

Okay, he’s got you there.

“I’ve seen more fight in a noodle,” he goes on, flapping his broadsheet newspaper into a more readable position.

You shuffle sideways, trying to catch the date. You’ve been curious ever since Violet mentioned the timeline.

The man notices what you’re doing and lowers the paper, wise to your game. “When is irrelevant.”

Pride bursts into the room behind you. “Sorry, I took so long. An old guy started asking directions, and I had to wait for him to move on before I…” He catches sight of your surroundings. “How the hell did you end up here? We need to leave. We can’t be…” He straightens, cutting himself off when he spots the man sitting in the armchair, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “E-Evening, your grace.”

“Evening?” the man queries. “It’s barely afternoon.”

Pride frowns. “Is it?”

His grace—whoever he is—stares at Pride so intently, it makes you uncomfortable. “Have we met?”

Pride glances sideways. “Have we?”

“Well, you know who I am, so I assume so,” the man says.

“We, uh… we met in passing… at the Home Office,” Pride tells him.

“You’ll forgive me,” the man says. “I meet so many people.”

You’re not sure how anyone who looks like Jason Momoa just raided Indiana Jones’ wardrobe could ever be forgotten.

“Of course,” says Pride. “We’ll just be on our way.”

“Don’t make me come after you!” the man yells as Pride drags you through the closest door, which turns out to be a cupboard with an old painting of an angel in it. An angel wearing a yellow nightdress and sporting golden curls all the way down to his buttocks. You and Pride are mesmerised by it for long seconds.

“Who was that man?” you ask.

“He goes by many names,” Pride says mysteriously.

“Pick one.”

“The Duke of Rosemont,” he finally says, throwing the portal frisbee onto the floor. He squints at it. “Weird. The coordinates have more digits than usual.”

“Is that a problem?”

Pride kicks the edge of the portal. “Shouldn’t be.”

You glance down at it, but you can’t even see the coordinates he’s talking about.

“There! Sorted.” Pride offers a grin, swinging his arm towards the portal. “After you.”

You jump in without fear now you know what to expect, but this is nothing like you expected. You land on the deck of a ship, far out to sea, Pride appearing beside you a second later. Before you can take your next breath, a dozen men surround you, swords drawn and pointed directly at your throat.