Page 77 of The Dark Mirror

‘I’m Verca, and this is Federico. He doesn’t speak a great deal of English, so I will interpret,’ Verca said. ‘He and his voyants can help us reach Capri.’

She was keeping her cool well, but I could see she was intimidated, as was Federico. Errai folded his arms and remained standing, while Terebell sat on a stone bench and gave them botha level stare, eyes like heated iron. Federico stared back. He must sense her strange aura.

‘Nun te preoccupà.’ Verca spoke to him in a soft voice. ‘Chiste stanne ccà pe’ ce aiutà.’

Federico recovered. He clasped his veiny hands and spoke in Napoletano, which she translated.

‘Neapolitans can tell that something is amiss with the evacuation of Capri and Ischia,’ she said. ‘Many of them have friends or family who lived there. They claim there were no warning signs, like earthquakes or landslides.’ She paused to listen. ‘The Figli de Partenope have noticed strangers in the city, watching its voyants. All speculation and gossip is being suppressed – even the media is silent – and the local authorities are refusing to say when their residents will be allowed to return.’ She glanced at me. ‘Your instinct was right, Paige.’

Federico nodded. Verca had been authorised to tell him why we were going to Capri, but he was under strict orders to keep this information to himself, even as he took steps to protect the voyants of Naples. If word got out, Scion would realise that somebody was on to them.

‘Federico will take us to Capri under cover of darkness. Four of his voyants will join the search,’ Verca said. ‘They used to live on the island. All of us know it well.’

‘A search in the dark will take longer,’ Nick said.

‘Yes, but it may keep us safe. Scion could have sent guards and drones, or requisitioned existing surveillance on Capri. Some of the villas have security cameras.’

‘Scion would have got rid of those straight away,’ I said. ‘They didn’t allow cameras in Oxford or Versailles.’

‘That is a relief.’ Verca chewed her lip. ‘It will be impossible for us to search the island in one night. I doubt the funicular or the chairlift will be working. It may be sensible for us to hide at dawn, continue our search when the sun sets again and repeat for a few days. If we are careful, we should be able to camp on the island for as long as necessary.’

‘Will you ask Federico if there are any large buildings, anywhere a prisoner might be held?’

Verca did, and listened to his answer.

‘A ruined Roman villa, an old charter house, several forts,’ she said. ‘Federico heard that dreamwalkers can sense the æther better than most. He asks if you will be able to keep us safe.’

‘I can try,’ I said.

‘So will we,’ Lucida said. ‘We are with you, Underqueen.’

I raised an eyebrow. This was going beyond civility; now they were expressing solidarity.

That was when I realised that the Ranthen might actually have missed me.

The Figli de Partenope used the ruins as a retreat from the clamour of Naples. They slept in alcoves in the walls, lined with thin mattresses, which Federico encouraged us to use. As I lay in mine, my head cushioned by my oilskin, I thought of the sibyl who had once lived here, cursed by a god to wither to dust, her voice trapped in a jar.

I’m almost there. I closed my eyes.Hold on.

I must have slept. When I checked my watch again, it was seven in the morning. Federico and the Rephs were gone, but I sensed them all nearby.

I emerged from the cave with a churning stomach. It was cooler today, though the sky remained clear. I walked away from the ruins with my bag, heading for a beach Verca had mentioned.

When I reached it, I sat down and slid my legs into the sea. To reach Capri, I might need to swim for the first time since the flood in Paris. I had to get used to water I couldn’t control.

Once the sun had warmed the shallows, I stripped down to my underwear, went in up to my waist, and let myself shiver. At last, I lunged, into a breaststroke. I had learned to swim at Ancroft – of course the school had its own heated pool – but I hadn’t been in the sea since I was five, when my grandparents had taken me to Cork for the weekend, and we had paddled in Clonakilty Bay. I still remembered the joy of it.

There was no joy in this. The waves shoved and sprayed me. I forced myself to duck my head under, trying to fight the strangling fear. When I surfaced, I coughed so hard it hurt, the salt water like sandpaper on my throat. Once more, and I was done. I waded back to shore.

I stayed on the beach to dry off, then donned a fresh set of clothes. By the time I got back to the ruins, Maria was sunning herself outside the cave.

‘Morning, sweet,’ she said. ‘Did you swim?’

‘Not well. Is your arm any better?’

‘Yes, but Nick isn’t relenting.’ She nodded to higher ground. ‘Federico is making breakfast up there. Once we’ve eaten, he’ll drive us closer to Capri. Are you ready for this?’

‘Not even a little.’

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