And on and on.

Listening to these yarns, Matthew thought Julian might well offer his services to Lord Puffery’s Pin and be set for life.

Not once, however, did Julian mention Professor Danton Idris Fell, Mother Deare or any personage of that evil ilk; for the time spent entertaining the Turlentorts—and Benson and Hedges as well—he was simply an adventurer, or as Matthew believed, a young man dreaming of a life he might have had, and spinning his history from whole cloth much cleaner than the suit tailored for him by Fate.

Matthew had seized whatever sleep he could in the coach, and likewise had Julian. Matthew had seen that Julian never fully let himself go to sleep; the man slept so close to wakefulness that he just seemed to be resting with his eyes closed, and in truth his eyes were not closed that much, they were just glazed over and staring into space. Several times Julian had come up from his strange slumber with a start, on his lips a harsh whisper that in his dream—or nightmare?—must’ve been a shout, his eyes wide and red-rimmed with some private terror. And always his hand was either gripping that pistol or white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword, so that it seemed he was continually fighting duels in a Salisbury of his soul.

And that, Matthew thought, was the price the villain had to pay for his choices of profession and associates: unable to rest as normal people did, being constantly on guard, and shouting at phantoms that came reaching for him from the grave.

In that pitching coach, Matthew was fighting his own living nightmare of what he would do if Cardinal Black and the book of potions could not be found. Plus also a chemist to decipher Gentry’s formulas had to be found and taken back to Y Beautiful Bedd in time to bring Berry back from her path to mindless imbecility. This entire journey to London might be a waste of time, and then where to go? He had to trust Julian because he had no choice; if Julian had any kind of connection in London to move them forward in this quest, then Julian was the master of the moment, and Matthew reduced to a tag-along.

But … what if this was all for nothing? The more Matthew let fact and logic enforce themselves in his brain the more he feared it was a delusion to think he could regain the book of potions—if it could even be found—and return it and a chemist to Y Beautiful Bedd in time. They still had something in the vicinity of twenty days before the potion became immobile, but if he failed in this quest how could he ever forgive himself? And to return to New York after he had found Brazio Valeriani … would he take Berry’s broken shell back to her father, or would she be so far gone she imagined herself to be daughter to the Nashes and spend the rest of her life in that role?