“Oh, go on,” said the Armourer. “Give it a try. Ah! Here it is.” He held up a simple copper bracelet, breathed on it, polished it on his grubby coat sleeve, and then handed it to me. It looked very much like one of those bracelets people wear to ward off rheumatism. The Armourer grinned. “I’ve been trying to find someone to test it in the field for me. And given your current circumstances, being able to be suddenly somewhere else can only be an advantage.”

“He may be scary, but he has a point,” said Molly.

Reluctantly, I slipped the copper band round my wrist. “With my luck, it’ll probably turn my skin green. And you still haven’t offered me a decent weapon . . .”

“You don’t need a weapon,” said Molly. “You’ve got me.”

“She’s got a point,” said the Armourer.

Molly and I used the Merlin Glass to transport us to our first destination, that notorious drinking dive, neutral ground, and den of iniquity, the Wulfshead Club. All I had to do was tug at the Glass’s silver frame while muttering the right Words, and the mirror stretched like a piece of Silly Putty, until it was the size of a door. Our reflections vanished, replaced by a dim and gloomy view of our destination. Molly and I stepped through, and just like that we were standing in a familiar deserted back alley, deep in the heart of London’s Soho. The Glass snapped back to its usual size, and I put it away.

The Wulfshead Club is a well-known watering hole for all the strange and unusual people in the world. And for those just passing through . . . No one’s quite sure exactly where the club itself is located, and the very anonymous management likes to keep it that way, but there are authorised access points at locations all around the world, if you know where to look. And if your name’s on the approved list. This isn’t the kind of club where you can get in by bribing the doorman. Either you’re a member in good standing, or you’re dead.

I took a quick look around to make sure we were unobserved. The alley was empty, apart from general assorted garbage and a handful of rats with very strong stomachs. The only sound was the distant roar of passing traffic. It was barely early evening, but already the alley was heavy with shadows, dark and impenetrable. The stained brick walls were covered with the usual graffiti: DAGON SHALL RISE AGAIN!, VAMPIRES SUCK!, and the somewhat more worrying SUPERSEXUALS OF THE WORLD UNITE.