“Remember,” said Nightingale, “you’ll hardly be in a position to haul me to safety if you allow yourself to be caught by whatever caught me.” He turned, hefted his cane in his right hand, and stepped forward. I paid out the rope as he gave the Cabinet of Larry a wide berth and headed for the curtained archway.

Somali ninja girl sidled over. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Want to help?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“You can take notes,” I said.

She pulled a face.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Oh,” she said and pulled out her notebook and pen.

Through a gap in the curtains I saw Nightingale stop and kneel down by the woman’s legs. “I’ve got a female cadaver here,” he called back and Somali ninja girl started writing. “Naked, midtwenties, Caucasian, no visible injuries or rigor. What looks like a silver pin has been pushed into her right temple; the skin seems to have healed around the wound so I’m guessing this is either a decorative piercing or possibly a thaumatological device.”

Somali ninja girl paused in her writing and looked at me.

“Put magical,” I whispered. “Magical device.”

Nightingale stood up and moved forward. Judging from the rope passing through my hands he went another ten feet before stopping.

“This area has been extensively modified quite recently,” said Nightingale, his voice surprisingly clear. “Metal cages have been fitted into what I can only assume were seating alcoves. Four on the left-hand side and four on my right. First cage on the left is empty, second contains the cadaver of … a monkey of some description, or ape, or possibly an adult male. The third cage contains what looks like the remains of a big cat, black fur, a panther or leopard at a guess. The last cage on the left is empty. I’m going to look at the right-hand cages now.”

I shifted position to the left so as to keep the rope in a straight line while Nightingale moved to the right.

“First cage on the right contains the cadaver of a Caucasian female with some degree of hybridization or surgical modification. The body is clothed in a tiger-striped leotard that has been altered to allow room for a tail—I can’t tell whether it’s a prosthetic or natural.”

Cat-girls, I thought queasily. Real cat-girls.

“Cages two and three are empty,” said Nightingale. “Thank God.”

He moved again and another couple of yards of rope played out through my hands.

“I’ve found a booby trap.” This time Nightingale had to raise his voice for it to reach us. “It looks like an improvised demon trap.”

I glanced at Somali ninja girl, who paused before writing the words demon trap.