“But are you certain that she would survive the Twilight?” asked Olga. “She’s an Absolute Enchantress. All the Power in the world flows through her. Are you sure that Nadya can live at all without it?”

“Bastards,” I said. “You’re all such bastards . . .”

Olga simply shrugged, as if to say: Think what you like.

“Contact the London Day Watch, will you?” I asked her. “They need to visit Erasmus’s house. His will is lying on the kitchen table, in a crocodile-skin briefcase.”

“Where are you going?” Olga shouted after me.

“Home. Consider me on leave.” As I closed the door, I couldn’t resist adding: “Indefinitely.”

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

ONE BAD THING ABOUT AN ORDINARY CITY FLAT IS THAT IT’S hard to burn a large object in it. Especially if the object’s magical, which means that in order to avoid unpleasant consequences it’s best to burn it with ordinary fire.

Now, if only I’d had a flat with a fireplace in it! Then I’d have tossed the wooden chalice into the blazing heap of wood, closed down the damper of the hearth a bit, and watched as the prophecy for which Erasmus had died disappeared forever.

But just what was this prophecy? And why had Arina and I both got away scot-free with listening to Kesha’s prophecy, which the Tiger had wanted so badly to prevent that he had even spoken in human language? And in any case, it was strange, preposterous: not a prophecy, but an information bulletin—it could have been included in Wikipedia . . .

I glanced round the balcony. Maybe I could light a little fire here? I could handle the fire brigade if I had to . . .

But we had a good balcony, glassed-in, with an insulated wood-laminate floor. Svetlana would bite my head off if a burnt spot appeared on that wood. If only there had been some ceramic tiles left over after the renovation work . . . but we’d used up every last one.

After I’d wasted enough time trying to come up with something, I went back into the flat, through into the kitchen, opened the oven and took out the steel baking tray. That would do the job.

But then, why go back out onto the balcony? Erasmus’s wooden chalice wasn’t very big, it fit into the oven perfectly.

I held it in my hands again for a moment. It was made very precisely, lovingly. Perhaps not with any special skill, but with genuine care and application.

So there had been two of them. It was a pity to do this, of course. Quite apart from the cunningly concealed magical filling, the chalice was interesting in its own right. An ancient relic . . .

But the prophecy concealed in the chalices had already killed its owner.