They see her speaking to Grendel later. It is easy that evening to catch him alone: Lady Naylor has been much preoccupied and has kept to her room. It is a whispered conversation, private, at the end of the corridor; Livia holding her holy man’s hand. His face is so kindly, so prone to blushes and nervous smiles that it is only by the tilt of Livia’s chin they can guess at the urgency of their talk.

“Will he help us?” Thomas asks her bluntly when she returns.

“Of course he will!”

“And he won’t—”

“He gave his word,” she barks, storming off, leaving both Thomas and Charlie in the wake of her Smoke. They sniff it like the lovelorn pups they are.

“Pissy,” Thomas decides.

“But she’s pretty when she is.”

And for a moment they forget, almost, that they are to fight a duel for the favours of her heart.

ф

They decide on leaving early that night, but deep in the flat they can hear Lady Naylor stir and move about, so they wait until the moon is gone and the night made blacker by rain. The plan is a compromise of sorts, between Livia’s trust and the boys’ suspicion. Thomas will sneak into the room in which the Grendels sleep and see whether he can find the key to the child’s cell. If not, Livia will wake their host and remind him of his promise.

“He will help us without fail.”

But in the end there is no need to wake Grendel. When they step into the hallway, they see his wife’s shadow, sitting alone in the kitchen, the faint glow of embers in the stove behind her back. Not for the first time Charlie notes their ignorance of her Christian name. She remains, to them, a stranger. They start, crowd around her, assault her with whispers.

“Quiet,” they hiss. “Don’t be alarmed.”

And: “We need to speak to Grendel. He must unlock the child’s door.”

The angel’s wife is stony-faced. She seeks out Livia’s form amongst them, shorter than the boys’ and framed by pale hair.

“I know. He told me you had asked him. He told me everything.” The woman rises, pushes through them, pulls something out the pocket of her skirt. “There is no need to wake him. I have the key.”

The door squeaks when she swings it open for them. Charlie winces, but nothing stirs in Lady Naylor’s room across.

“Quick now,” says Thomas. “The child must not call out.”

They rush forward, into darkness, find the blankets, the bunk. Behind them, the door falls back into its frame, the lock snaps.

“I’m sorry,” says Mrs. Grendel. Her voice is dull, muffled by wood, by distance. “He said you mustn’t follow. They’ll be back before long.”

Around them the room is empty, the child long gone.

CAESAR

CAESAR