So he went along with Fletcher, following him through roundabout ways, back alleys, under arches, behind buildings. He knew they were taking a circuitous path in order to reduce the chances of being followed. Indeed, Fletcher continually checked for exactly that. So did Barnabus. Through the long journey, neither of them said a word. Fletcher didn’t waste a single bit of energy with his usual strutting and sauntering. He was focused and solemn.

Fletcher entered a small dwelling at the back of an alleyway, closing the door behind them both. Barnabus knew London well, yet even he was lost, having taken so many turns. Down a narrow corridor they went, and through another door made to blend in perfectly with the weather-beaten wall it sat in. This safe house was better hidden than any of the ones Barnabus had.

The door closed heavily behind them. Fletcher lit a candle, having known precisely where to find both it and a match. They walked down the narrow corridor to a third door. Fletcher unlocked it and pushed it slowly open.

Lantern light burned inside.

“Is someone else here?” Barnabus asked.

“Apparently.” Fletcher met his eye. “Whoever it is had to’ve been sent by the Dread Master and had to’ve been given a key.”

They stepped inside.

Stone sat in a chair on the far side, watching as they entered. Stone. That made perfect sense. If he was indeed the Dread Master, he could easily enter a hiding place known only to that man.

Stone spoke to Fletcher. “Is Doc needing to go invisible?”

Fletcher nodded. “The Mastiff’s called for his head. Best we know where he is and that he’s safe.”

“There’s certainly room enough,” Stone said. “We’ll need food brought, though. The larder’s nearly empty.”

Fletcher’s eyes darted to Barnabus, then quickly settled on Stone. “Why has the Dread Master plopped you here?”

A question meant to misdirect Barnabus’s possible suspicions, perhaps?

“To act as guard,” Stone said.

“Guard for what?” Fletcher asked.

“Not what. Whom.” Stone rose and crossed to a secretary desk pushed up against the far wall. He pulled open a drawer and removed a sealed letter, which he handed to Fletcher. “This has been waiting for you, should you arrive here.”

“The Dread Master’s stationery.” He broke the seal and read silently.

Barnabus heard footsteps approaching and turned toward the sound, wondering who else was taking refuge here. A moment later, she stepped into the room.

“Gemma,” he whispered, hearing his own voice emerge with the inflection of a prayer.

She rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Oh, Gemma. Gemma.”

She held tightly to him, as tightly as he held her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. “No one has seen you. No one knew where you were. I feared your uncle had caught up to you.”