We walked toward Nelson’s Column. Like the Dials, the Monument, and most other columns, it turned red or green depending on the security situation. Currently it was green, as were the fountains. A team of Gillies was on patrol, stationed at regular intervals down the Strand, probably having been ordered to back us up if necessary. They shot us guarded looks as we passed, but none of them moved. They all carried M4 carbines. The NVD didn’t broadcast their true purpose in the city, but everyone knew they were more than police. You didn’t approach a night Gilly with a complaint, not like you might an SVD officer. You approached only in dire circumstances, and never if you were voyant. Even amaurotics didn’t like to go near them. After all, they were unnaturals.

Carl kept flexing his fingers in his pockets. How could I get out of this without killing any of my gang? There must be some way I could show them who I was. I had to warn them, or they’d join me in the penal colony. I couldn’t let Nashira get them.

Trafalgar Square was artificially lit, but it was dark enough for us to remain inconspicuous. Situla, Amelia, and David were approaching from the other side. The three of them disappeared behind one of the four bronze lion statues that guarded Nelson’s Column. Warden leaned down to my level.

“Carter will arrive soon,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We must bide our time until she makes contact with the Seal. Do not allow yourselves to be captured under any circumstances.” Carl nodded. “Once the area is clear, the NVD will escort us back to the vehicle. You will cease and desist if the Seals leave the boundaries of I Cohort.”

I was starting to sweat. Seven Dials was well within I Cohort. If the gang tried to make it back to base, they could find themselves being tailed there.

Big Ben was two minutes from striking. Warden sent Carl to sit on the steps of the column—as a soothsayer, he was the least conspicuous. Once he was settled, Warden led me past the fountain to one of the statue plinths. There were seven of them, one for each of the people who had facilitated the establishment and continuation of Scion: Palmerston, Salisbury, Asquith, MacDonald, Zettler, Mayfield, Weaver. The seventh plinth always bore the likeness of the ruling Inquisitor, along with his or her motto.

Warden stopped behind a statue. He studied my masked face. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not know you would be silenced.”

I gave no sign that I’d heard him. I had to concentrate on breathing through my nose.

“Do not look yet. Carter is waiting at the base of the column, as planned.”

I didn’t want to do this. I wanted Antoinette to get out of here. I wanted to burst into her dreamscape, to make her run away.