They were in the ticket hall at last, a pale light showing them the way out to street level. There were shouts and screams behind them. Sam tried not to imagine what was happening, but he silently thanked Rhiannon. He would owe her for the rest of his life.

They vaulted the ticket gates and headed for the stairs.

They ran up three steps at a time.

The daylight hit Sam like a blow. He was blinded. He staggered along, shielding his eyes from the glare. It was physically painful, and he had an instant headache. He was vaguely aware of a church and tall old buildings.

He felt the Kid grab him.

“Move it, slowpoke,” he said. Sam squinted at him— the Kid had produced a pair of sunglasses from somewhere, a big pink pair in the shape of love hearts. Sam resisted the urge to laugh. It was the Kid who should be laughing; at least he could see what he was doing. He dragged Sam down the wet pavement. Sam could just make out, through the narrowed slits of his eyelids, where he was. This was the City of London—where old and new London butted up against each other, modern skyscrapers shouldering up through Victorian buildings on a higgledy-piggledy medieval street layout. “We need to hurry, dog,” said the Kid.

Sam stumbled on, feeling the Kid tug him across the road. They came to a paved area in front of a massive building that looked like a Greek temple. Sam’s eyes were getting a little better. They weren’t hurting so much. He looked up at the statue of a man on a horse. Then something jerked him

back, and he was thrown against a wooden bench.

It was Nick.

“I’m going to slaughter you, little pigs,” he snarled. His dreadlocks were flapping around his head like the rays of the sun in a child’s drawing. His face, though, was twisted into a picture of rage. There was no sign of Rachel.

He held his shotgun in one hand, but before he could bring it around on Sam, the Kid threw himself at his arm, knocking it sideways and smashing the gun into the base of the statue. The gun exploded in Nick’s hand, and he dropped it, the barrel bent out of shape.

Nick didn’t waste any time, and pulled a knife out from inside his coat. He glanced at the Kid. He’d fallen heavily, the gun going off very close to his face. He looked stunned. Winded.