Achilleus was sitting alone in the palace kitchen, eating a big bowl of spaghetti with tomato sauce. It was warm in here and quiet. He wanted a little time to himself before the fight, to get his act together. He was loading up on carbs, like a runner before a marathon. He’d put on a tough front upstairs, put on his macho hat, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Just John was one mean bugger.

There was a knock on the door and he glanced up from his bowl.

It was Jester. He was carrying a small round shield.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, coming into the kitchen.

“You’ve found me.”

“Yeah.” Jester dropped the shield on the table with a clatter.

“Thought this might be useful,” he said. “It’s ceremonial, really, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

Achilleus got up from the table and picked up the shield. It was made of lightweight steel, backed with wood and leather. He slipped his arm through the strap and held on to the grip.

“Yeah,” he said, experimenting, moving his arm, raising and lowering the shield. “Feels good. Coulda used one of these before.”

Jester sat down. “You really think you can win?”

“I gotta think that, dog, or I ain’t got no chance.”

“I could see if I could find you a piece of armor, or something,” said Jester.

“Nah,” said Achilleus, taking the shield off and returning to his dinner. “It’d only slow me down. Wouldn’t be used to it. I’m all right like this.”

He had changed into a fighting outfit. Sweatshirt and pants. Sneakers. A marked contrast to Jester in his patchwork coat. What was with that coat, anyway? Achilleus had been meaning to ask, and now might be his last chance to find out.

“Tell me something, Mister Magic,” he said.

“What?”

“David goes around in that nasty suit, everyone else here is kind of preppy, like they’re all at private school or something. But not you, you wear that tatty old coat. What’s that all about?”

“I used to live in Notting Hill,” said Jester. “West London.”

“Ritzy.”

“I suppose so. Anyway, when it happened, what you call the disaster—”

“Ain’t it that? What do you call it?”

“I don’t call it anything,” said Jester. “It’s what it is. It happened. So, as I was saying, I ended up in this big house. Massive place. With a load of other kids. Mostly friends to start with, but more and more joined us. It was easy back then. There were loads of big houses around there. A lot of rich people. They’d hoarded stuff like you wouldn’t believe. It was rich pickings at first. We thought we had it made. But then ...”

“Grown-ups.”