ravelling to Poland was not a straightforward task with monsters in the group. Dusk had to be kept under close scrutiny during the night, Annis had to be kept out of the sun during the day, and Springheeled Jack had to be hidden from view at all times. When Tanith had grabbed the bow, they had sixty-four hours until the dagger lost its charge and Johann Starke spread the word about the forgeries. Loads of time, she’d figured. But now those hours had trickled away until there were only twenty-five left with two more weapons to go – and Dexter Vex had a bloody jet plane at his disposal.

Tanith could practically feel him breathing down her neck, and she was starting to get nervous. Failure at this point could have disastrous consequences for Darquesse, and that wonderful future that Tanith had seen, of blood and death and desolation, could crumble to nothing before it even had a chance to spring into existence.

But she couldn’t lose hope. The Remnant had gifted her with many things, wisdom and memories and skills beyond her experience, but she’d brought a lot to the table as well. A keen sense of style, a wicked sense of humour, a fine edge of determination, and a whole heap of optimism. She was Tanith Low, for God’s sake. If anyone could pull this off, it was going to be her.

Of course, she’d probably have a runny nose when she did it. It was cold in Poland. She hadn’t spent an awful lot of time there over the years, but she knew it wasn’t always as cold as this. The last time she was there the sun had been shining and she’d had to resist the urge to go skinny-dipping.

She laid the bike on to its kickstand. Hanging the helmet off one of the handlebars, she wrapped her coat round herself and made her way down to the beach. No skinny-dipping today, she reckoned. The sea churned against the pebbled beach and a light rain spat down at her. She walked to the rocks and after a few minutes found the cave.

“Hello,” she called. “Do you have a minute? I’d like a chat.”

The sound of the wind through the cave was like a great beast yawning.

“Crab,” she called. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”

A few moments later, a man emerged from the darkness. He looked to be in his seventies, with long grey hair and a long grey beard that hung in matted clumps. He held a long spear in his right hand. Despite the cold he was wearing only a loincloth.

“It’s OK,” Tanith told him, “I’ll wait here until you put on some trousers.”

“Why have you come?” said the old man in perfect English, seemingly unaware that his loincloth was more loin than cloth.