We make our way through the filth of the narrow alleys as hastily as we are able. The district of Bluegate Fields falls considerably short of the bucolic image conjured up by its name. The houses lean against each other like so many listing tombstones. Some are terraced rows with mean windows, but most are single story, little more than shacks, with swaybacked and makeshift roofs, and doors that open directly onto the muck and muddle of the unlit passageways and streets. As we draw closer to the river there are also tall, dark brick buildings, some as high as four floors, built as warehouses for merchandise brought up and down the Thames. Such is the gloom, that had Withers not had the foresight, born of experience, to bring a lamp, our progress would have been both halting and hazardous. Drunken men and women lurch from the shadows, calling abuse or suggesting ways in which they might assist one another. I pay them no heed but stride on, lifting my cape to avoid the worst of the mire. Withers is a large man, and his size and purposeful step go some way to warding off unwanted attention. I know, however, that the fact we are able to pass unmolested is due mainly to the guardian presence I summoned to accompany us. The protection I receive from the spirits who answered my call for help is not visible, not to those who are not witches. Should a witch be walking in Bluegate Fields this night, however, and happen to glance in the direction of the slender woman in the deep green cloak with her sturdy butler, they would clearly see the three long-dead soldiers marching, swords drawn, at my side. They would notice their feathered hats and short, silk-lined capes which marked them out as Royalists fallen in a war over two centuries earlier. And they would have registered the fierce and determined expressions which told of their loyalty to the young witch they now serve. The ordinary folk who reside alongside Mr. Chow Li see none of this. It is not what they see that makes them keep their distance and let us pass, it is what they feel. An indescribable sense that something stands between themselves and the curiously out of place woman in their midst. Something bold and dangerous. Something they had best keep away from.

We will stay close, mistress. Have no fear.

Thank you, my loyal Cavaliers.