He worked for Scion. His life depended on not drawing attention to himself. A voyant in the employ of an anti-voyant government; they would have him beheaded if they discovered his unnaturalness. I had never understood why he risked the double life. It seemed like something only a mad or desperate man would do, but Nick didn’t strike me as either.

We stood on the platform, staying close to one another. It was busy at this time, when Londoners were on their way home from work – lost in their phones and data pads, unable to feel the spirits that wove and danced around them. Once I had been afraid of my clairvoyance, but today I treasured it. I could sense a world they never would. Their lives would always be half-empty.

In silent agreement, neither of us spoke on the train. Too many people. Too quiet. When we stepped off at the right station, we walked to the derelict church that locals called Bow Bells, which stood, pale and tragic, on Cheapside.

A short whip of a man with heavy jowls was waiting for us by a streetlamp outside it. His clothes looked like genuine eighteenth-century garments, complete with hose – he even wore a powdered wig, which was held back from his face with ribbon. His mouth was tightly pursed.

Beside him was an olive-skinned woman in a leather jacket, whose short auburn hair was a notch too bright to be natural. Her face was dominated by dark eyebrows, and she wore gold-framed shades. Nick stopped and drew in his breath when he saw her.

‘Who is that?’ I asked him.

‘Ognena Maria, mime-queen of this section. She must have found out that Didion made a deal with us.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Well, it’s not good. Her relationship with Didion Waite is … complicated. His auction house – the Juditheon – is in her section, but she gets nothing from it.’

‘But all voyant businesses have to give a cut to the local mime-lord or mime-queen.’

‘Exactly – the syndicate tax. But the Juditheon was granted immunity from it by the Underlord,’ he said. ‘It was unheard of, before Didion founded it, for anyone to auction spirits – they were just owned by whoever ruled the section they dwelled in, and they could be sold or traded privately at the black market. Didion worked out that organising a bidding could make a lot more money. He’s thought to steal spirits from other sections to auction, which is illegal, but Hector does nothing about it – so long as he gets his cut.’

I was beginning to see why Jaxon hated Didion so much. Probably because he was furious that he hadn’t come up with the idea of an auction house first.

‘That can’t have gone down well with Maria,’ I said.