The FBI have a set of secret time machines that we use to hide witnesses in the past.

Or, A death-dealing magician has come from the nineteenth century to kill an urchin.

Or, The world’s greatest scientist has been turned into a dead monkey by a wormhole.

It sounded pretty insane, whatever way you presented it. Better to wait until reinforcements arrived and hope that the agent in charge would have some previous knowledge of what was going on—otherwise Chevie was going to look guilty of something.

Riley emerged from the bedroom all dickied up in what looked like a school uniform, taken from Waldo’s stash. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and seemed surprised by his own features.

“That’s an excellent looking-glass, Agent. I never saw myself so clear. Look, my hair has both brown and black in it. There’s a turn-up for the books.”

The boy studied himself for a long moment, pulling at the skin of his pale face, sweeping his long dark hair back from his forehead. In the mirror he caught sight of the flat-screen television on its bracket.

“What is that device bolted to the wall? Is it a work of art, perhaps? A cloudy night, or some such? Toffs will buy any old rubbish if they believe it was scribbled by a master.”

“It’s a television, actually, Riley. Moving pictures on a screen.”

Riley turned to stare at the TV. “Moving pictures.” A thought struck him. “When I woke this morning it was the year of our Lord 1898. How far have I traveled?”

“More than a hundred years,” said Chevie softly.

Riley sank deep into a sofa, eyes downcast, and hugged himself.

“A hundred years? That far. Everyone I know is dead, and everything I know is gone.”

Chevie didn’t know what to say. She tried to imagine herself in the boy’s situation, but couldn’t. The shock must be incredible.

“I feel lost at sea,” Riley admitted. He pondered, then said, “But Garrick doesn’t. He is somehow different. Something has changed him. He has knowledge of your weapons and codes. Who’s to say he does not already have the codes for this gaff?”

Chevie sat on a low glass coffee table, facing the boy. “Garrick would have to be crazy to come here. He’s got all of London to get lost in. Why would he even bother tracking down a kid?”