Perhaps this is not a brilliant plan, thought Chevie, but it was too late, as Riley had already bolted for the stairs. Luckily the boy kept himself low and out of Garrick’s sight line.

He won’t have a restricted sight line for long, she realized. Once he gets that leg free, we’re as good as dead.

Chevie raced after Riley, feeling the gunfire impact the wall over her head before she heard it. They ran pell-mell down the stairs, barely managing to stay upright in their haste. The staircase was narrow and dim, but with familiar-looking thick power lines running along the skirting board.

No, thought Chevie. No, no, no.

The steps led down to a small basement. Chevie and Riley tumbled into the room, instinctively searching for an exit. There was none. The only natural light came from barred windows at pavement level. The legs of shadowy pedestrians threw stick shadows on the wall.

Chevie actually stamped her foot. “No way out! I don’t believe it.”

Riley patted the walls with his palms, hoping for a secret passage.

Chevie cast around the room, searching for something, anything, that could be of use to them.

Riley pointed to a blocky shape under a tarp in the corner. “I would wager that if we remove that waterproof sheet...”

“I know what it is!” shouted Chevie. “I know. But...”

Riley glanced anxiously toward the stairwell. Victorian oaths and grumbling echoed from above.

“My master is not happy.”

“I gathered that.”

“He is coming.”

Chevie paced a little. “Yeah, I know. Death the magician is coming.”

“Should I zip it?”

“Yeah... No.” Chevie balled her fists in frustration. “I’m not even a proper agent, kid. I was supposed to keep an ear open in the lunch hall, that’s it. No one ever said anything about time travel.” Chevie slapped her head. “This is insane. I can’t do this.”

A shot smashed into the bannisters, then there was a guttural roar—no words, simply emotion.

Riley twisted a splintered banister free, brandishing it like a stake.

“Chevie. I’ll guard the stairs, perhaps even get a lucky blow in. You must activate the machinery.”

Chevie knew the boy was right. She dragged the tarp, revealing the WARP pod underneath.

From upstairs: “Riley! You broke my leg.”

“That ain’t a happy man,” said Riley, pointing with his makeshift stake.

He grabbed another corner of the tarp with his free hand, and soon the pod was uncovered. “Make it work, Chevie.”

Riley decided to get the show on the road himself and began pounding buttons on the computers rigged up to the pod.

“No, no,” said Chevie, elbowing him out of the way. “You need this.” She took the Timekey from around her neck and slotted it into a computer drive on a console that was smaller than the one in Bedford Square.