Alex tried to answer. But all he could focus on was the robot’s reflection in the tarnished metal teapot, the way it stretched and bulged grotesquely, the way it kept grinning out at him from its dim, distorted dimension.

VI.

A GODDESS AMONG GARAGE CATS

The next afternoon Alex sat on a train, foggy after a sleepless night. Damp French fields slipped by outside. He could sense other people in the carriage, their comings and goings. None of it seemed real.

He traced his thumb over the toy robot in the pocket of his hoodie, closed his eyes, and tried reaching out to it with his thoughts. He let his body go slack, bobbing to the train’s rhythm, but kept his mind alert, tight as a drum skin, poised for the faintest shiver of response. Empty minutes went by, ending in nothing.

Alex abandoned the attempt. He couldn’t concentrate. His grandfather’s news had sent feelings rippling through him in too many different directions. Excitement, worry, hope, fear. Some emotions he couldn’t find labels for.

His mum had been reluctant about letting him skip school to go on a journey so soon after Easter break. But his grandfather had, in his words, “worked the old charm.”

“Marvelous luck,” the old man had whispered to Alex the previous night, after speaking alone with Alex’s mum and Carl in the kitchen. “Your mother has been very worried about you, young man. Shutting yourself away in your room, getting all moody. I told her not to worry: it’s just what happens when they become teenagers. But I suggested it might be an idea if you came along with me for a little trip. Get you out of yourself. Told her we were throwing a surprise birthday party for Harry.”

Now his grandfather sat spread across the seat opposite, hidden behind a newspaper. Occasionally he would lean forward to cross-reference his reading with a heap of other newspapers and clippings on the table. Sometimes he scribbled in a battered black notebook. Champagne fizzed quietly in a glass near to hand.

Alex could make out some of the scattered headlines, printed in French, German, Italian, one in English:

GERMAN GALLERY PARTIALLY DESTROYED

BY MYSTERY THIEVES

BAROQUE MASTERPIECE PAINTING STOLEN IN MUNICH

As his grandfather bent for his drink, he caught Alex’s gaze and tapped the newspaper. “Been following this at all? The stolen paintings?”

Alex frowned. He vaguely recalled something in the news. But that had happened in Britain. Cambridge, maybe. He shook his head.

“Harry and I have spent the past few months chasing this.” The old man put down the paper and gestured at the others. “There have been several pieces taken, all across Europe. No one else seems to have spotted any connection. It took me a few weeks to realize: It’s them, Alex. It’s them stealing these paintings.”

“The tall man?” Alex sat forward. “Are you certain?”