“When I escape,” Mars rumbled, “as I surely will, you will be my first priority. Even before I discover the whereabouts of the Witch of Endor, I will find you, and my vengeance will be terrible.”

“I’m scared,” Dee said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “The Witch has kept you locked in stone for millennia. You’ve not managed to shake off that curse yet. And you know that if anything happens to the Witch, then the spell dies with her, leaving you trapped like this forever.” The Magician moved around in front of the Elder again. “Perhaps I should have the Witch killed. Then you will never escape.”

There was a peculiar snuffling sound within the helmet, and it took the Magician a few moments to realize that the Elder was laughing. “You! Kill the Witch? I was called the God of War; my powers were terrible. And yet I could not kill her. If you move against her, Magician, she will do something horrible to you-and ensure that your agony lasts a millennium. She once reduced an entire Roman legion to figures about the size of her fingernail, and then strung them together on a silver wire so that she could wear them as a necklace. She kept them alive for centuries.” The Elder chuckled, a sound like grinding stone. “She used to collect amber paperweights; within each one was a person who had displeased her. So yes, go and attack the Witch! I am sure she will be particularly creative with your punishment.”

Dee crouched down before the Elder’s head. He laced the fingers of his hands together and stared into the smoking dark interior of the stone helmet. Two crimson dots glowed back at him. The Magician moved his fingers and the globe of yellow light came down and settled behind his head. He hoped the harsh light would blind Mars, but the two red orbs stared at him, unblinking. With a flick of his wrist, Dee dismissed the light, sending it bobbing close to the ceiling, where it softened and faded, painting the room in sepia. “I have come here to make you an offer,” Dee said after a long moment of silence.

“There is nothing you can offer me.”

“There is one thing,” Dee said confidently.

“Did you come of your own accord, or were you sent by your masters?” Mars asked.

“No one knows I am here.”

“Not even the Italian?”

Dee shrugged. “He may suspect, but there is nothing he can do.” He stopped and then waited. Dee was a great believer in silence. In his experience, people often spoke to fill the quiet.

“What do you want?” Mars asked eventually.