“Right now,” Josh said, stepping into the room, concentrating hard on keeping his voice even and preventing it from trembling, “just about everything that happens concerns us.” He looked directly at the Alchemyst. “You’ve nearly killed us. You’ve changed our lives ir… irev… irevo…”

“Irrevocably,” Sophie said.

“Irrevocably,” Josh said. “And if you two have a problem, then it’s our problem and we need to know about it.”

Sophie put her hand on Josh’s shoulder and squeezed encouragingly.

Palamedes grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. “The boy has spirit. I like that.”

Nicholas’s face was an impassive mask, but his pale eyes were clouded. A vein throbbed on his forehead. Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded toward Palamedes. “If you must know, then, I have no argument with the Saracen Knight.” He moved his head slightly, indicating the smaller man in the stained overalls, who was now standing before an open fridge, pulling out bags of fruit. “I have a problem with this man. A major problem.”

Shakespeare ignored him. “What will you have to eat?” he asked, looking at the twins. “I know you do not want any meat, but we have plenty of fruit, fresh this morning. And Palamedes picked up some nice fish in Billingsgate Fish Market earlier.” He dumped several bags of fruit into the sink, then turned the taps on full. Water thundered into the metal sink.

“Just the fruit,” Sophie said.

Palamedes looked at the twins. “This dispute has nothing to do with you,” he said. “It goes back centuries. But yes, I agree that you are affected by it. We all are.” He turned back to the Alchemyst. “If we are to survive, then we-all of us-must put aside old arguments, old habits. However,” he rumbled, “let me suggest that we discuss this after we eat.”

“We want some answers now,” Josh said. “We’re tired of being treated like children.”

The knight bowed and looked at the Alchemyst. “They have a right to answers.”

Nicholas Flamel rubbed his hands against his face. There were bruise-colored bags under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his forehead had deepened. Sophie noticed that tiny spots had started to appear on the backs of his hands. The Alchemyst had said that he would age at the rate of at least a year for every day that passed, but she thought he looked at least ten years older than he had a week ago. “Before we go any further,” Nicholas said, his French accent more evident now that he was tired, “I must admit I am uncomfortable discussing anything in front of…” He raised his head and looked at Shakespeare. “That man.”

“But why?” Sophie asked, frustrated. She pulled out a wooden chair and collapsed into it. Josh took the chair beside her. The knight remained standing a moment longer, then he too sat. Only the Alchemyst and the Bard still stood.