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Monet’s painting tucked away in her pocket. ‘But Zach needs to get off that bus. And fast.’

FOURTEEN
     
    A t Charing Cross Station, the mail sacks had been loaded on to the train. Leaning from his carriage, the conductor whistled his signal to the driver in the engine at the front. The driver signalled the engineer, who fired up the boiler.
    A belch of black smoke followed by coughs of white steam erupted from the funnel, filling the station. The train’s pistons gasped and wheezed, its iron limbs spewing steam, chugging the train from the station, gathering speed as it emerged into the daylight, on to the bridge and over the River Thames.
    Zach waited until most of the passengers had climbed down from the top deck of the omnibus before he jumped, scraping his arms and legs as he landed on the struts of the railway bridge.
    You need to get to the footbridge fast, Zach. If the police climb to the top of the bus, they’ll see you. When you’ve made it, jump over and into the river. We’ll tear up the sketch as you’re falling and get us all out of here.
    That’s your best plan?
    Zach’s terror jarred Em’s mind.
    Trust me.
    ‘Aw, man,’ said Matt, shifting the jet ski closer to the bridge.
    An official-looking tug boat was steaming towards them.
    ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Matt, panicking.
    ‘Try to keep us steady for a few more minutes,’ said Em. Her heart was pounding at the audacity of what they were trying to do.
    Zach had climbed the struts of the bridge and disappeared. Em could no longer see him.
    She could hear the train whistle as it thundered into view, looking like an iron monster belching black smoke and white steam. The men chasing Zach were on the top of the bus, pointing and shouting.
    Em followed their gestures. Her heart froze. Zach had made a mistake. Instead of dropping down on to the footbridge, he had ended up on the train tracks. She could see him desperately trying to find a way off. The locomotive was charging at him, its bells and whistles screaming, the bridge vibrating with its weight and speed.
    ‘Matt!’ Em screamed. ‘Zach’s on the tracks!’
    On the bridge, Zach felt the locomotive before he saw its massive face rising up out of the steam on the crest of the bridge.
    Climb over the side and jump! Now, Zach!
    The train was charging closer. Zach’s heart was racing and his mouth was dry. Tears were gathering in his eyes, blurring his vision. He felt sick. He was going to die, and his dad would never know what had happened to him.
    This isn’t going to work, Em. The train’s too fast and the steam is going to burn me alive.
    Matt steadied the jet ski directly under Zach’s tiny figure on the bridge. Em was crying, feeling Zach’s terror. Behind the twins, the tug boat was almost upon them.
    Jump, Zach!
    You’re out of your mind! We’ll all die if I land on top of you.
    We’re not going to let you hit us. Matt thinks if we tear up the sketch as soon as you get close, we’ll be okay.
    Matt THINKS? This is so not a great plan, Em!
    ‘Jump!’ screamed Matt, even though he knew Zach couldn’t hear him.
    ‘Oh no! No!’ screamed Em in horror. ‘The train’s going to hit him! It’s too late!’
Jump!
    The engine was bearing down on Zach, a black beast spewing fire. And Zach was swallowed up in clouds of hissing steam and choking black smoke, the sounds of Em’s cries filling his head.

PART TWO
     

FIFTEEN
     
    The Monastery of Era Mina
    Middle Ages
     
    A fter taking his leave of Brother Renard, Cornelius and the Abbot, Solon made his way down to the water’s edge. Dusk was falling, and as if someone had already summoned it, the peryton was waiting on the shore, its wings folded back against its haunches, its silvery antlers and lustrous coat shimmering like crushed velvet and illuminating the spot with its enchanted brilliance. At the sound of Solon approaching, the beast lifted its head and stretched to its full height.
    Solon held out his hand in