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‘Aubrey,’ the Prince said, then he turned away, upset. ‘You were right,’ he said to Caroline. ‘I didn’t believe it when you said that Aubrey was coming to assassinate me, but you were right.’
    Assassinate the Crown Prince? To Aubrey, it sounded like a fine idea, a natural and inevitable thing. If only he could get free from George’s grip, he was sure he could wrestle the pistol away from Sommers.
    He struggled, then howled again when Sommers hurried Prince Albert away, shutting the door behind them. That was wrong, so wrong that Aubrey felt ill, his stomach a curdled mass inside him. He threw himself from side to side, but George held fast.
    â€˜Steady, George,’ Caroline said.
    Caroline drew aside Aubrey’s jacket. With her other hand, she held up a knife, right in front of Aubrey’s eyes. It was small, barely as long as her hand, with a handle of mother-of-pearl and a pointed blade that looked sharp enough to slice steel.
    She caught his gaze and held it evenly. Her eyes were calm, grey and icily determined. ‘I can do this while you’re moving. But it’s probably better if you don’t.’
    Aubrey went to answer, but the knife flashed before anything intelligible made its way to his lips.
    He looked down. His shirt gaped. Caroline picked the last button from its thread and let it drop on the floor to join its mates.
    The Beccaria Cage lay on Aubrey’s bare chest. He suddenly realised that it was heavy, pressing on his skin hard enough to leave a red mark. It seemed heavier. It was warm, too, but was that simply through contact with his skin?
    The knife had disappeared from Caroline’s hand. She seized the Beccaria Cage and yanked.
    The chain parted. Aubrey’s eyes flew open wide, then his head spun, the entire room shuddered, and all existence twisted, wrenched, swirled away.

Four
    Some time later, Aubrey became aware that he was in a room that resembled the drawing room at the Palace. Caroline and George were there, and the furniture was the same, so he conceded that it could possibly, actually be the Palace drawing room. At a pinch.
    Even sitting as he was on a plush, overstuffed armchair, his legs felt like tubes of soggy clay. His skin was clammy. His chest hurt, but all this physical discomfort was the least of his concern.
    He’d tried to shoot Bertie.
    The enormity of what he’d nearly done struck him hard. Bertie, his friend, the heir to the throne of Albion? What had he been thinking? He wanted to shudder, but he wasn’t quite capable of it yet.
    He worked his mouth and tried to apologise, to explain the strange state he’d been in, but all he could manage was something that sounded like, ‘Bleurgh.’
    Caroline was sitting opposite, her hands clutched in her lap, and she was studying him closely. Blearily, he noticed that three armed guardsmen stood outside the window behind her. All of them were staring at him fixedly. He worked his jaw, then his mouth, until he was a little more confident. ‘Were they there?’ he croaked. ‘All the time?’
    George handed him a glass of water. ‘The prince wasn’t happy about it, but Sommers insisted. He swore they were all crack shots and would only maim you. If things went wrong.’
    Aubrey nodded, as if he found that reassuring. It was really only because he found it easier than talking.
    â€˜It was the Prince who insisted that none of the agencies need be called,’ Caroline said. She seemed balanced between anger and concern, and not quite trusting herself either way. ‘Not the police, not the Special Services, not the Magisterium.’
    â€˜Come with us, old man,’ George said. ‘I think everyone except the Prince will be happy when you’re well away from here.’
    A stony-faced guardsman chauffeured them in a discreet Charlesworth motorcar. He drove as if it were a tank, ignoring most of the other traffic about.