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Academy, our long white robes constantly aflutter in the hill winds that slip through every crack in the old stone walls. We few are the most gifted young mages in the city, destined for positions of leadership and power. Anonymity is impossible. And with my height and red hair, I’m all too obviously Benedict’s daughter. Which is something of a handicap for a spy.
    My heart pounds impatiently as I stride through the peristyle. Lessons have begun and the courtyard is empty of students. Winter’s silence is broken only by the splashing of the central fountain, the rustling of ancient rosemary bushes. This place contains all the indifference of Time.
    A sudden sense of futility spurs me into a run. I dart to the stairs that scaffold the courtyard and sprint up the wooden treads. The top floor of the Academy is no longer used. The clay tiles paving the corridors are cracked and grimy. The frescos on the walls are faded, the painted figures ghostlike. For years there haven’t been enough students to fill these old classrooms. No one comes here except rats and mice, and the cats that hunt them. And Gerontius.
    At the far end of the eastern corridor is a door no different from any of the others. Except it is warded. As I lift my hand to knock, the latch clicks up and the door creaks open on rusted hinges.
    â€˜Come in, Zara. I had a premonition you would visit today.’
    â€˜Liar!’
    I know this room so well I hardly see it. But it’s suddenly important that these things exist: the faded tapestries covering the walls, the walnut desk, the battered leather armchair. Centre of all, Gerontius himself, sitting at his desk, a book open before him. Large and hairy – white beard framing a face red-veined from love of wine – and dressed in robes that went out of style three decades ago.
    Frightened as I am, a smile creeps over my face. ‘You are the biggest liar I’ve ever met. Your wards told you I was here. You’ve never had a premonition in your life.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t wager on that.’ Shrewd eyes stare at me through puffy lids. ‘But it doesn’t take magic to know you’re not here for a glass of wine and a chat. Sit down and tell me why you’ve come.’
    I pull a chair to face him and perch on its edge, fists clenched against panic. He’s so solid, so real, this old man. Surely he’s been here forever, one of Time’s own children. He was my mother’s favourite tutor. Long ago he gave me a message from the dead that changed my life. I owe him everything: who I am, my very survival. And, looking at his wrinkled, fat old face, I realise I love him. Tears burn my eyes and I blink them away. There’s no time for love – only fear.
    â€˜Pyramus,’ I say. ‘He knows something – he’s meeting with my father now. Has he been sniffing around?’
    The old man puffs out his cheeks; expels a long, low breath. For a moment he says nothing, then slowly nods. ‘Of course. When does he not?’
    â€˜There’s something, isn’t there?’ I see it in his eyes. ‘Tell me!’
    â€˜The less you know –’
    â€˜Stop protecting me! I’m not my mother. I’m Benedict’s spawn.’ I glare at him. ‘Never forget that. I don’t. Besides, I’m not a child.’
    â€˜No.’ He frowns at me like a sullen bullfrog. His hands are shaking. He’s frightened. Oh gods! I feel ice grip my bowels. It’s as bad as I feared.
    He nods slowly, his eyes on my face. ‘You’re right. And you’ll find out soon enough. One of the Knowledge Seekers disappeared two days ago. His guild and family don’t know where he is. He could have had enough and run for it. He might be dead in a ditch. Or he may have turned informer. Thing is, he was my contact. There was nothing to do but lie low and wait. But this news rather suggests I’m compromised. That’s it then