The Great Ellini (Book One of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Forty Five: La Langue Française

Oxford, 1881:

To Jack's astonishment, Ellini was released from the Station before nightfall, without even a charge of wasting police time. Alice didn't trust him to collect her on his own, so she sent Danvers with him as a kind of chaperone.

Jack liked Danvers on principle—how could you dislike anyone who annoyed Alice so much? And he was a cheerful man who was always willing to talk with you for half an hour and chase the demons of boredom from your head. But today he was clearly a little out of sorts. He kept clearing his throat, fidgeting with his cuffs, and asking Jack how he was feeling.

"Fine, Danvers," he said, after the fifth or sixth time of asking. "What's the matter with you?"

Danvers only shrugged, so Jack said, "Is the ice queen finally getting on your nerves?"

"Please don't talk about her that way, Jack. It's ungentlemanly."

"Ah, but you knew exactly who I was talking about, so it must've been accurate and ungentlemanly."

Danvers said nothing. They carried on in silence for a minute or two, Danvers continuing to fidget, and Jack whistling a tune which had been stuck in his head for the past few days.

He led Danvers through cobbled backstreets to get to the Station, simply because he was bored of the main roads. He knew every pub, every coffee house, every boutique, every donkey cart, barrow, and flower stall in that part of the city, and nothing was guaranteed to lower his spirits like a familiar view. It reminded him just how long he'd been in Oxford, and how long he was likely to remain there.

When they drew level with a tavern called the Blue Boar, Danvers stopped and turned to him, looking sheepish.

"Jack, do you know anything about magic?"

Jack got out a cigarette and lit it. "I know it's a bad idea. That stuff can turn you funny."

"I don't want any!" Danvers protested, looking affronted and guilty at the same time. "I'm trying to stop a spell—an awful one. I need someone who knows about these things!"

Jack tilted his head. "Well, I never thought I'd say this to anybody, but I think you want Myrrha."

"Myrrha?"

"She was Robin Crake's wife. I met her at Pandemonium."

Danvers' jaw dropped open. "But Robin Crake was a notorious murderer! Can his wife be a respectable woman?"

Jack hesitated for a second, to see if he was joking. Sometimes, when you were talking to Danvers, you began to suspect that no one could possibly be that naïve, and that surely he was a comedy genius with the world's greatest poker-face.

"No-o," he said at last. "She couldn't be respectable if she was the wife of the Archbishop of Canterbury. But you said you wanted someone who knew about magic. You know human flesh is supposed to react disastrously with magic spells? Well, Myrrha says she comes from such a long line of new-breeds that almost all the human's been bred out of her. That's why she hasn't blown herself up yet."

Danvers took a moment to fidget with his cuffs again, then cleared his throat. "Can you tell me how to find her?"

"I can. Just don't mention me when you get there. She doesn't like me very much."

"Why not?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "I might have done something stupid to get back at Robin once. Or twice. A night. For a month."

Once again, Danvers's mouth fell open, but there was a trace of admiration in his appalled expression now. "With Robin Crake's wife? How is it that you're not dead?"