The Twilight Prince

Chapter Forty: Finding the Fleet

That's when I realised why London was so quiet. The city really was asleep.

The teeming life of London at night lay tapped out on benches and at bus stops; curled up on paving stones; parked in cars and black London cabs. The buzz of the streetlights was the only sound, and the cast of their yellow-white glow turned the shadows of the buildings into an empty set, sinister in its stillness.

A city of millions, a city of life, rendered dormant by the falling walls and the Great Falcon of the Winds.

Now I understood why he hadn't used his power to put the soldiers in Colchester to sleep. He had been saving that power for this. This was what Éven did best. He was the Twilight Prince. The trickster god of lullabies. The lord of dreams and nightmares.

The effort of all he had done had left him exhausted as well. That meant that I was the only person awake in the whole city.

I weaved my way through the parked cars and sleeping Londoners, but my heart sank as I realised that Lancaster House would be just as asleep as everywhere else in the city, and sure enough, its dark windows glared down like hollow eyes as I approached.

All but the top floor.

There were lights on up there. That gave me a scrap of hope.

The front door of the building was locked. I tried to ram it, but the lock held, and so did the thick glass.A security guard sat asleep at his desk, but nothing would wake him. Nothing could wake anyone until Éven's spell passed.

I shook the door and thudded against it, but it was hopeless.

What else could I do? Run and hide? Go back to Éven? Stay here and hope that someone came to help me?

Give up?

The door buzzed. I jumped.

The bolt clicked. With a shaking hand, I pushed the door open.

There was nobody there except the sleeping guard, but one of the security cameras turned to fix its lens on me, its red light glowing like a sentinel. I stepped into the room, and heard the door bolt shut behind me.

"Hello, Mr Frazer," said a familiar voice. "How was your flight?"

It was the Admiral, but there was no sign of her. The sound of static crackled from behind the desk, and I found the radio strapped to the guard's belt.

"Come up to the Hydra briefing room," said the Admiral. "We need to talk. Bring the radio."

The fire door clicked open ahead of me.

* * *

Despite the late hour, Horseshoe headquarters had been busy when the spell hit, with everyone on standby for Colchester.

Most of the agents in the London office were now asleep at their desks, with their heads mashed against their keyboards. A few had curled up on the carpeted floor. One woman rested her head on a pile of papers, while two men lay propped against cabinets in the kitchen with a pot of fresh coffee on the counter behind them.

As I approached the Hydra briefing room, I found Grace curled up by the door. There was no point trying to wake her. I grabbed the handle and turned, but the door was locked.

A monitor on the outer wall of the briefing room flickered to life. On the screen were Dr Southey and three agents, all sitting around the Hydra briefing room table at their laptops with headsets looped over their ears. Southey was surrounded by the leather-bound notebooks that contained the research begun by Dr Dee. The Historia Arcana. The secret history.