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Mr. George mopped the beads of sweat off with his handkerchief. “How very thoughtful of you,” he said, with a distinct sarcastic undertone. “But there was no need for that. You’d better go straight up to Madame Rossini.”
“I’d be happy to go with Gwyneth,” said Gideon. “After yesterday’s events, it might be better for her not to be on her own.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. George. “There’s no reason to suppose there’s any danger for her, as long as she doesn’t travel too far back.”
“Quite true,” said Mr. Whitman.
“Like for instance to the year 1956?” asked Gideon slowly, looking Mr. George straight in the eyes. “I was leafing through the Annals this morning, and I must say the year 1956 certainly sounds peaceful enough. The reports of the men on guard say no unusual incidents more often than anything else. A report like that is music to our ears, wouldn’t you say?”
By now my heart was in my mouth. The way Gideon was acting, he must have found out what I’d really been doing yesterday. But how on earth could he know? After all, I’d only smelt of cigarette smoke, which might be suspicious but couldn’t possibly have told him what had really happened back in 1956.
Mr. George returned his glance without batting an eyelash. At the most, he looked slightly irritated. “That wasn’t a request, Gideon. Madame Rossini is waiting. Marley, you can go too.”
“Yes, Mr. George, sir,” muttered Mr. Marley. He almost saluted.
When the door had latched shut behind Marley, Mr. George, eyes flashing, looked at Gideon. Mr. Whitman, too, was looking at him in surprise.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Mr. George coolly.
“Why did you let Gwyneth land in the afternoon, in broad daylight? Isn’t that against the rules?” asked Gideon.
“Uh-oh,” said Xemerius.
“Gideon, it is not your—” Mr. Whitman began.
“It makes no difference what time of day or night she landed,” Mr. George interrupted him. “She traveled to a locked room in the cellars.”
“I was scared,” I said quickly, and perhaps my voice was a little too shrill. “I didn’t want to be alone in that cellar in the middle of the night, right beside the catacombs—”
Gideon turned his gaze briefly to me, raising one eyebrow again. “Ah, yes, you’re such a timid, shrinking little thing. I’d quite forgotten.” He laughed softly. “Nineteen fifty-six—that was the year when you became a member of the Lodge, wasn’t it, Mr. George? What a strange coincidence.”
Mr. George frowned.
“I don’t see what you’re getting at, Gideon,” said Mr. Whitman. “But I would suggest you go up to Madame Rossini now. Mr. George and I will look after Gwyneth.”
Gideon looked at me again. “Let me make the following suggestion: I get the fitting over with, and then you can simply send me on to join Gwyneth, never mind where or when. Then even if it’s night, she won’t have to be scared of anything.”
“Except you,” said Xemerius.
“You’ve already fulfilled your quota for today,” pointed out Mr. Whitman. “However, if Gwyneth is afraid…” He looked at me sympathetically.
I couldn’t bear him a grudge for that. I supposed that I really did look kind of terrified. My heart was still in my mouth, and I was totally unable to say anything.
“Well, I don’t mind if we do it that way,” said Mr. Whitman, shrugging. “Any objections, Thomas?”
Mr. George slowly shook his head, although he looked as if he wanted to do the opposite.
A smile of satisfaction spread over Gideon’s face, and he finally moved from his rigid position beside the door. “See you later, then,” he told me triumphantly. It sounded like a threat.
When the door closed behind him, Mr. Whitman sighed. “He’s been acting very strangely since he got that knock on the head, don’t you think, Thomas?”
“Definitely very strangely,” said Mr. George.
“Maybe we should talk to him, mention the tone to be taken with senior members of the Lodge,” said Mr. Whitman. “For his age, he is extremely … ah, well. He’s under great pressure. We have to take that into consideration.” He looked at me encouragingly. “Well, are you ready, Gwyneth?”
I stood up. “Yes,” I said. I was lying through my teeth.
The raven red, on ruby pinions winging
