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Joan felt it too. They’d all brought weapons, but they hadn’t anticipated being attacked on arrival. How had they been? They were ten days early, and they’d deliberately chosen an obscure landing site, away from monster houses and way stations. They were supposed to spend the next few days scouting and planning.

‘What’s going on?’ Aaron’s voice shook.

‘It’s an ambush,’ Joan whispered. ‘But how did they know we’d be here? We’re early.’

A familiar voice rang out then, low and sweet. ‘No, Joan.’ Eleanor emerged from around the corner. ‘What you are is predictable.’

Even here, surrounded by the ocean-rot stink of the Thames, Eleanor was regal. She walked in unarmed, her golden head held high. She wore heavy gold earrings in an intricate pattern that made Joan think of religious jewellery of the medieval period. Her dress was reminiscent of the medieval too—long-sleeved with a straight cut, the same style she’d worn at Holland House.

The attackers had made a semicircle outside the alley with Eleanor at the centre of it. Joan could feel their collective powers, so present that the air itself seemed to crackle with static.

Who were they? Other members of the Court? Joan couldn’t see any family sigils.

Joan’s group had been coaxed by the fight to the mouth of the alley. It was a big enough space for them to stand in a semicircle of their own. Joan judged the distance to Eleanor. Ten paces, maybe. A few seconds to rush her. If they did that, though, they’d be shot.

‘Look at Tom Hathaway, wondering who betrayed you all,’ Eleanor said. She raised an eyebrow at Jamie, who paled visibly under her attention. ‘You married a man with such a suspicious mind,’ she said to him.

Tom’s jaw worked. ‘Take your eyes off him.’

‘Or what?’ Eleanor seemed mildly amused.

‘Or I’ll risk the bullets.’

Jamie put a hand on Tom’s arm, gripping so tightly that his knuckles whitened. After a long moment, Tom’s chin lowered very slightly in acknowledgement of Jamie’s unvoiced request.

A smile played over Eleanor’s mouth. She looked at them all, one by one, and Joan viscerally felt Tom’s rage as Eleanor’s gaze roved over Jamie. Then Aaron, Nick, Ruth. Joan was furious too. Eleanor had killed their families. She’d tortured Nick over and over. She’d tortured Jamie.

‘So who informed?’ Tom said tightly.

‘I didn’t need an informant,’ Eleanor said. ‘Not when Joan is so predictable.’

Why did she keep saying that? ‘What are you talking about?’ Joan said.

‘I told you,’ Eleanor said to her. ‘I know you, Joan. I know you better than you know yourself. I know how you think … I knew you’d be here, on the opposite bank, with a view of St Magnus. It was your idea to land here, wasn’t it?’

Joan stared at her, feeling suddenly off-balance. How could Eleanor have known that?

‘Did you like the clue I left you?’ Eleanor asked. ‘I had an Ali seal placed at the church. I knew you’d think it was a sign that the timeline was going to be changed there.’

Joan glanced at the others. They all looked as wary as she felt. She was starting to realise that this wasn’t an ambush—it was a trap. Eleanor had lured them here.

‘Now you’re wondering how I knew when you’d arrive,’ Eleanor said. ‘That was hardly a test at all. You and your cousin were trained by Dorothy Hunt herself. She has a rule of thumb: ten days’ minimum from concept to job. You’d have preferred longer, but you were afraid I’d change the timeline first.’

Joan swallowed. She and Ruth had figured out the schedule together, and the others had agreed. ‘Why did you bring us here?’

‘Don’t you remember this place?’ Eleanor said.

Dawn had broken, and the sky was brightening. Joan looked around. The arches of London Bridge were just visible to the west. ‘Do I remember it?’ She was familiar with the area, of course—Tower Bridge was just to the east. In a hundred years, the Shard would be built behind them.

‘I’m talking about London Bridge,’ Eleanor said. ‘Don’t you remember it?’

Joan felt a bloom of confusion. She could see it right now, the elegant arches rising and falling, serpent-like in the water.

‘I’m not talking about this bridge,’ Eleanor said impatiently. ‘This dull thing behind me. And certainly not the concrete monstrosity they’ll erect later in the century. I’m talking about the old bridge. The one that was here. Two centuries ago, the entrance was right here, where we’re standing.’ She turned her head, as if she could see the length of it now, stretching all the way to St Magnus.

Nick twitched on Aaron’s other side, tempted by the opportunity of Eleanor’s distraction. Joan was tempted too. But the guns still gave her pause, and apparently the same was true for Nick. He held himself back.

Eleanor had spoken with so much emotion that Joan found herself answering truthfully. ‘I’ve never travelled that far into the past.’ She’d seen illustrations of the old bridge, of course. It had been London’s longest-lasting bridge: built in the twelfth century and surviving until the mid-nineteenth. By 1923, though, all that really remained of it was the pedestrian archway at St Magnus.