‘The Fugue can't stay hidden much longer; said Immacolata. ‘As soon as it's moved it creates vibrations. It can't help itself. So much life, pressed into such a hideway.'

‘And do you feel any of these... vibrations?' said Shadwell, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up.

Immacolata shook her head. ‘No. Not yet. But we should be ready.'

Shadwell picked up his jacket, and slipped it on. The fining shimmered, casting filaments of seduction across the room. By their momentary brightness he caught sight of the Magdalene and the Hag. The old woman covered her eyes against the spillage from the jacket, fearful of its power. The Magdalena did not concern herself; her lids had long ago been sewn closed over sockets blind from birth.

‘When the movements begin it may take an hour or two to pin-point the location; said Immacolata.

‘An hour?' Shadwell replied. The pursuit that had finally led them here seemed today to have been a lifetime long ‘I can wait an hour.'

WHO MOVED THE GROUND?

The birds did not stop their spiralling over the city as Cal approached. For every one that flew off, another three or four joined the throng.

The phenomenon had not gone unnoticed. People stood on the pavement and on doorsteps, hands shading their eyes from the glare of the sky, and stared heavenwards. Opinions were everywhere ventured as to the reason for this congregation. Cal didn't stop to offer his, but threaded his way through the maze of streets, on occasion having to double back and find a new route, but by degrees getting closer to the hub.

And now, as he approached, it became apparent that his first theory had been incorrect.