The alchemists stormed toward Warren from either end of the corridor, brandishing spiral-headed croziers and speaking in the strong terms of nervous drudges. “You, there! You’re coming with us!” the foremost said. Tightening his necktie like a man preparing for court, Warren discreetly stuffed Ms. Eynon’s note into his shirt. Then he raised his hands, presenting a man eager to surrender. In answer, a pair of Cholmondeley’s guards roughly grasped his arms. When Warren looked again to Ms. Eynon, she seemed as distant as a steeple.
