The rare and expensive, almost irreplaceable glamour I had used for this particular ruse was capable of projecting the remote presence of Mayfield from her hiding place to anywhere in the world, so that she was not exposed to any danger. Back in the hidden room at the bar, she would by now have stepped out of the pentagram-and-circle motif I had chalked on the floor earlier, one of a number of preparatory steps I had taken ahead of invoking the magic.

By the way, there's nothing mystical or demonic about this particular marking. The reason for the pentagram is obvious enough: it's just a convenient way to get the, well, viewpoints of the magic evenly distributed around the circumference as well as clearly indicating the inner region within which Mayfield would have had to remain for the projection to remain convincing.

The point of reference for the glamour - the place where the apparition would materialise, which could have been simply placed on a floor - had been painted onto the sleeve of my coat. This allowed it to move with me so that, as long as Mayfield mimed holding onto my arm and walked in place, she would have appeared at my side.

Well executed, this kind of glamour is remarkably effective. Sounds and even smells are conveyed with great fidelity in both directions - this is important to creatures such as Goblins who have large and efficient ears and noses - and it was even able to convince a majority of other glamours that the projection was really real.

If one were to look very carefully, one might just be able to spot that Mayfield's feet didn't always touch the ground although the clicking of her heels on the stone flags was authentic enough. It seemed it had done its job, but now I had to make sure Cairnie didn't get away.

Cairnie's mad dash down the stairs had given him quite a head start, although I just made it to the ground floor in time to catch him leaving at speed though the main entrance. But I didn't want to catch him; not yet, at least. I wanted to find out the place he would go, the place he would feel safe, the place where I could find him when I worked out the best way of bringing him to justice. Probably something more subtle that wading in with guns blazing, although having him shoot at my client had made me understandably annoyed. As it happened, I wasn't going to get the chance. Obviously, I had to move cautiously. He could be lying in wait for me, drawing a bead on me from some hidden vantage-point across the piazza. I could do without a hole in the head today. Or ever.

By the time I made it to the imposing double doors of the Court of Probate and peered carefully around, looking left and right alternately. A movement caught my eye and I twisted around. I could just make out the black-garbed figure dodging into a narrow alley between two of the more imposing buildings to one side of the plaza. I gave chase, trying to take a path which kept me in diving distance of the various urns and statuary that littered the square, public furniture which would provide a degree of cover if this one turned back into a fire-fight.

I made it across the square without anybody taking a pot-shot at me. The passageway between the two buildings was narrow and dark - neither being features to dissuade a Goblin overmuch - and also very long and straight. I could see a long way - as far as the tiered flights of stone steps which worked its way up the far wall of the cavern and disappeared into the gloom. I couldn't see Cairnie anywhere. What I could also see was a considerable number of side entrances, any of which he could have ducked into.

Cairnie was good; very good, very fast and gifted with plenty of foresight. He must have scouted out this escape route before setting up his ambush inside the Court of Probate. I wondered just what he had been up to all those years; he must have had a lot of practice to be able to give me the slip so easily. He was good enough at this particular game to be a prime candidate for the person who had been stalking Mayfield and following me in recent days.

But Cairnie wasn't the only person following me around. Long experience has taught me that tails have a signature of their own: every one is different in some way. The exact techniques used and the skill with which they deploy them, the motion of shadows and the almost inaudible sounds of stealthy movements that they make provide a reliably unique signature.

Not even that subtlety was required in this case. Cairnie - if he was indeed one of them - was very good indeed; he was hard to shake off and even harder to keep up with, as I had discovered. But the other tail was a rank amateur: obvious to even the most untrained of watchers and easily shaken off with tricks from the beginner's handbook. I wondered who the other follower could be.

Part 51

Part 53