1194, Kirklees Priory, Yorkshire

Liam checked over his shoulder to ensure that none of the monks had followed them out of the priory gardens and into the field. They were safely over the brow and out of sight here.

It was as grey and dark, as cold and unwelcoming as yesterday morning. Mercifully, on cue, the air before them shimmered. He could see Maddy and Sal and that Englishman, Adam, and the dim lights of the archway twisting and undulating like a film of oil on rippling water.

They stepped through and moments later the three of them were standing back in the stuffy warmth of the archway. Liam rubbed his arms, relishing the heat. For the last twenty-four hours he’d been doing little more than shivering.

Adam was silently shaking his head and marvelling at their return.

‘Well?’ said Maddy.

‘Well, we found your Cabot, so we did,’ replied Liam. ‘But I could murder for a lovely cup o’ tea before I do anything else.’

‘Sure.’

‘And something to eat?’

Maddy looked at her watch. The day had almost gone. It was Monday mid-afternoon and most of the cafes and restaurants they’d been to were usually quiet at this time. ‘Sure, why not? You better get changed, though. You look like a bunch of Krishnas.’