St Thomas Hospital Garden lay between the hospital and the Thames. A square of lawn with a circular pool at the heart of it, and an angular abstract fountain at the heart of that. This was not one of those oddly private public spaces that London seemed to specialise in. It was flat and open and overlooked by the hospital, but strangely quiet, as if some force was keeping the din of city life at bay. Number Seven stood against the wall, overlooking the Thames footpath and the river, as far from the pool and its threatening centrepiece as possible.

People kept entering the park in groups of two or three and milling around. If he hadn’t been paying attention he would have taken them for tourists because they lacked the hurried, depressed, disillusioned air of real Londoners. Each one was wearing a lanyard bearing a Department Y ID around their neck.

Sorrow stood on the grass on the opposite side of the pool surrounded by a knot of strangers, hospital staff, people in uniforms, the odd office worker. People came and went but there were always a couple of them standing by her. From the body language, from the head tilts and the pats on the shoulder, they seemed to be there to give encouragement.

Five and Six arrived, strapped to gurneys and pushed to meet Sorrow. Six looked fine. Five looked terrible. He seemed diminished and strangely naked without his glasses. The poison had drawn all of the colour out of him. His rich brown skin had become greyish.

Bernard White arrived with the familiar raven in a cage. He greeted several of the milling crowd and then made his way to the group clustered around Five and Six. He opened the cage but the bird seemed reluctant. He tilted the cage and shook it and the bird slid out and jumped onto Five’s shoulder, making him look like a monochrome pirate.

Bernard melted into the milling crowd along with most of the people who’d been standing around Five and Six. Alex and Sorrow pushed the two gurneys together. Six reached out and took hold of Five’s hand.

The crowd split into two groups. The smaller group were all wearing uniforms of some sort, security guards, high visibility jackets, military and one police officer. They headed for the entrances to the park. The remaining twenty or so people formed a rough circle with the fountain at the centre. Sorrow, Five and Six remained inside the circle.

Alex stepped backwards into the circle taking the hand of Bernard on one side and a bearded man wearing battered corduroy and tweed on the other.

Seven felt a presence at his side. He half turned and saw Cepha, once more dressed entirely in black as if in mourning. 'Not joining in?' he said.

'I’m afraid that I represent something of a narrative clash with the old Gods. Opening the way is hard enough without that distraction. I probably shouldn’t be standing this close,' she said. 'May I take your arm?'

Seven stuck his elbow out and Cepha put her arm around his.

In the centre of the circle Sorrow put her hands on the heads of Five and Six. She looked up at the sky and, as one, the people of the circle tilted their heads back in imitation.

'Why do we need the raven?' said Seven.

'It’s a psychopomp. Do you know the word?' said Cepha.

'From Greek mythology? The guide of souls to the afterlife?' he said.

'Not just the afterlife. They can guide the soul across any divide and beyond any threshold.'

'Can we trust it?'

'That depends on your friend, Number Five. If he can win its trust then it will be worthy of his.'

'He can be charming but I’m not sure anyone would call him trustworthy,' said Seven.

There was an unearthly buzzing noise. It began just on the edge of hearing but grew louder until Seven realised that the people in the circle were humming.

Sorrow shucked off her jacket and dropped it. She flexed her shoulders and turned her head from side to side. Seven was sure that her unseen wings were flexing too. All the colour drained out of her skin revealing the faint blue tracery of the veins beneath. Her eyes lightened to a bright yellow. Her hair stood up like a crest.

Seven willed himself not to react to the change. He was painfully aware of Sorrow’s boss holding tightly to his arm.

Suddenly the sky above the grove was black with carrion birds. They circled in a twisting gyre above the park. One by one they descended to perch on the trees, in the flower beds, on the lip of the fountain, and on Sorrow.

The fat raven on Five’s shoulder flinched whenever one came near until Sorrow flicked it on the beak with one finger and said, 'Relax, idiot, you’re under my protection. I’ve called them here to help you.'

And then, suddenly, it was over. The buzzing noise stopped. The raven on Five’s shoulder vanished. The other birds left in ones and twos. The circle broke up and the people left, presumably to go back to whatever their day jobs were.

Five and Six were still in the beds but Six was now unconscious and both of them looked less present than they had just moments before.

'That’s it?' said Seven.

'Real magic almost always looks less impressive than you’d think,' said Cepha. 'Five and Six have gone to Avalon in every respect except the physical one. Given the conditions of their bodies they’re probably better off without them.'

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Seven glared at her. He wanted her to stop talking like that about Five and Six. He wanted her to go away before she sensed how alarmed he was.

She smiled up at him but still her eyes were sad. She squeezed his arm. 'I wish you would trust us,' she said. She let go. 'I shall leave you to your thoughts.'

Seven looked over at Sorrow, picking up her jacket. He was thinking about a yellow eyed woman calling every raven in London to the west. He really didn’t want to call it in but he knew he was going to. He began a secure text on his SIS phone.

#

Number Six was falling.

Darkness surrounded him. Panic clawed at his throat and tried to climb out of his mouth in a scream. He swallowed it. He refused to give it the satisfaction. Either he was dreaming or he was fucked and screaming about it wasn’t going to help.

Something smacked against his ribs. It didn’t hit him hard enough to be the ground and he was still falling. The thing hit him again, slightly harder.

'Get up.' It was the voice of Number Five.

'I’m falling,' said Six.

'No you’re not. It’s just vertigo. It’ll pass.'

Another impact to the ribs. 'Are you kicking me?'

'Yes. Now get up,' said Five.

Working on the assumption that he was still face down, Six pushed at the darkness in front of his face. He tried to remember how getting up from prone worked. Should he start by getting to his knees? 'This would be a lot easier if you could just indicate the direction of up.'

He felt a hand on his shoulder, then another on his wrist, and suddenly there was light and gravity. Six staggered to his feet and tried to look around but everything had come back far too bright. He stood there, leaning on Five, dizzy and blinking.

'Do you know what I’m supposed to do with this fucking raven? It won’t leave me alone,' said Five.

'I know this. Alex explained it to me. Give me a second to get it straight in my head.' Six rubbed at his eyes hoping that if he could just get them working properly he’d be able to concentrate. He could hear Five grinding his teeth in frustration. 'Don’t let go of the bird.'

'Why not?' said Five.

'It’s your psychopomp.'

'I’m not dead. Why do I need a psychopomp?' said Five. 'I’m not dead am I?'

'You’re not dead. It’s your guide from one… place to another? I don’t know if that’s the right word. From London to Avalon.'

'Or whatever this place is actually called,' said Five.

'Avalon is close enough to the truth,' said a harsh and unfamiliar voice.

'You’re supposed to give it a name,' said Six. It’s supposed to help you find whatever it is we’re looking for. If it’s helpful enough it gets to keep the name.' His eyes were improving. He could see blurry shapes.

'See? Exactly what I told you,' said the unfamiliar voice. It was coming from close by.

'Fine, I believe you,' said Five.

'There’s one other thing. The bird is working a penance. It’s one of the birds that ate Three.' Six’s eyes refocused just in time to see Five try to grab the raven perched on his shoulder.

'You ate my friend,' said Five.

The bird hopped onto Five’s head. 'You need me,' the bird said in the unfamiliar voice he’d been hearing. It took refuge on Six’s head.

'You do need it. So do I. We’ll never get back without it,' said Six. He could tell that Five was struggling with himself.

'And I have to name it?' said Five, his voice twisted with rage and grief. 'Fine. I name it Orion.'

'That’s a good name. Very mythic. That’s a very raven name. I can work with that,' said the raven.

'That was Number Three’s codename,' said Six.

'Then I shall endeavour to live up to it,' said the bird.

Six decided that now would be a good time to look at something other than Five's face. They were in a dense forest. Some of the trees were oak but most were yew. Above them the branches interlocked so closely that he couldn’t see the sky. The air was warm and the ground underfoot was dry but everything about this place felt unreal.

Were they really here? Five looked solid enough. The ground felt real beneath his feet but he was sure that his body was still back in London. Particularly since they were both wearing their funeral suits and he knew they hadn’t been wearing those before.

'What are we looking for,' said Six, as much to take his mind off the question of reality as because he wanted the information.

'The Cauldron of Dagda,' said the Raven.

'Yeah, that should work,' said Five.

'You know what that is?' said Six.

'Why wouldn’t I know, you racist fuck?' said Five.

'Could you explain it to me?'

'I thought you had a history degree?'

'I said I read history at Cambridge. I never claimed to have passed any exams,' said Six.

Five stared at Six. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then thought better of it, twice before he sighed and said, 'It’s one of the ancient treasures of Irish myth. It’s an inexhaustible feasting pot that also has the power to heal or to bring the dead back to life.'

'And it’s real?' said Six.

'I don’t know. But last week I would have told you the human soul wasn’t real and now I’m dying from soul poisoning,' said Five.

'It’s real,' said the bird. 'At least it’s real here.'

'So where is it?' said Six.

'It’s kept in Dunscaith Castle,' said the raven.

'Fuck,' said Five. 'I hope Avalon is a lot smaller than Britain.

'Why?' said Six.

'Because that’s on the Isle of Skye. If we’re in London and Avalon maps the UK on a 1:1 scale then we have a long fucking walk followed by a cold fucking swim.'

'Don’t worry, mate,' said the raven, 'distance doesn’t work the same here as you’re used to.'

'I’m not your fucking mate,' said Five.

The raven stiffened on Six’s shoulder and its feathers stood up till it looked like a fluffy ball of sooty indignation. 'I didn’t ask to eat your friend. I didn’t get a choice. I am trying to serve a penance but if you keep this up then, so help me Odin, I will leave you here to rot.'

Five showed signs of an impending rant but Six cut him off before he’d even begun to speak. 'No. This is not the time. I’m not getting trapped in wherever-the-fuck this is because you can’t let it go. You can either take it out on him or we can find whoever is really responsible and take it out on them. Pick one.'

Five turned his back on Six and the raven. Six could feel the raven ramping up to say something. He grabbed its beak and shushed it, 'Give him a minute and he’ll be fine,' he said. He hoped it was true. Five would usually manage to compose himself if he was just left alone. Usually. There was that one time but Six didn’t like to think about it.

Five turned back towards them, 'Just point the way,' he said.