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said Admiral Seward, sharply.

      “In which case,” replied Frankenstein. “I resign.”

      Jamie gasped, and Seward’s eyes bulged in his head.

      “You what?” the Director asked.

      “I resign. I swore an oath that I would protect the Carpenter family. If Blacklight prevents me from doing that, then I can no longer be a part of it.”

      Admiral Seward fell silent. He laced his fingers together and lowered his head. Jamie and Frankenstein stood in front of his desk, waiting. Eventually, he looked up at them. The anger on his face was plain to see, but when he spoke his voice was level. Jamie suspected it was taking him a great deal of self-control.

      “Very well,” he said. “You, both of you, may search for Marie Carpenter, under Department 19 jurisdiction. Mr Carpenter, you will be temporarily seconded to the Department. You are not a Blacklight Operator. Do I need to say that again?”

      “No,” replied Jamie. “Good. You may not prevail upon this organisation for resources beyond the minimum, and the vampire does not leave this base. I will not have her destroyed, in case she decides to become more cooperative, but that is the absolute limit of my generosity on the matter. Is that clear?”

      “Yes sir.”

      “Men?” asked Frankenstein.

      “You may requisition a driver, you may apply for air transport as the circumstances require, and you may enlist two men at any one time. Only if they are not required for other duties, and only if they agree to assist you once in full possession of the facts. I will not order anyone to help you, for reasons I hope are obvious.”

      “Thank you, sir,” said Jamie.

      “All right,” said Seward. “Victor, take Mr Carpenter to the Playground and put him through twenty-four hours of basic training.”

      Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Seward cut him off.

      “Non-negotiable. God knows it will probably do you little good, but it may help me sleep a little easier if the first vampire you come across pulls your throat out.”

      “Thank you, sir,” said Frankenstein. He placed an arm around Jamie and turned him gently away from the desk. As they swung open the heavy metal door, Admiral Seward spoke again.

      “Find her,” he said. “Your family has enough blood on its hands. It doesn’t need any more.”

      Jamie turned back to face the Director.

      “I will, sir,” he said, and the resolve in his own voice surprised him. “I will.”

      Chapter 15

      THE SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS

      Jamie Carpenter stared down at the blue mat beneath him. Blood was dripping in a steady stream from his torn bottom lip and pooling on the shiny fabric, mingling with the sweat that was streaming from his head in a soft, salty rain.

      “Get up.”

      The voice had kindness in it, but absolutely no pity, so Jamie raised his head and forced himself up on to trembling legs. In front of him stood a man in a grey tracksuit who was almost as wide as he was tall, peering down at him with small eyes set into a head the size and shape of a bowling ball. Half-moons of sweat were visible under the man’s arms, but he was breathing easily and looking at Jamie in the playful way a lion looks at a wounded wildebeest.

      The man lunged, covering the gap between them in a fraction of a second. Jamie was expecting it, but he was tired, so tired, and all he was able to do was throw his arms up in an exhausted attempt at self-defence. The man slammed his fists down on Jamie’s forearms, sending excruciating pain arrowing up Jamie’s limbs, reached forward with his big, scarred hands, twisted his head sharply to the left, and lunged towards Jamie’s neck.

      The man stopped a centimetre away from the exposed skin of his throat. Jamie stared blankly up at the ceiling of the huge circular room he had spent the last eighteen hours in. He was aware of the man in the tracksuit releasing his head, stepping back and saying something, but it seemed to be happening a long way away.

      A hand shot out, quick as a snake, and crashed into the side of his head. He snapped out of his daze and gripped the place he had been struck, from where a dull red pain was spreading rapidly.

      “Are you listening now?” the man asked.

      Jamie stared at him with a look of utter hatred, and told him that he was.

      “Good. Be glad you still can. Because if I was a vamp you’d be dead.”

      The man sighed.

      “Take a minute, then come through and get some breakfast,” he said, and walked across the room. When he reached one of the doors that lined the curved wall, he turned back to Jamie and spoke again.

      “You need to concentrate,” he said. “Think about your mother.”

      Frankenstein had led him straight from Admiral Seward’s quarters to one of the nondescript metal lifts. The huge man had said nothing as they had walked, but Jamie didn’t think he was angry with him, not exactly. Even after Jamie had lunged for the Director he had still threatened to abandon his career with Department 19 if Seward had refused to permit a search for Jamie’s mother. And he was sure that even just making the threat had been a much bigger deal than Frankenstein had shown. Seward’s love of this place, his pride in its accomplishments and history, were clear for all to see, but Jamie believed that beneath the glacial grey-green surface of the monster’s face the same feelings burned just as strongly. Jamie was glad that the Admiral had not called Frankenstein’s bluff; he would not have wanted to be responsible for his guardian making good on his threat.

      They had travelled down to Level G and through a series of corridors until they reached an office with a glass door. On it was stencilled PROFESSOR A. E. HARRIS, and Frankenstein had knocked loudly on the letters. The door had been opened by a greying man in his late forties. His hair was swept back from his temples in silver-streaked waves and he wore a prodigious moustache, an unkempt hedge of grey and black above a dark suit, a blue shirt and a lemon-yellow tie; he looked like the slightly eccentric vice-president of a brokerage house.

      He nodded familiarly at Frankenstein, then looked Jamie up and down, mild disdain on his face. Jamie, whose temper was not yet wholly under control after the things Admiral Seward had said about his dad, was about to say something to the Professor when Frankenstein spoke first.

      “Admiral Seward—”

      “Just spoke to me,” interrupted Professor Harris. “He told me I am to oversee twenty-four hours of training for this boy. I told him what I’ll tell you now; I fail to see what I am expected to do in such a short amount of time.”

      “As much as you can,” Frankenstein replied sharply, and the Professor twitched, ever so slightly.

      He’s scared of him. Good. Let’s see if you call me boy again.

      Professor Harris looked as though he wanted to say something, but he cast a quick look at Frankenstein and clearly thought better of it. Instead he sighed extravagantly, pushed his office door wide and motioned Jamie inside.

      The office was small and looked as if it had been transplanted from a university history department. Every available surface was covered in books, journals and hand-written notebooks. A battered wooden desk stood in one corner, disappearing under sheaves of papers and teetering skyscrapers of books. A New History Of The Salem Witch Trials was at the summit; beneath it were volumes about the Dark Ages, the Renaissance, World War One and dozens of other topics.

      “Don’t touch anything,” warned Professor Harris. “Just follow me.”

      He walked carefully between the piles of books and papers, pushed open a door that Jamie hadn’t even noticed, and beckoned to him. Jamie followed the Professor’s path, taking moderate care not to knock anything over,

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