The cabdriver didn’t seem any too pleased to receive us. He complained in Italian that it was dangerous for him to be out when the Moghuls were attacking, and that he was on his way home. “The sooner you take us there, the sooner you will be able to return to the safety of your home,” I told him firmly, climbing into the cab.
Jack followed, his face pensive as the driver’s. After the driver unburdened himself of a few opinions on my ancestry that I chose to ignore, he slapped the reins on his horse and set off at a smart trot.
“I don’t like this, Octavia.”
“I know you don’t, but there is nothing we can do without assistance.”
“What if this Alan friend of yours is gone? Or doesn’t want to help us?”
“I can’t imagine Alan refusing my request for assistance,” I said with composure. I coul
