His smile was as kindly as it had been at the police station.

'Ah, good, you are awake,' he said genially. 'I trust you have refreshed yourself?'

Words failing, Clara simply nodded.

The light was much brighter in this room than it had been in the cell, and she could see that his eyes were soft green, and that there was a patch of scarring at the centre of his forehead, starkly white against his olive skin.

'I'm Hamir, chief aide to the Resident. And you are possibly wondering what in the Timewatcher's name is going on, yes?'

Again, Clara didn't respond – she didn't know how to. She was no one, only a whore from the streets of Labrys Town, but this aide, this Hamir was welcoming her to the Nightshade as if she was a respected guest.

'Of course you're confused.' Hamir's tone was gentle, understanding. 'I apologise for accosting you so crudely at the police station. Sometimes explanations are best left until later, I'm sure you'll agree.'

Clara wondered for a moment if she was still in some bizarre dream. Why wasn't she scared? Perhaps the tiny scab on her arm was due to an injection of some strange, euphoria-inducing drug.

She pointed to the pinprick. 'What's this?'

'Nothing of concern,' Hamir answered quickly. 'Now, if you will follow me, the Resident is ready to receive you.'

Clara hadn't moved and was staring at Hamir. He chuckled lightly at her hesitation.

'Come,' he said. 'You've no cause for concern.'

He led Clara out of the room to a corridor. Though her bandaged feet were still sore, she hobbled after him without complaint. The door closed behind them; the outline disappeared leaving no sign that it had ever been there.

Clara said, 'I had a tin—'

'Don't worry,' Hamir said. 'Your medicine is quite safe,' and he set off at a brisk pace.

Clara followed. She noticed immediately that the cream walls of the corridor, like the room, were decorated with that same repetitive pattern – hundreds of tiny mazes, thousands. Hamir led her into a new corridor, and then another, and then another, each appearing much the same as the last. They ascended and descended various flights of stairs, some long, some short, and cut through antechambers into more corridors. At no time did they pass another person; at no time did Clara see a single visible door, and the pattern of tiny, square mazes never changed on the walls.

The types of people who usually came to the Nightshade fell into two categories: those who held high social positions, and those who were brought in for punishment. The former was not exactly the caste Clara mingled with; the latter were simply never seen again. Into what category had the Resident slotted her?

Van Bam was a mystery. He rarely left the Nightshade; he was almost never seen walking the streets he governed. He was the iron fist, the unseen watcher, and the denizens of the Labyrinth knew as much about their Resident as they did about the Retrospective. Every inch of Clara knew she should not be feeling so peaceful. She was struck suddenly by a sensation, a warm glow in her thoughts. Marney's kiss, the box of secrets in Clara's mind, somehow radiated satisfaction, as if letting Clara know she was supposed to be here.

Hamir led her out of the corridor into an antechamber, and Clara stopped and stifled a gasp. It was not the surprise of seeing someone other than Hamir that startled her; it was the nature of the person that stood in the antechamber.

It was dressed in a white gown, identical to hers, and it was hard to tell if this was man or woman. Clara doubted it was human. The dark brown skin of its hairless head was mottled with patches of grey. But the discolouration did not detract from its sense of grace and eerie beauty; it was almost as if this creature had been untouched by age or anxieties. Its ears, nose, and mouth – they were perfect features for a perfect head. However, its lack of eyes jarred against that perfection; smooth skin grew over the sockets, as if it had been born that way.

Clara kept her distance. The thing did not move, just stood before her, motionless. Its expression was impassive, but Clara knew that somehow it could see her, even though it had no eyes.

Hamir took her arm. 'Don't be frightened,' he said as he steered her around the creature.

'What is it?' she whispered.

'An aspect – one of the Resident's servants. It cannot harm you. Come.'

Hamir continued into the corridor beyond the antechamber, and Clara looked over her shoulder as she followed. The servant had turned, as if to watch her leave. With a shiver, Clara kept pace with the elderly aide.

By the time they reached their destination, they had taken so many twists and turns it would have been impossible for Clara to retrace her steps back to the room she had woken up in. The Nightshade, it seemed, was every bit as complex as the deep maze of the Great Labyrinth itself. They reached a dead end, and Hamir pressed one of the mazes on the wall. It depressed with a click. Again the outline of a door materialised, and it swung inwards. Still gracious, still kindly, the old man led Clara into a room. The door closed and disappeared.

She took a few steps forward. Hamir stood close behind her.

If the Nightshade had thus far been a pleasant surprise for Clara, then this room revived her original concerns.