screeching howl and rain lashed out from nowhere. And then the ground dropped from beneath them and they stepped into thin air.
But only for an instant. Their feet touched the ground with a jolt that carried up through the bones of their legs. Giles staggered, but Mina held him up and they walked on into the sunlight of a crisp autumnal morning beneath scattering grey clouds on a promontory above a wide, sweeping bay. The sea was dotted with whitecaps as the wind blustered out of the west.
The next jump took them to a barren desert in the middle of a storm; biting wind swept over a dune-filled desolation, kicking up gouts of sand and red dust. Thankfully, their sojourn in this inhospitable place was short-lived. The next ley was only a few hundred meters away and, guided by Wilhelmina’s homing device, they found it easily and were able to use it at once without waiting.
“Sorry about that, Giles,” she said upon completing the jump. “That was a shortcut. It saved us a lot of time.”
He coughed dust from his lungs and wiped grit from his eyes. “Where are we now?” he asked, taking in his new surroundings. They had arrived in what appeared to be a well-maintained parkland—a long green lane of mown grass between rows of mature elm trees. Rising behind them was the broad shoulder of a steep hillside; the rest of the park was obscured by the trees.
“Welcome to Edinburgh,” Mina said cheerily. “Or Midlothian, at least. Look at you,” she said, patting his arm. “You forgot to be sick. You’ll soon be a master of ley travel.”
Giles looked around, taking in his surroundings with a wary expression.
“Have you ever been to Scotland?”
“I have never travelled beyond the Cotswolds,” he told her. “Before joining Mr. Livingstone, that is.” He glanced around warily and confided, “But I have heard that the Scots are barbarians who eat their young.”
“Only in the Highlands,” she teased, and began walking down the wide grassy lane. “In the capital, folk can be most refined. You’ll see. The year is 1819, with any luck, and we have come to see a man called Thomas Young. He is a doctor, a physician with a practice in London—but he’s here with his wife, Eliza, visiting his wife’s sister and family.”
“Dr. Young is an important man?” wondered Giles, falling into step beside her.
“Yes, very. Besides medicine, he has gained an international reputation as a leading scientist. He speaks thirteen or fourteen languages and has written on everything from geometry, physics, medicine, and mechanics to philosophy, colour, and music. In short, he will become known as the last man on earth to know everything.”
“Is that why are we going to see him?”
“Indeed it is. Among all his other accomplishments, which are considerable in themselves, Dr. Young is also the world’s leading authority on all things Egyptian.”
They left the grassy lane and entered a more public area of the park, walking easily among trees and bushes coming into the full leaf of high summer. “Dr. Young is currently conducting expeditions to Egypt. He goes there every autumn to excavate and advance his studies into archaeology and hieroglyphs.” She glanced at the taciturn young man beside her. “You know about the Skin Map?”
He nodded.
“What do you know?”
“I know that Sir Henry set great store by it, my lady. And I know he and Mr. Livingstone were killed for it.”
“Yes, well, Dr. Young is going to help Kit find the Skin Map.”
“He knows where it is?”
Wilhelmina shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. But if the map is to be found in Egypt, he is the man to find it.”
The park run ended in a wide expanse of lawn behind a brooding baronial-style edifice—the house of a wealthy shipping magnate. “This way,” said Mina, turning away from the stately house. “They are a bit touchy about trespassers. We best stay out of sight.” She led them to a low iron fence, swung easily over it, and