"John," Lambert mimics, brow furrowing in an imitation of the magician's usual scowl. "We've got all the time in the world. We're stuck here as long as the Prince wants us to be."

Meaning hey, they could conceivably be stuck here for years if he willed it. Thrilling thought. His hand squeezes Childermass's -- someone's done his claws up in gleaming silver paint this time, to match the embroidery on his clothes.

"One dance won't kill you."