After shinning up the downspout to the roof of the shed, I picked my way softly over the slates, moving almost on all fours, low and swift like the jackal. At the point where the blockish tower reared up from the shed, I squatted, listening. The city was as quiet as it would ever get. Somewhere down Bell Street, I could hear the distant clank of machinery as the night shift worked on, and there was an occasional boom from the foghorn at the river mouth, but otherwise the night was still.
There were rungs set into the tower wall, though they had probably not been used since the weavers left, and they were rusted and flaking. I took hold of one, tested it, and pulled myself up. I climbed swiftly till I was forty feet above the roof of the shed, then paused. Higher up, the rungs led to the roof, where the old winding gear had been, but the shuttered window to Morlak’s treasure house was on the other side of the tower. A ledge ran around to the window. It was a single brick wide.
I took a breath, then stepped out onto the ledge, my back to the tower and all my weight on my heels. I kept my arms beside me, palms flat to the wall, back slightly arched so that my shoulders brushed up against the brick. I did not look down, not because I was afraid of the height, but because tipping my head might throw off my equilibrium. Right now, I was afraid of nothing. I edged a few inches at a time, out into the night.
I hesitated at the corner, feeling my way around, thinking of nothing but Tanish’s face.
Three more feet and I was at the window aperture. I felt the timber of the shutter and the simple iron hook hinges and taking hold of them, pivoted briskly to face the wall. Death waited, hard and hungry on the cobbles below, but I disappointed him. My mind and fingers probed for the crack between the shutters, then I reached into the satchel, which had lately doubled as a cradle but was now just a tool bag again. I produced a slim and serrated metal blade on a wooden handle. I slipped it through the crack near the top, guiding it down till I found the restraining bolt.
But there was no need. The shutters were not closed properly, and the haft for the bolt had been cut. Puzzled, I put the saw away, wrenched the uneven shutters apart, and climbed through.
The night was moonless, and if there were stars, you could not see them through the smog, so the room was utterly dark even with the window open. I paused, feeling my heart starting to thud against my ribs. I had felt no fear perching birdlike on the tower ledge, but being inside it stirred an old dread.
Morlak.
He would be downstairs, sleeping, perhaps still incapable of coming up to catch me, but I felt his presence like a foul and poisonous odor.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, filling my chest, holding it in my lungs for a moment, before blowing it softly out. I did it again, and felt my heart steady a little. I dragged the shutters closed so that anyone who happened to look up from the street would see nothing amiss. They snagged and squeaked, as if out of alignment, but I got them shut.
I took a stick of candle and a metal box with a close-fitting lid from my satchel, drawing from it a single phosphorous match, which I struck on the brick of the windowsill. The match popped and flared white then yellow as the wooden stick took hold. I lit the candle and shook the match out, taking in the room by the uneven light.
It was a cramped space, the walls crudely plastered, just big enough for an untidy bed, a chair, and in the corner, a chest with a heavy padlock.
Easy.
I squatted down, set the candle in a hardening puddle of its own wax, and got to work with the hacksaw.
But this too had been cut. I dragged the lid open and peered in.
The inside of the trunk was divided into two latched compartments. I opened the one on the left and rummaged through books, ledgers, and files before reaching a bundle of pound notes, a bag of coins, and several small pouches of gold and rough-cut stones.
No luxorite.
I opened the second compartment. It contained a single hessian bag twice the size of my satchel. I pulled on the drawstring neck and opened it. Inside was something shapeless and wrinkled, cool to the touch like metal but yielding to pressure: a dull gray foil. I lifted it out onto the chamber floor and began to unwrap the stiff folds. The object inside was roughly spherical, no bigger than a couple of loaves of bread, but heavy as stone.
I peeled back the metal foil and recoiled from a light more brilliant than anything I had ever seen.
For a second, it was as if the tower room had exploded, but silently, the blaze of yellow-white glare causing every object in the chamber, every splinter of the floor, and every irregularity of the plastered walls to cast hard, leaping shadows. Even with my eyes closed and head twisted away, I felt its pale burning presence, and the inside of my eyelids glowed red.
At last, I thought as I fumbled blindly to re-cover it.
My mind reeled with dizzying exhilaration. I had always known it had been Morlak, and if I acted fast, I could lead Andrews right to him. My heart thrilled to the idea, though I knew it was a poor revenge for Berrit and Tanish even if it was justice as far as the law allowed.