None of these guards had the key to the main gate of the jail, but it seemed that the intruders in Stationers’ clothing had. Furthermore, they seemed to have the keys to the holding cells, the question cells, the Forgotten Fall, and the Vaults of Silence. Meanwhile, when the Duke’s men in the nearby barracks finally realized that something was amiss, the door to the barracks remained obstinately closed, and precious minutes were lost kicking it open. When they sprinted to the armory, that door also snubbed them.

One guard inside the building, who was overcome, pinioned and gagged, explained later that when the first musket shot was heard, cell door after cell door had opened from the inside, and the Locksmiths had stepped out, casually kicking off their manacles as they did so. Without bothering to claim the guards’ keys, they had walked calmly through the passageways, picking all the locks with combs, spoons, and spectacle frames, so swiftly that they scarcely broke stride.

Outside in the courtyard, the Duke’s men finally knocked in the door of the armory and surged inside. They shouldered muskets and blunderbusses, seized pistols and pikes, turned to leave, and discovered that the door was jammed again.

The streets were virtually empty, and those few people who were hanging out of their windows to shake their bells were simply amused when they saw a scattered horde of men and women fleeing through the streets with their hands over their ears. Only when the Hour had ended, and the ears of the observers had stopped ringing, did they become aware of the sad, lonely clanging of the alarm bell.

Needless to say, the intruders were not Stationers at all, and the Stationers had no idea who they were.

“Don’t look so alarmed, Mosca. The Duke’s men are raiding every rat hole in the city, and will have rounded up most of the convicts by dawn. If Eponymous Clent is still in the city, he will be run to earth in no time. If he has fled Mandelion, he will be declared an outlaw, and perhaps you will never need to testify in court against him. Either way, I will see you safe, and so will Lady Tamarind. I have spoken with her again—she has an interest in you.”

“Lady Tamarind! What did she say?”

“‘I think we must find work for that girl, or she will tear the spires apart with her fingernails looking for it.’ And then she laughed to herself. Her Ladyship never laughs. She sees something special in you, Mosca, and I think I understand why. Do you remember the part of the cathedral where the font of the Little Goodkin stands?”

Mosca nodded.