We continued upward, just as the stairwell below got busier, shouts and scuffles, doors slamming, feet slapping downstairs. Nothing heading up, but I feared for our escape route.

“Looks like you got all the Macys,” I noted. “And Poppy’s down there on her own. Shouldn’t we head back before it’s too late?”

“I’m for that,” Hannah seconded.

“And let them off easy?” Daniel threw me a glance, a mix of regret and intransigence. “Or you.”

Hannah fussed with her bow. “Dan, our window of . . .”

“Can wait. I’ve a chance to finish something here, and I’m not missing it.”

“You mean, avenge,” she murmured.

“Whatever.” He adjusted the carry-all strap on his shoulder and mounted the last few steps to the sixth floor. The door was off its hinges. As we neared, all three of us shrank from the odor sifting through the opening: a rancid, swampy reek with a tang of something metallic. My gorge rose, and I buried my nose in my palm.

From the landing we had a clear view of a wide, railed gallery and the open space beyond, broken only by derelict light fixtures. Dawn had become morning. Pallid daylight squeezed in through parallel rows of dirty skylights. The long sides of the gallery widened to make room for walled cubicles, maybe offices, now repurposed as living quarters for Macy higher-ups. Not just den tags but names proudly decorated the doors. Here and there along the railing, sturdy rope ladders dropped to the floor below, the one we’d passed by, where the commotion was coming from.

Daniel set the carry-all down carefully, then dropped to his knees and crept forward, waving at Hannah and me to follow. The railing had a solid base to about shin-height, just enough to conceal us. My ears throbbed. The gallery floor, the railing, the entire building shuddered with the din from below. Couldn’t help thinking of the power they were wasting! I sneaked my head up to peer over the edge and ducked right down again.

“No. Look.” Daniel’s thumb jabbed my ribs. “Take a really good look. See what we’re up against!”

I moaned a protest. Adders down there. Masses of them. But Daniel jabbed me again. I lifted my head and looked.

Nothing, not all the den gossip and warnings and scary talk, not even the Ladysmiths who’d fought them and fled, had got BlackAdder right. This was no pirate fantasy, lethal perhaps but slim and hard and bedecked with glorifying war paint, faintly dashing.

This was mostly skin, pinkish and hairy. A tangle of legs, shoulders rocking, arms waving, shiny heads bobbing, bare feet stomping. A chaos of pale naked flesh: all those monochrome Adders writhing in a pit, just like their namesakes. A game of sorts was underway.