Chapter Seven

The cold of the stone floor rises through my legs and my feet stiffen, threatening to cramp. I need to get back. But, as I pass the front window, movement outside catches my attention. I stand, back to the wall, peering across my shoulder out of the window in a way that hides me in the darkness as completely as possible. The guard has been joined by another person – a person whose shape and gait has become synonymous with danger to me. Jack Minnow is talking to a guard; he passes him something and then dismisses him.

He watches as the man leaves and for a few quiet minutes he is still and alert. I feel surprised that Minnow takes a watch; I would have imagined standing guard at the museum would be a job for his lackeys – a role far beneath his station. He does love to be in control, though. I am about to resume my return to the study when Minnow looks left and right and then moves. I watch as he passes swiftly across the square. With another glance around, he disappears into the hall of remembrance – the place where our town’s readers take turns to speak the names of the dead.

There’s no rule against it – the names are spoken constantly, and the hall is always open for mourners and worshippers. But visiting the hall in the dead of night is unusual practice, even for the most devout. For some reason, Jack Minnow needed this action to be secret, and whatever he is doing is worth risking leaving the museum – and me – unguarded.

A person with secrets is a person with vulnerabilities. I tuck this information away in my mind, and once I am back in Mel’s study I sleep and dream about a cat and mouse in a maze, only this time, the mouse is chasing the cat.

Chapter Eight

I am woken at dawn by Mel. She looks as though she has dressed in a hurry.

“You have been sent for,” she tells me.

“So soon?” I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn.

Mel nods. “We will eat a quick breakfast and then go.”

I wish that we would walk through the museum and across the square – I had been hoping for that quick lick of sunlight. Instead, we go through the door at the near end of the corridor, through the underground passage that lies beneath the town square and leads to the prison. As we walk through the cold tunnel I think of Saint and the statue that stands somewhere above us. I imagine being crushed by Saint’s heavy bronze feet. The heroes of my past now loom over me nightmarishly. And I know about nightmares.

Jack Minnow waits at the entrance to the jail. His posture reflects his face – confident, assured and superior. What were you doing last night? I think. He doesn’t speak, just opens the door and we follow.