Free Lye Street by Alan Campbell, Dave McKean Page A

get us out of here?"

Chapter Fourteen
    Two buildings of note faced each other from either end of Lye Street. To the south rose the brick tower containing the ash vats which had given the road its name. Opposite this, at the top of a rise, Barraby's Watchtower looked out across an abandoned cannon foundry, built after the Skirmishes in 880. The Church had constructed the watchtower in the seventh century. It stood in a circle of floating flagstones, pinned to its foundations by a radial arrangement of chains.
    Scrimlock set the street plans down on the desk and glanced up at the sapper seated opposite. "You think she'll head for the lye tower?"
    "Without a doubt, Your Grace." The woman was small but heavyset, with a wide brow, a flat nose, and masculine shoulders. She wore a faded brown jerkin and fingerless leather gloves. "It's the only uninhabited building in the street. It's high and gives a good view of the surroundings."
    "Can we rig it with blackcake?"
    The sapper shook her head. "There's not much point, Your Grace. The walls are old, the brick crumbly, and the roof is just wood and slate. If we brought the lot down on top of her, she'd probably just shuck it off again. She's torn through stronger buildings than that one before."
    The presbyter clucked his teeth. Scar Night was still two days away. "Have you had a chance to survey the rest of the area?"
    "As much as we can. We're moving under the street so as not to attract too much attention." She leaned forward, studied the blueprints, and prodded a finger at one section. "Our best chance to trap her is Barraby's Watchtower. The walls are built of Blackthrone stone and the windows are too narrow for her wings. If we can get her inside we ought to be able to fix it so that she can't get out again. We'll prime the roof to blow using ten yard fuses, enough boom to cut off her escape, but keep the structure intact."
    "Hmm. I want the watchtower door strengthened."
    "It's iron-banded oak," the sapper said, "designed to keep an army out. But we'll bring in a portable buttress on the night, just to be sure. Four knocks with a hammer and its in place."
    The presbyter nodded. "Good."
    All they had to do was lure her inside. He unravelled the scroll Merryweather had brought him, and reread the information the Adjunct had gleaned from Deepgate's census, tax, and crime records.

Sal Greene, prospector, made his fortune in the Northern Deadsands, inherited 34 Lye Street from his father, Mack Greene in the 962nd Year of Our Lord Ulcis.

Minor infringements:

963-3: Reprimanded. Suspected instigator of a brawl in the Skewered Goat Inn, Callow.
963-4: Fined after a second brawl, the Skewered Goat Inn, Callow.
964-10: Fined for lewd comments made toward Agatha Constance of 13 Potter's Wheel House, Applecross.
964-10: Fined for throwing eggs at the windows of 13 Potter's Wheel House, Applecross.
964-11: Jailed for two days for stealing flowers from the garden of M. Caldershot of Lilley. Flowers subsequently discovered in the window box of a Miss Celia Norman of Applecross. Suspect confessed to charges. Recorded as telling the city militia to "Go **** themselves sideways."
988-1: Jailed for sixty days for urinating against a monument to Ulcis in Seven Chain Square. Subject deemed unsuitable for tempering due to arthritis in hands.

Other:

980-7: Suspected of withholding tax. Unproved.
990-6: Accused of murder. Unproved.
1012-3: Suspected of smuggling heathen totems. Investigation suspended, pending additional funds.

    Scrimlock pursed his lips. So this was Carnival's next intended victim? This foul-mouthed criminal and blasphemer from the Warrens was the direct descendant of Henry Bucklestrappe? The presbyter set down the scroll, and smiled to himself. He ought to be able to kill two birds with one vigorous explosion.

Chapter Fifteen
    Ruby's dressing room abutted the study. It was a small chamber with one window, shuttered to keep out the night, and it was empty of furniture except