Scar Night Page 0,63
pace with him as lithely as a cat. Dill shuffled behind them and peered sideways at everything from the corners of his white eyes.
Tiny windows pitted the walls—only servants occupied the lower levels, and glass was expensive. Most of them were thick with grime or cobwebs, but occasionally Dill caught glimpses of the rooms beyond: gold-striped wallpaper, musty furniture, glazed figurines on a shelf. He heard a woman singing from an open window, where the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out.
The crabs he bought,
On Sandport dock,
He paid for more than once.
He glanced in there, but saw nothing more than a flash of an apron tied around a broad waist. Rachel, Devon, and the porter ploughed ahead, oblivious to such sights and sounds. More than once, Dill found himself racing to catch up.
Although the cobbles ran seamlessly between opposing buildings, the foundations beneath were supported by vast webs of chain. Deepgate’s engineers had constructed Bridgeview to some ancient, unfathomable design. Wrapped in ironwork, the narrow lanes spread out in a sinuous, organic fashion, weaving and curving, dipping and rising, like burrows tunnelled by mice.
They left one alley and followed the course of another for some time, before tacking back to continue their progress in the same general direction. So far they hadn’t encountered another soul, but just as Dill was beginning to believe he might remain undetected, a door flew open and a little boy burst from one of the houses and almost collided with him.
The lad, plump and pug-nosed, gawped at Dill. Dill gawped back until Rachel called out for him to hurry up. The boy yelped, and bolted back inside his home.
“Don’t let it bother you.” Devon grinned ghoulishly. “Happens to me all the time.”
When Dill next glanced over his shoulder, there were two children following them. The boy had returned, joined now by a little girl with red shoes and red ribbons in her hair. On being observed, they squealed and scampered behind some steps, peering over them with wide eyes. Rachel gave Dill a resigned look.
“We’d better take the road through Gardenhowe,” Devon said. “They’re still clearing up the mess in Lilley.” He arched his eyebrows at Rachel. “Oberhammer’s planetarium came loose last night. They tell me it rolled a mile through Applecross before it hit a foundation chain and leapt clear over the Scythe.”
“I heard,” Rachel said.
“Punched a hole clean through a factory owner’s house on the other side. Poor fellow was at the temple this morning, cursing the Spine to Iril and looking for compensation.”
“I’m sure the Spine will find him some other accommodation.”
To Dill, the Poisoner’s laugh seemed forced.
Pink blossoms dabbed the trees in Gardenhowe and lay in soft clumps beneath them. The two children had now become four. They kept a safe distance behind, giggling, flapping their arms, and kicking up showers of petals. When Rachel tried to shoo them away, they scattered behind the nearest trees.
It was early afternoon as they neared the Scythe. Gardenhowe grew denser, the buildings more substantial. Ash darkened flint walls. Heavily corroded chains and girders divided the sky into blue triangles. The lane narrowed, rose, and came to an end at a high wall between two towering roundhouses. A faded sign bearing the crest of Deepgate’s Department of Military Science sagged over a small red door.
“Here we are,” Devon said. “And not before time.” He gestured behind them.
Dill looked over his shoulder. Eight children now stood in a line at the end of the lane, flapping their arms.
“They appear to be multiplying exponentially,” Devon said. “At this rate the neighbourhood will be overrun by dusk.”
The door opened to reveal a wooden platform hemmed by a rusty balustrade. A rope bridge dipped steeply away from it and rose again to approach the main gates of the Poison Kitchens, some three hundred yards distant. The bridge spanned a section of open abyss that curved away on either side like a black river running through the city. Monstrous foundation chains spanned the yawning gap. Obese and soot-blackened, Deepgate’s Department of Military Science looked like a giant cauldron in which great chimneys and iron funnels boiled and steamed. Smoke poured from its roof and flares of burning gas erupted with distant roars. Gantries bristled underneath the structure, serving as airship docks. Dill spied the shadowy hulk of a warship tethered to one of them and edged closer to the balustrade to get a better look. The porter sank further into his pockets.
The rope bridge wobbled when they stepped onto it.
“Is