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knew you couldn’t pull me back?”

“Yes.”

Rachel leaned back and put her feet on the ground, but she didn’t turn to face him. “Maybe you would,” she said softly.

13

The League of Rope

A single brand lent a ruddy glow to the rusted tin slopes and bleached wood of the League shantytown. Shacks hung skewed in their cradles, linked to the walkway by thin planks. Beyond the ropes, the lights of Deepgate dipped away and rose again far in the distance, broken only by the temple’s silhouette.

Fogwill watched reflections curl over Captain Clay’s black armour as the temple guard looked around in distaste. Boards creaked under the big man’s armoured boots. “Are you sure this is it?” he asked.

Clay wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air. “Smells like it.”

Fogwill didn’t need to be told. Something was rotting nearby. A dead rat, perhaps? And Clay had insisted that he come out here without perfume. His cassock retained a trace, as the captain had pointed out with a scowl, but not enough to mask this unholy stench. “Then you’d better go,” he said. “I’ll manage from here.”

The captain of the temple guard grunted. “Adjunct, this is the Dens.” He leaned over his pike. “This scrounger near strangled one of my men. Dirty great big ugly vicious bastard. Wouldn’t trust him as much as a bag of cats.”

“Nevertheless, I shall speak with him alone. Your presence would anger him more . I can find my own way back.” Fogwill suddenly realized what he’d said, and rather wished he hadn’t said it.

Clay hesitated, then turned, shaking his head, and marched back along the boards, with his pike held sideways for balance. The walkway lurched with his every step; support ropes twanged and fretted. Ropes, not even cables here. Fogwill held on tightly and tried not to look at the darkness beneath the shacks on either side, but it was hopeless: the abyss pulled his gaze towards it. He closed his eyes.

When the walkway had settled and the worst of his nausea had passed, the Adjunct stood alone outside the box made of timbers and tin sheets that, apparently, served as a house. Its single gaping window showed no sign of life within.

He ducked under the street-rope that supported this side of the walkway and eyed the plank spanning the gap to the front door. It was about four feet across, with nothing but a couple of rotted ropes to hold on to: nothing else to stop one falling into the darkness. He couldn’t see a net below. There surely must be a net. Even here. It’s the law. That thought didn’t reassure him as he tested the plank with his foot. It gave a sickening creak. Perhaps he ought to call over to the house for assistance? And thus reveal himself as the frightened whelp he was? Very clever . It might also wake the neighbourhood, and he didn’t want this neighbourhood woken. There was no alternative but to cross. Fogwill took a deep breath and edged forward, gripping both swaying ropes as best he could. Even in the dim light he could see the white marks round his fingers where he had removed his rings. The plank bowed under his weight as his slippers inched towards the middle.

Those four feet seemed to take him as long as the walk from the temple, and when he reached the door he was shaking. It took all of his courage to release his hand from the security of the rope and knock.

There was no answer.

Fogwill cursed. He ought to have told Clay to wait for him. This was not a part of Deepgate where it was wise to linger alone after dark.

He knocked again, harder.

“Closed!” a gruff voice shouted.

Fogwill leaned closer to the door and spoke as loud as he dared. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

There was no reply. Fogwill waited. He knocked again.

“Away!” the voice bellowed.

Fogwill flinched. He’s going to wake the whole street . “Please, it’s urgent.” The other shacks remained dark and silent. Hanging above the centre of the walkway, a brand fizzed tar into its drum. He lifted his hand to knock again when the door creaked open a fraction. No light came from within as he leaned toward the crack and whispered quickly, “I must speak with you. It’s about your daughter.”

“Bloody priest, leave me alone. Leech took her.”

The door slammed in Fogwill’s face.

“No,” he protested.

Fogwill heard movement inside the shack, and the door again opened a little. He decided to