Chapter 448: Flying Shoes

On the way back, Richard helped the old professor along.

The old man's arm felt incredibly light; Richard could feel the bone straight through the coat.

"Thank you for today, Professor."

Mortimer chuckled.

"What is there to thank me for? Like I said, you can't take connections into the coffin."

He took a couple of steps, then stopped.

"Then again."

"From now on, you'll be adding two more stacks to your copying pile."

"Why?"

"Because you wore me out today."

...

The next evening, the light in Kasalis's office was still on at six thirty.

Richard pushed the door open. The clerk was pulling on his coat, clearly getting ready to leave.

When he saw Richard, he visibly tensed.

"Mr. Williams?"

Richard didn't say a word. He placed two pieces of paper side by side on the desk.

The first was a copy of an invoice from Dawn Paper: a line item for a charity booklet, a forty-percent unit price, and the paying firm's name.

The second was an itemized requisition form from the wartime procurement line, and the heading for one of the rows was this very office.

Kasalis looked down at the two pages.

"I did approve this entry. The item name read 'Civilian Defense Propaganda Material,' and the summary said 'Reminding citizens to watch for suspicious circumstances.'"

"Sir, would you believe me if I said I only approved it because I wanted to go home early?"

Richard said nothing.

Kasalis stood behind the desk.

"What do you need me to do today?"

"A fire."

"What?"

"Flower Moon Street needs to gather sixteen fires tonight," Richard said. "They are missing a 'ruler's fire.'"

"The fire of the man who sits behind a desk and signs his name."

The clerk stood there in silence for about ten seconds.

Then he turned around and brought out a Brass Sealing-Wax Lamp. The Empire's oak leaf pattern was engraved on its base.

"Will this work?"

"What is it?"

"For official documents." Kasalis held the lamp up slightly.

"We use it to heat the sealing wax before stamping. Lighting it is the first thing I do in the morning, and extinguishing it is the last thing I do at night."

He set the lamp on the desk with a strained smile.

"Perfect," Richard said. "It owes that street."

Elsewhere, the workshop on Covent Street was still open at eight o'clock, its lathes still spinning.

Clara's uncle looked up from behind his goggles, saw his niece, and then saw the boy standing behind her.

"No!"

"Uncle, you haven't even heard what I have to say."

"Don't need to." The old craftsman shut off the lathe.

Richard never found out how Clara ultimately convinced her uncle.

Either way, when the old craftsman finally emerged, his already foul expression had turned even fouler.

"The copper urn is on the second shelf," he snapped in annoyance.

"And neither of you touch my furnace. I just put in new parts last week."

The Blackburn residence was in the west of the city, its rear wrought-iron fence covered in crawling ivy.

At nine twenty, the butler led Richard into the second-floor study. The count was still awake.

"Mr. Williams."

He stood up, setting the book in his hand face down on the desk.

"I apologize for the abrupt visit tonight."

"Abrupt guests are the interesting ones." The count jutted his chin toward the chair across from him. "Sit."

Richard explained the situation.

When he finished, the count didn't ask a single unnecessary question.

"The goldsmith's furnace is in the backyard. Our family has kept it burning for two hundred years; it has never gone out."

"You agree?"

"I agree."

The count picked up the Silver Jug from the desk and poured him a cup of tea.

"Then what should I offer in exchange?"

"Nothing."

"Count..." Richard knew that free things were always the most expensive.

"Mr. Williams." The count set the Silver Jug back onto its tray.

"I don't want a marriage contract, nor do I need to add your name to my ledger of favors."

"I know when asking for something will only invite disgust."

"So tonight, I ask for nothing."

While pouring the tea, his eyes had lingered on Richard for half a second. He frowned, as if sensing something amiss.

Richard picked up his teacup, only to look up and find that the count had already walked behind the writing desk.

He opened a drawer and pulled out that ledger bound in dark chestnut calfskin.

The count flipped to a page in the middle, pulled a pencil from the pen holder, and jotted a small line in the bottom margin.

It was very brief. When he finished, he closed the ledger and returned it to the drawer.

At exactly midnight, cordons were pulled up outside Flower Moon Street. Several policemen were turning away passersby.

"Halt! This area is sealed off for the night!"

Three lamps turned in from the western alley.

Richard walked at the forefront. He held one lamp in each hand, and the third hung from a strap over his shoulder.

Kasalis followed half a step behind him.

Clara's uncle brought up the rear, clutching his copper urn to his chest as though holding his own child.

All three had white cloths covering their mouths and noses.

Richard handed the lamp in his left hand to Kasalis.

Behind the veil, the shadow silently donned the Mask of Hermes.

The stone-paved road of Flower Moon Street was littered with debris.

A section of the roof ridge had collapsed, sending a beam pressing diagonally against the street.

The three lamps passed beneath the beam.

"Duck your heads."

"I shouldn't have agreed to this," Clara's uncle sighed heavily. "I would've been better off telling my lathe to walk over here itself."

Past the beam was Number Nine.

The iron door to Number Nine was slightly ajar. In front of the threshold, the ground had collapsed into a pit so dark the bottom couldn't be seen.

Richard stood on the edge of the pit. The light of his lamp didn't reach the bottom.

"We can't go around," Richard said.

"The wall is on the left, and Number Ten's display window is on the right, with glass shards scattered all over the ground. If we take the lamps over the shards, one trip is all it takes for the fire to touch the ground."

"Then we can back up and come from the outer street..."

"There are still people on the outer street."

Richard unfastened the strap of the lamp on his shoulder and held it in his hand.

The pit's opening was about eight feet across. Eight feet wasn't considered wide; empty-handed, he could clear it.

But in his hands was a fire that wasn't allowed to touch the ground, wasn't allowed to be blown on, and wasn't allowed to go out halfway.

Kasalis offered his lamp forward.

"Toss two of the lamps over first. I'll stay on this side..."

"No," the old craftsman said from behind.

"The fire can't be tossed. If you toss it, it's flying on its own for that middle stretch. Who's going to shield it?"

The three men stood at the edge of the pit.

The path behind them was mostly sealed off by the collapsed beam, and the short stretch ahead of them was nothing but an empty drop.

Behind the veil, Richard had the shadow stand the Caduceus upright in front of it.

No one on this street was going to raise a hand against him right now. What stood in his way was an eight-foot gap with no path.

He suddenly thought of May Day Eve.

Atop the clouds, those two golden snakes had slithered down from the Mask of Hermes, twisting together to form a staff.

When the staff dispersed, they slithered down the shadow's legs, coiling around its ankles before coming to a rest.

For the first time, those feet felt so close to the clouds.

A messenger's most important duty had always been to make the delivery.

The two golden snakes slithered down his calves, coiling tightly around his ankles, clinging fast to his skin.