Lye Street by Alan Campbell & Dave McKean

Author:Alan Campbell & Dave McKean [Campbell, Alan & McKean, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781596061354
Google: 2tW0GQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1596061359
Barnesnoble: 1596061359
Goodreads: 957379
Publisher: Subterranean
Published: 2008-01-07T13:00:00+00:00

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.

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