Lily looked at the key. Every speck of rust seemed sharp in her vision, as though all the light in the dark office were concentrated on it. She thought of Laud and Theo and Benedicta, waiting for her back at the Almshouse. She thought of her parents, somewhere out there in the unknown. She thought of Gloria and of how little she had wanted to have anything to do with the conspiracy that had robbed her of her life. She thought of Mark, lying fevered in his cell unless she set him free. She thought of the good she was doing, the hundreds of debtors she had helped and the hundreds more that appeared every day. She thought of the city in all its awful, soulless splendour and its crowds seemed to pour through her head, all unknowing, all part of an idea, the dream of long-dead founders.
All asleep and not wanting to be awakened.
The city waited.
She made her decision.
Chapter Twenty-five
THE PROMISE
Mark awoke to the click of approaching footsteps.
He pushed himself up on one arm, squinting at the window, which let in a little chilly pre-dawn light, and rubbed his shoulder, which ached from another night on a straw pallet.
He listened. The footsteps were too light to be his father’s. He had said he would be back in the morning with some blankets. He couldn’t let him go free, but for the moment he didn’t need to go anywhere.
He listened again as a door in the corridor creaked open. They were too sharp to be Benedicta. She walked as gently as she spoke.
Mark started as a thought struck him. Could it be Lily?
Blearily, he reached forward, grabbing the bars and hauling himself to his feet. The figure was close now. The last door between them opened.
It was not her. For a few seconds he thought that it was, but this woman was older, more smartly dressed. She entered briskly, a lantern in one hand, a ring of keys in the other. She stopped before Mark’s cell. As he stared, she selected a key from the bunch and slipped it into the lock of his cell door.
It turned with a clink.
Mark stepped back, confused. Perhaps he was still asleep.
The woman stared at him.
‘Most prisoners wouldn’t step back from an open door,’ she said.
‘Uh…’ Mark’s head was still fuzzed from sleep, but he found himself pulling on his ragged shirt, stepping through the door, watching as she locked it behind him.
‘This way,’ she said, turning on her heel.
Mark followed.
They walked deeper and deeper into the prison. Soon the cells gave way to stone corridors, damp and empty. He felt the floor slope down, then up, until he could no longer tell where they were, and still the woman marched ahead, never speaking, her lamp leading the way.
Finally, Mark found his voice.
‘Look, it’s not that I’m not grateful to you for getting me out of that cell, but –’ he stopped walking – ‘who are you?’
The woman came to a halt. She turned, holding the lantern to her face. There was a look of sadness in her eyes.
‘My name is Verity, and I’m here to show you the way out.’
Mark stared at her. He would have thought it some kind of cruel joke if her expression had not stopped him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, feeling that it was not enough. Verity turned away.
‘You have Miss Lily to thank for this.’
After that, Mark barely noticed where he was walking. His head was filled with visions of the future. Of starting again with a new trade. Of building up another tower better than the one Snutworth had stolen from him. Of bringing his father to stay with him. Maybe he’d even become a patron of the Almshouse. If Lily had given him a second chance, then he would pay her back, even if she didn’t want it. That was how Agora worked. Finally, Mark thought as they approached an ancient wooden door, he could see a future that was right for him.
Verity stopped before the door. She pulled another key from her pocket, a large old one, flecked with rust. She pushed it into the lock and stopped. She turned to Mark, her voice low and urgent.
‘Are you grateful, Mark?’ she said.
Taken aback, he nodded fiercely. ‘Of course… Sorry, it’s all been so sudden. I’d have said…’
‘To me?’ she said, in the same tone of voice. ‘And to Lily?’
‘Yes,’ Mark said, watching the woman’s hand tighten on the key.
The old lock made a grinding squeal as it turned.
‘Then promise me something,’ she said, grasping him by the once fine shirt he wore, pulling his face close to hers. ‘Promise me that you’ll look after her.’
Despite himself, Mark laughed.
‘Lily’s never needed protection from anything,’ he said.
Miss Verity tightened her grip.
‘That’s what makes it so dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘Now, promise me.’
Mark looked into eyes that were sorrowful but steely, glimmering in the lamplight.
‘I promise,’ said Mark.
Verity drew back, seeming satisfied.
‘Good,’ she said, and opened the door.
For a moment, Mark’s eyes were dazzled. The low light of a winter sunrise flooded through the door. He put up his hands to shield them from the glare and took a few steps.
He felt Verity push him forward. He stumbled through the door.
There was a creak of hinges. Then a click.
Then the sound of the key turning once again.
Mark spun round. Here the door was small and inconspicuous, set into a wall.
A vast wall, stretching higher and further than he had ever seen. Except for the city walls, of course.
The city walls…
Mark hammered on the door, clawing at the rough wood. He heard himself shouting that everything he had was inside the city, that he finally knew how it worked, that his future was imprisoned in those walls.
There was no response from within. He sank to his knees, huddling against the door, his fingers raw and bleeding. Behind him, he could feel a vast emptiness. A gust of wind made him shiver. There was nothing beyond the city walls, nothing.
Agora was the world and he had left it, as surely as if he had dropped dead.
A shadow appeared on the wall beside him. He pressed his head against the door, closing his eyes, not wanting to see. And then he heard a familiar voice.
‘It was the only way, Mark,’ Lily said, soft and gentle, ‘the only way out of both of our prisons. There’s so much you need to know, Mark… so much to say…’
Mark didn’t respond, dully running his fingers over the wood of the Agoran door.
‘Look, Mark,’ she said. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder. ‘Look out there. A new world, Mark, a new life!’ He heard her kneel down beside him. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Confused, bewildered and more frightened than he had ever been since that day he had come back to life in the astrologer’s tower, Mark turned his head.
And he opened his eyes.
The Midnight Charter Page 29