Something powerful is drawing Ward back to Devil's Island. Something he thought he had forgotten. He must evade vicious lighthouse keeper George Jaggles in order to rescue it, but Jaggles will soon be the least of his worries. Because an assassin is...
Lightfinger gave Ward an uneasy look when they stopped outside Nick's office door.
"All you have to do is let me in," Ward said.
Lightfinger grimaced. Nevertheless he pulled a hairpin from his pocket. It took longer for him to find the keyhole, which was invisible in the darkness, than it took him to pick the lock. Ward pushed at the wall and the hidden door swung smoothly open.
"Thanks," he said, but Lightfinger was already moving back down the tunnel. He gave Ward one last look over his shoulder, then he was gone.
Ward went inside. He closed and locked the door behind him. He stood in the dark room for a while, listening. Then he lit a match, located a lanthorn, and lit that.
His eyes fell first on the map of Bareheep on the wall. He searched it grid by grid, hoping the Arcane Vault would be conveniently marked on it, but of course it was not. His eyes wandered to the Temple of Hatto, but he saw no reference to the Catacombs, and none of the tunnels on Nick's map seemed to go anywhere near it.
He turned next to the desk. The drawers, however, had all been emptied.
The bookcase then.
He had still not grown used to seeing books. To touching them. He couldn't help but shiver as he ran a finger down the spine of Nick's fat volume of the Biblia Magna. He mentally shook himself. He didn't know how much time he had; he needed to get this done and get out again. He reached for the book on the top left of the bookcase and took it down.
He soon lost track of time. The books were an eccentric collection, shelved in no perceivable order. He found nothing useful in them.
He was not even halfway down the bookcase when he heard it: the sound of a key sliding into a lock.
He snuffed the lamp out and ducked behind the desk, his heart hammering. He still held the book he had been looking through; he slid it under the desk and out of sight. He wished he could do the same with himself. It was too late to climb the stairs up to Nick's living quarters. Even as he thought of this he heard the door whoosh open.
Footsteps on the carpeted floor. Another whoosh as the door closed again. A click as it was locked from the inside. The footsteps crossed the room, approaching the desk. Then they were coming around the desk. Ward crept silently around the desk, keeping it between Bunker and himself. If he could only get back to the door before Bunker lit the lamp... too late, a match was struck, and the lanthorn hissed and sputtered back into life, chasing the shadows away into corners. Ward didn't dare breathe. He wondered if Bunker had noticed that the lamp was already warm. Had he smelled the burning oil?
"Now where do ya keep it, ya cretin?"
Ward started. The voice was unmistakeably a girl's.
"Mildew?"
There was a clatter and a gasp from the other side of the desk. Ward stood up.
Mildew had backed into the bookcase, her face white. "The bloody hell you do that for?" she managed.
"Sorry."
"Scared the skin offa me." Her eyes narrowed. "What're you doin' here anyway?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"Looks like we both got some 'splainin to do. Okay, you first."
Ward was about to protest, but he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
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