'Oh yes,' Blue said. 'We shall indeed.'
Brimstone was security conscious all right. His front door looked as if a baby should be able to blow it down, but it resisted Blue's pickspell and, fifteen minutes into an assault by Kitterick's nimble fingers, it still wasn't open.
'I've never seen locks quite like this before,' Kitterick muttered. 'They're interlinked. Somehow when you open one it makes another close. Very simple idea, but I can't seem to get round it.' He straightened up and turned to Holly Blue. 'I wonder, Serenity, how you would react to a more muscular approach?'
'What are you thinking of?' Blue asked cautiously.
'I was thinking of a stick of dynamite,' Kitterick said. 'I happen to have one about my person.'
Blue frowned. 'Won't the noise attract attention?'
'Not if we use it in conjunction with a silence spell. If there is a drawback it's that we'll leave a gaping hole where the door used to be; and probably part of the wall as well. In other words, if Mr Brimstone does return, he will know at once there's been a break-in.' He hesitated. 'I don't think it will bring the whole house down.' He blinked. 'No, I'm sure it won't – these old places were sturdily built.'
'Do it,' Blue told him.
Kitterick produced a terrifyingly fat dynamite stick from a trouser pocket and lit the trailing wick. With the fuse burning down at a furious rate, he tucked it in against the door, then stood patting his pockets. 'Where did I put that silence spell…?'
Blue watched the sparkling flame race closer to the dynamite. She licked her lips nervously. 'Mr Kitterick – '
'Ah, here it – no, that's not it.'
'Mr Kitterick, don't you think -?'
'Why is it things are never where you put them when you want them, Serenity? It may be we shall have to do without – No, I tell a lie: I've found it!' He drew a small cone from an inside pocket. 'What a relief that is.' He bent down and lit the cone off the fuse, which was now just inches from the dynamite. 'Hopefully our spell will detonate before the explosive.' He turned to Blue and smiled. 'Now, I would suggest we put a little distance between us and the door. If you'll permit me, Serenity -?' He took her arm and together they ran pell-mell down Seething Lane.
They had scarcely gone fifty yards when an immense fireball erupted out of the doorway behind them and an invisible hand slammed into Blue's back as a wave of sudden heat swept over her. She almost tripped, but held her balance, and turned in time to watch a shower of debris. But the silence spell had beaten the dynamite. Not so much as a tinkle reached her ears.
Kitterick grinned. 'Let's see what his fancy locks made of that!' he said.
They walked back to find Brimstone's door had completely disappeared, as had much of the street directly in front of it and parts of the houses on each side. In the gloom behind, they could see a narrow stairway leading upwards.
'I think it best if you stay here, Mr Kitterick,' Blue said. 'That way you can warn me if Brimstone does turn up.'
She hoped he wouldn't argue. If there was any incriminating evidence inside, she preferred to sort through it alone – heaven only knew what Pyrgus might have been up to. But in the event he only said, 'Excellent idea, Serenity. The explosion will have absorbed the spell, so I shall whistle if there's any trouble. I can produce a very piercing whistle when I put my mind to it.'
Blue believed him. She'd formed a high opinion of Kitterick. She climbed over the heap of rubble to find the lower stairs were broken, but she managed to pull herself up without much difficulty and the rest of the staircase seemed sound. It took her to a landing with two doors leading off. The first one she tried opened into a smelly loo, the second into what seemed to be a living room.
She hesitated for a moment, wondering what to do about lights, then decided to risk it. As Kitterick said, if Brimstone came back he'd know there was an intruder anyway – a few lights on upstairs wouldn't make much difference. All the same, she stumbled across the room and pulled the curtains before triggering the glowglobes.
The room was packed untidily with furniture so old that some of it was falling to bits. There was no carpet on the floor and, while a few rugs had been scattered on the wooden boards, they were faded, worn and threadbare. She could see where Brimstone sat when he was in this room. There was an ancient easy chair to one side of the empty fireplace, a couple of dirty cushions fighting the protruding springs. Beside it was a small table with an empty cocoa mug. On the other side of the fireplace was a scuttle with a few pathetic nuggets of coal. To the right was a small wicker basket of kindling. She could imagine the old man on winter nights huddled before a pitiable fire, warming mittened hands on a meagre cup of – Wait a minute. This wasn't adding up. Blue looked around. From the fly-blown glowglobes that didn't seem to give off nearly enough light, to the rubbish furnishings, the whole place reeked of poverty and decay. Yet Brimstone wasn't a poor man. He couldn't be – he owned a glue factory and had interests in several other businesses if Madame Cardui was to be believed. So why would a man of means decide to live like a pauper? Was Brimstone simply a miser? For some reason, Blue didn't think so. This had to be an illusion, maybe something set by Brimstone to protect against thieves. Anybody breaking in here would think at once there was nothing worth stealing. Very cunning.
She assumed the spell had been triggered by her opening the door, although there might have been a pressure pad on the landing outside. In any case the important thing was to find how to switch it off. Blue began, step by step, to examine everything in the room.
If she was right about this being an illusion, it was certainly a good one. Even close up, there was nothing that gave the slightest hint it might not be real. She reached what she thought of as Brimstone's chair and could smell it and touch it as well as see it. When she poked one of the filthy cushions, it gave off a little cloud of dust that made her cough. She was just beginning to wonder if she was wrong, if Brimstone really was a miser, when she reached a little portrait in a standing frame on top of a battered chest. The painting was of a thin old man, possibly Brimstone himself, staring out with a smug expression on his face. As Blue bent forward to examine it, the old man in the picture winked.
She was so startled she jerked back, but when nothing else happened, she bent forward again. The old man gave another wink. She shifted her head back and forward and discovered that, in a certain position, the portrait always seemed to wink. But why? You might attach a wink spell to a child's toy, but it was hardly the sort of novelty that would make anybody money in an adult portrait. So why had a wink spell been attached to this one? A growing suspicion almost made her smile.
Blue moved her head until the portrait winked at her, then winked back. At once there was the distinctive scent of an illusion breaking and the gloomy, fly-specked glowglobes flared into full, bright light. She straightened up and looked around. The room was transformed. The clutter of ancient furniture had disappeared to be replaced by a tasteful selection of stylish – and costly – antiques. The bare floorboards had given way to thick imported carpeting wall to wall. Brimstone's chair had turned into a modern recliner with an extendable tray for cocktails and cushions sculptured to the exact shape of his skinny bottom. But her attention was drawn at once to one of the antiques, a beautifully preserved roll-top desk.
She expected it to be locked, but Brimstone must have relied on his illusion spell for security since she opened it up easily. There were cubbyholes packed with papers, and more papers in the drawers. Blue ransacked them systematically, looking for anything that might provide a clue to what had happened to Pyrgus. Her hopes quickly faded. All the papers referred to Brimstone's business interests, most of them concerned with the Chalkhill and Brimstone company. To her surprise, the papers themselves seemed to be completely in order. There was not the slightest hint of underhand activities or shady deals. There wasn't even a suggestion of anything unethical, let alone illegal.