Pyrgus closed the cupboard door and took time to have a little think. Tag or no tag, he wasn't going back the way he came. He'd have to find another way out.
He was still looking for it when he stumbled on the secret of Chalkhill and Brimstone's Miracle Glue.
With his white coat and tag, Pyrgus discovered he could go anywhere in the factory and nobody showed the slightest interest. All the same, he was careful to keep to himself, and do nothing that would arouse suspicion. Mostly he walked with a confident air as if he knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going. The trouble was he didn't really have a clue and, far from discovering an exit, he found himself wandering deeper and deeper into the maze of factory buildings.
Eventually he wandered into what must have been the production plant.
The heat was horrendous, the stench hideous: it was all he could do to stop throwing up on the floor. But he controlled himself and looked around.
The floor space was packed with evil-smelling vats of bubbling liquid and criss-crossed with encrusted pipes. Banks of heavy machinery drove pumps that strained to push the viscous fluids to a giant stoup set inside an enormous open oven at the south side of the chamber. Inside the stoup, a yellow-greenish mass of something ghastly roiled and boiled. The room was packed with workers, their uniform coats stained with residues and sweat. Some of them tended the machinery, others stirred the liquids in the bubbling vats. A hardy few hovered by the open oven, their faces ruddy from its glow.
Fighting back the urge to gag, Pyrgus moved forward cautiously. There was an observation gallery about fifteen feet above the main floor. A few guards lounged on the railing, staring down with bored expressions, but most of those on the platform were inspectors using the high vantage point to check the fluids in the vats. One or two workers threaded among them, part of a constant stream parading up and down the metal stairway near the oven. With a surge of relief, Pyrgus noticed there was a door towards the end of the gallery prominently marked EXIT.
Pyrgus moved forward into the swarm of workers, confident the few bored guards would never notice him. With a purposeful expression, he made his way towards the metal stairway, stopping from time to time as he pretended to adjust machinery or inspect the contents of a vat. No one paid him any attention.
As he approached the stairway, the heat from the open oven reached such a peak that he began to pour with sweat. By the oven itself, some of the workers had taken off their coats and were working naked to the waist. He noticed a cage hanging close by. It was not a great deal larger than a birdcage, but inside was a small cat patiently nursing five sturdy little kittens.
Pyrgus stopped. He liked animals – Hairstreak's men were after him because he'd rescued Hairstreak's phoenix – and while it was nice to see Chalkhill and Brimstone had adopted company mascots, the kittens were far too close to the oven to be comfortable. He hesitated for a moment at the foot of the staircase, then walked over to one of the oven workmen.
'It's too hot here for those cats,' he said bluntly, nodding towards the cage. 'You should move them further from the oven.'
The man turned towards him with a sour expression on his face. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and eyed Pyrgus's clean coat. 'You new here or what?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Pyrgus. 'What about it?'
'Then you won't know, will you?' said the workman.
'Won't know what?' Pyrgus demanded impatiently. It looked as if he'd picked the village idiot. The man had the dull, smug expression of a child pulling wings off flies.
'Won't know that it doesn't matter if they're a bit hot now, 'cause they'll be hotter in a minute, won't they? -at least one of the little ones will be.'
Something about his tone set off an unpleasant tingling near the base of Pyrgus's spine. 'What are you talking about?'
The man smiled slyly. 'That's the secret ingredient, ain't it? That's what puts the miracle into Miracle Glue.'
Frowning, Pyrgus said, 'What's the secret ingredient?'
The man's smile broadened. 'Kittens!' he told Pyrgus expansively. 'Kitten a day sends the glue on its way! Didn't they tell you that one when you joined? Chuck in a live kitten and it makes a batch of glue stick better than anything else on the market. Nobody knows why. Mr Brimstone found it out by accident when he was drowning a litter and couldn't be fagged to go down to the river.' He leaned forward and tapped the side of his nose. "Course that's a secret. Lot of people wouldn't use the glue if they found out it was made from kittens.'
There was a distant commotion behind him near the door where he'd come in, but Pyrgus ignored it.
'You… put kittens in the glue?'
'One a day,' the man said proudly. 'There's one due to go in about now, so you can see it if you like. Mother cat's quiet now, but she howls for hours afterwards. Keeps calling the dead kitten, stupid little toad. It's a great laugh.'
The commotion behind was nearer and louder. Pyrgus glanced over his shoulder and saw to his horror a team of guards pushing purposely towards him through the workers. He looked up the stairway. There was nobody between him and the exit door.
'Tell you what,' the workman said. 'You can throw the kitten in, seeing as you're new and all. Best fun you'll have here all day.'
Pyrgus hit him in the mouth. The man stumbled backwards, more surprised than hurt, but as he flailed to keep his balance, he set one hand firmly on the glowing surface of the oven. 'Yoooow!' he howled in sudden agony.
Pyrgus pushed past him and grabbed the hanging cage. For a moment he couldn't get it free, then it came away from the chain. The mother cat looked up at him warily but continued to feed her kittens. Pyrgus spun round and discovered a burly guard between him and the staircase.
'Oh no you don't!' the guard said, grinning. He spread himself to block Pyrgus's way.
The target was too good to miss. Pyrgus kicked him hard between the legs and leapfrogged over him when he bent double.
Then, still carrying the cage of cat and kittens, Pyrgus sprinted up the staircase towards the door marked exit.
Four
Silas Brimstone locked the door. He had a grin on his wizened old face and a book in his wizened old hands. The book looked even more ancient than he did, a massive, dusty parchment tome bound between heavy boards. Brimstone's wizened old fingers stroked the faded gold leaf of the inlaid title: The Book of Beleth.
The Book of Beleth! He could hardly believe his luck. The Book of Beleth! Everything he'd always wanted was between those heavy boards. Everything.
He was in his attic room, a gloomy, poky, low-ceilinged chamber with few furnishings and more grime than the glue factory. But it had everything he needed. Oh yes, it had everything he needed. Brimstone giggled to himself and scratched a scab on his balding pate. Everything he needed to bring him everything he wanted.
Brimstone carried the book to the single, grubby window and opened it beneath the light. On the title page there was a heavy black sigil made up of curls and loops like the doodle of an idiot child. Below the sigil some long-dead scribe had written six stark words:
Beleth holds the keys to Hell.
'Yes,' chuckled Brimstone. 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' His rheumy old eyes glittered with delight.
Everything he'd always wanted and the book had cost him nothing. What a bonus that was. What an unexpected pleasure. What a strange, deep turn of fate. For years he'd searched for Beleth's book, fully expecting to pay out a small fortune when he found it. But when it came to him, it came so easily – and at no cost whatsoever! Well, no cost worth considering. A pittance to the bailiff who threw the widow from her home and seized her pitiful possessions in lieu of rent.