Sir William stepped out on to the upper gantry, just as the ladder pulled away from the wall. One of the upper bolts sheared, the extra strain immediately breaking the bolt on the other side with a screech of tearing metal. The top of the ladder lurched outwards. Liz screamed, and Sir William had to lunge to make it to the upper gantry.
‘Go on, quickly!’ George shouted.
Sir William was reaching across for Liz. She grasped his hand, jumped. She slipped, her feet suddenly dangling over the edge, in space. George reached out desperately, managing to get his hand under one of her feet and push upwards just as Sir William heaved Liz towards him.
With a gasp of relief as Liz joined Sir William on the safety of the gantry, George hurried to follow. The ladder was pulling further and further away from the wall, away from the connection to the gantry. He would have to jump. Liz was beckoning for him, ready to try to catch him. He braced himself as he reached the top rung.
And a hand closed over his lower leg, gripping it tight. George gave a yelp of surprise. He kicked out with his other foot, holding on tight to the sides of the ladder with both hands. The grip loosened, and he managed to rip his leg free. He jumped at once.
Just in time. The ladder continued to break away. Several more bolts sheared off and fell heavily into space, clattering to the lower gantry thirty feet below one after another. The top of the ladder was swinging more rapidly now, pulled over by the weight of the men climbing up it. As George’s stomach crashed into the gantry, as he struggled to hold on, as he hauled himself on to it, the ladder finally tore from the wall with a squeal of tortured metal. Liz helped him to his feet, and they both glanced down as the ladder crashed to the floor below.
Sir William was also looking down. But not at the falling ladder, or the men sliding angrily back down to the gantry below. He was looking out over the manufacturing floor. Liz joined him, breathing heavily. Standing behind them, George too saw the larger metal exoframes arranged behind the ones they had seen before. And beyond that, the shadowy outline of more ironwork being assembled from the most distant engines and furnaces. Silhouetted in the drifting smoke, George could see the vague shapes of struts and braces sticking up like broken teeth.
‘Glad you could join us, young man,’ Sir William said. ‘But I think we should hurry.’ He led them over to a skylight, fastened open to allow the smoke and steam to escape. It was easily large enough to climb through, and Sir William called back that there was a ladder down on the other side.
‘Lucky,’ Liz said.
‘An informed guess,’ Sir William called back. ‘They need to get in from the outside for maintenance after all.’
George let Liz follow Sir William. ‘They’ll soon realise where we’re going. We’d better get a move on or we’ll find them waiting at the bottom of the ladder.’ He pushed through the open section of roof after Liz. The steam and smoke swirled round him — wet and hot. Outside the London smog was cold and damp. For a moment, caught between the two, eyes stinging and unable to breathe, George imagined what hell must be like.
Eddie did not see the figures hiding close to the iron gates that led out of the park, even though he had been half expecting them. Only when they moved — detaching themselves from the shadows and stepping towards him — did he realise they were there.
With a cry of surprise, he turned to run. But more figures were appearing through the mist, closing in on him. He was trapped, and his only option was to stand and fight. He hefted the orange-shaped stone in his hand wondering whether to keep it as a weapon or to hurl it at the first man who came for him. He hoped it would be Blade.
It was not. It was a tall, spindly figure that Eddie recognised immediately as Lorimore. As the figure scuttled towards him, rubbing its bony hands together with satisfaction, Eddie saw that his features were as thin as his body. His nose was barely more than a line down his face, his eyes narrowed to slits.
‘Well, well, well.’ Lorimore’s voice was as sharp and pinched as his features. ‘What have we here? A young lad who would appear to be missing his coat, and on such a cold night too.’ He paused several feet from Eddie, teeth visible between thin lips as he smiled malevolently. ‘Do you perchance have a spare coat that might fit this young man, Mr Blade?’
Blade’s voice came from behind Eddie, making him jump. ‘I did, Mr Lorimore, sir. Only trouble is, it got all ripped to pieces.’
Lorimore shook his head slowly, and Eddie thought of a cobra he had once seen at Regent’s Park Zoo. ‘Such a pity. But I suppose the thing to do is to make sure that the lad matches his coat. Ripped to pieces, you say, Mr Blade?’ His whole body seemed to shake with laughter at this — a high-pitched nasal whine like a pig in pain.
Blade too was laughing, great guffaws that almost doubled him up. If he was going to make a move, Eddie realised that this might be his only chance. He raised the stone, and ran straight at Lorimore, shouting with rage.
Lorimore stopped laughing at once. As Eddie grew closer, running now at full pelt, stone raised, he saw Lorimore’s eyes suddenly open wide. A skeletal finger pointed at Eddie and Lorimore’s mouth was open in what might be fear, or surprise, or …
Eddie launched himself at Lorimore, sending them both flying. Eddie fell on top of the man as they hit the ground, winding his opponent while guaranteeing a soft landing for himself. Eddie smacked the stone down as hard as he could.
Lorimore twisted, desperately reaching to grab Eddie’s hand as it hammered down at him. He managed to deflect the blow and almost prised the stone from Eddie’s grip. But then the blow hit home — glancing off Lorimore’s shoulder. The man screamed out in pain. Eddie wrenched himself free, rolled to his feet, and still clutching the stone he bolted straight for the gates.
Lorimore’s men were running to help their master, and only Blade gave chase. He was knocked sideways by one of the thugs running the other way. He spun away into the mist with a loud curse. Over and above Blade’s shout, Eddie could hear Lorimore yelling at his henchmen to leave him, that he was all right, that they must get after the boy …
But Eddie was already out of the gates and running down the main road — sprinting after a cab that rattled past. He shouted for it to stop, managed to get level with it for a few seconds, and saw the driver’s muffled face staring down at him in surprise.
Then a heavy arm made a grab for Eddie. He gave a screech of surprise and fear.
‘Steady on,’ the driver said in a gruff voice as he hauled Eddie up on to the seat beside him. ‘You got any money for your fare, then?’
‘We should have stayed with him,’ George said again.
Liz held his hand. She knew how he felt — she felt the same. But as Sir William had pointed out, and as they both knew, to stay in the park would have meant certain capture.
‘He had a good chance,’ she said quietly. ‘They can’t have known he was hiding inside the statue.’
‘Then why isn’t he here? He should have got here well before us — he’d have come straight here.’
‘He might have had to remain inside for hours. Who knows?’
‘Or he might have been caught, trapped inside or grabbed as he tried to get out of the park. We were lucky enough to get away ourselves.’ George pulled his hand free and turned away. ‘We should have stayed.’
The three of them were sitting exhausted in Sir William Protheroe’s office. They had checked and re-checked that the British Museum was no longer being watched. It seemed that all of Lorimore’s men had been at the Crystal Palace. The Museum was deserted — eerily quiet and unlit. The first staff would not arrive for hours yet. Liz yawned, wondering if she was going to get any sleep at all tonight.