At last he reached the east wing and the room where he had seen Lord Cedric. He leaned against the frame and listened for sounds inside. The room was quiet, but not silent. Harper made out the scratching of a pen nib against paper. There was another noise also, something Harper didn't recognize. It was a soft, hollow smacking. Or perhaps a popping. The view through the keyhole only offered a glimpse of jewel blue carpet. Harper waited, straining to discern just how many people were inside the room and what they might be doing.
The sound of writing stopped. Lord Cedric read the few lines he had written aloud. The low timbre of his voice rolled through his niece's funeral speech, and then another soft, clucking noise popped out.
Lord Cedric was absently clicking his tongue, Harper realized.
The sound of writing resumed, as did the rhythmless popping noises. Lord Cedric was unlikely to be so at ease as to slip into thoughtless habit if anyone else were in the room with him.
Harper silently unlocked the door and pulled Brandson's pistol from his pocket. Lord Cedric didn't stop writing. Only when the latch clicked closed behind Harper did Cedric glance up.
He froze in surprise at the sight of Harper. His expression was almost comicaclass="underline" eyes wide, lips pursed to make another pop of his tongue. The sound didn't come. He continued to stare at Harper as if he could not understand what stood before him, as if Harper were a physical impossibility.
Harper closed the distance between himself and Lord Cedric in four swift steps. He lightly rested the muzzle of Brandson's pistol against Lord Cedric's forehead. Lord Cedric's eyes managed to widen more, but his mouth remained pursed and slightly open.
"If you try to call for help, I will kill you," Harper whispered.
Lord Cedric swallowed slowly. His mouth moved, almost forming a word, but he made no sound. Harper drew the pistol back from Lord Cedric's head, allowing the man to regain a little of his composure.
"It's good that you already have your pen and ink ready. I have something for you to sign."
Harper laid out the confession that had been prepared for Sariel. It was crumpled from being in his pocket, but the Inquisition seal and watermark still stood out boldly. Lord Cedric picked up the confession, quickly skimming the tangle of le-gal language.
"Where it asks for the name of your accomplice in the Inquisition," Harper said, "fill in Abbot Greeley's name."
Harper watched as Lord Cedric neatly supplied the name. It gave Harper a certain pleasure to use Abbot Greeley's own weapons against him.
"Good," Harper said. "Now you sign it."
Lord Cedric dipped his pen in the inkwell, but then hesitated.
"I can offer you a great deal of money, Captain," he whispered without lifting his eyes.
"If I wanted your money, I would have asked for it. Now, sign," Harper said.
"Of course."
Lord Cedric signed the confession, then pulled his hand back as if further contact with the paper might burn him.
"I suppose it doesn't matter to you that I never intended to kill her," Lord Cedric said. "You have no idea how willful and disgraceful her behavior was. I had to—"
"You murdered her." Harper cut him off. "Then you and Abbot Greeley arranged for an innocent man to face your charges. You both deserve to hang."
"It was wrong of me. I know that. You can't know how guilty I've felt." Lord Cedric's face was a study of handsome regret. He looked nothing like Edward had when he had told Harper that he had signed a confession against him. He looked nothing like Belimai had for years after confessing Sariel's name. Lord Cedric knew so little of guilt that he couldn't even begin to approximate its self-loathing ugliness.
"My own conscience already tortures me more than you could ever wish to, Captain," Lord Cedric said softly.
"I don't want to torture you," Harper replied quietly. "I just want to see you executed."
The sad expression on Lord Cedric's face sank into an indignant glare.
"You honestly think that any judge will accept this confession, Captain? If you even get it into a court, it will be a matter of your word against mine. You don't have any witnesses, or any credibility." Lord Cedric slowly turned the plume of his pen between his fingers. "If you just let this entire matter go, I would be willing to pay you handsomely and see to it that the abbot doesn't pursue you any further. I might even be able to do something about the charges against your brother-in-law. You have to know, you don't have a chance in hell of convicting a lord. Why not let this go while you can still gain something?"
Harper picked up the confession. The ink had dried. He folded it back into his pocket and then backed to the door. He made sure the lock was secured and slid the chain lock into place.
Then he went to the window and opened it. The rain outside had gotten worse. His pulse quickened. Its fast rhythm throbbed through the cut in his palm. Harper studied the sheer wall for a moment, then turned back to study the room.
"Quite a climb, isn't it?" Lord Cedric's low voice already carried the tone of triumph.
Harper ignored Lord Cedric for the moment. He strode to the encasement for the dumbwaiter and lifted the little door. The dumbwaiter itself would be in the kitchen, many floors below. A smell of grease and seared steak drifted up from the narrow shaft. It would be tight, but he could fit down it.
Harper turned his full attention back to Lord Cedric. The other man just watched him as if he were studying the behavior of a threatening but infinitely stupid baboon. Lord Cedric seemed content in his knowledge that Harper would never succeed in bringing him to trial. He probably didn't even expect Harper to escape from White Chapel.
"I want to tell you one last thing," Harper said. "I never had any intention of laying charges against you."
"No?" Lord Cedric asked.
"I came here to see you executed." Harper raised Brandson's pistol and fired a shot directly into Lord Cedric's startled face. The silver bullet tore through Lord Cedric's skull in a gush of blood and cerebral fluid. The sound of the shot burst across the patter of falling rain with a resounding clarity.
Harper dropped Brandson's gun and swung into the dumb-waiter shaft. He had to shove with all his strength to get through the small opening. Then he dropped into an abyss. Sharp pain tore through his right hand as he shoved his arms and legs out against the walls of the shaft to slow his fall. Above him the small door fell shut, locking him into darkness. The friction of the walls burned his hands and legs.
He began to slow and, at last, stopped. Carefully he lowered himself, letting his legs take the brute effort of descending the shaft while he used his hands to feel for a door. He could hear shouts echoing from above him. The guards hadn't broken in Lord Cedric's door yet. Otherwise the alarm bells would be screaming through the entire building. He still had time, he told himself. Already the steady count had begun in the back of his thoughts. Second after second slipped past him as he groped in the darkness.
Harper's left hand brushed across the edge of a door. He gripped the narrow lip and shoved at it. The metal bit into his fingers, even through his gloves. The door was locked on the other side. Harper tried again. He shoved until his right hand crumpled. His own blood ran out from under his glove and dripped around his wrist. He wasn't going to be able to pull the lock open.