CHAPTER 23

THE WATCHMAKERS’ WAS DARK. AN UPSTAIRS window yawned open like a hungry mouth.

Sam Lightfinger was already inside.

Cordelia opened her eyes wide as moons, but the sprinkled starlight was not bright enough to see much by. A faint scratching sound and a silvery tinkle came in a wisp through the open window.

She stretched up, but the wall below the window was too high to climb. It would take a jump to a brick ledge, a shimmy up a drainpipe, then a dangerous inching along to reach the windowsill.

I’ll just have to wait here for him to come out, she decided.

After a minute, an uncomfortable realization dawned on Cordelia: she was loitering. The very thing she had been accused of doing by Mrs. Bootmaker. She tried to look purposeful and not at all suspicious, which was hard while skulking in a dark side street.

Oh no! Now I’m skulking too! she thought.

A lantern-lit carriage rolled past on the main street. The soles of Cordelia’s feet itched as she made herself stand still and not bolt.

Her whole plan had been:

1. BREAK OUT OF HATMAKER HOUSE.
2. CATCH SAM LIGHTFINGER IN THE ACT OF CLIMBING THROUGH THE WATCHMAKERS’ WINDOW.
3. EXTRACT A PROMISE FROM SAM TO TELL GOOSE THE TRUTH.
4. HITCH A RIDE ON A CART TO THE COAST.
5. BORROW A FISHING BOAT TO GO AND FIND HER FATHER.

But this unexpected lull between stages 1 and 2 was making her nervous.

A lamp flared farther up the road. Around the corner a horse whinnied softly. Cordelia’s palms were sweaty. She was just about to decide that she would wait for twelve more seconds when a foot appeared in the open window.

Then the rest of Sam Lightfinger reversed into view.

Cordelia could not help but admire Sam as he inched, shimmied, and leaped with surprising grace down from the window. But when the boy landed lightly on the street, Cordelia was waiting, arms folded.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice.

A voice that did not belong to Cordelia or Sam.

Both children looked up. Thieftaker Sternlaw’s face flared above them, flickering flame-red and black in the lantern light.

Sam bolted.

The Thieftaker lunged for Cordelia and she dived out of the way. She heard him curse as he lumbered into the iron railings. She whipped around and spied Sam sprinting across the main street and into an alley. She darted after him, fast as a bird.

Sam’s silhouette stood stark for a second at the end of the alley.

“Hey!” Cordelia cried. “I want to talk!”

He fled. Cordelia followed.

The Thieftaker was pounding the pavement behind her, long arms reaching for her like a mad marionette.

“COME BACK HERE!” he bellowed.

Sam pelted down Oxford Street and into the shadows of Soho Square. He scuttled around a corner, Cordelia galloping behind him. But the Thieftaker could not turn the corner as quick. He slipped in a pile of horse dung and went sprawling into the gutter.

Cordelia heard him thud to the ground with a squelch and yell, “BLAST!”

But she did not stop. Sam Lightfinger was almost lost in the gloomy streets. Then she caught a flash of silver—the Peace Watch! It was like a taunt. She put on a spurt of speed.

She was gaining on him.

They burst onto Piccadilly Circus. There were very-late-night or very-early-morning carts rolling along the street. A pair of dandies, ruddy with brandy, were reeling around, singing. They paused when they saw two kids run hell for leather in front of them, the boy a blur of rags, the girl a whirl of skirts.

“Wait!” Cordelia panted. She could almost touch him. She reached out—

But Sam sprang across the street in front of a carriage. The horses reared, eyes rolling, and Cordelia skidded to a stop.

“Oi! Wotcha playing at?” the driver snarled, flicking his whip.

“Sorry!” Cordelia gasped, doing a sort of dance around the lurching carriage. Through the spokes of the wheels she could see Sam getting away.

She dodged around the pawing hooves as Sam bolted down a wide side street.

“Please come back!” Cordelia called. “I want to talk to you!”

He swung around and stared at her for a moment, eyes wide.

“Don’t follow me!” he yelled. “Go home!”

He slipped down a dingy alley and, for a second, Cordelia paused. There was something feral about him, a shadow stealing beneath the black shoulder of the building.

She felt a little shiver of fear. She could just let him go, into the dark of the London night. Now was her chance: she could turn tail and run for the light that was her father.

She stood there in the dark street, gritting her teeth. As Sam slipped away, he was stealing more than the Peace Watch. He was stealing her friendship with Goose. He might even be stealing the last chance for peace itself.

Cordelia took a deep breath and took a step. Then she was following him—along the twisting alleyway, pressing herself against the brick wall when he glanced back.

He started to climb, scaling the sheer face of a building like a sailor climbing to the top of a mast. But, unlike a rope-swagged ship, there was no rigging on the building. He was holding on to notches in the crumbling brick wall with just the tips of his fingers. He climbed lightly, as though the earth would not pull him back down if he slipped.

Cordelia held her breath as Sam climbed past a vast stained-glass window and continued up a thin tower, stupefyingly high. When he clambered inside through a narrow window, Cordelia sighed with relief.

It was only then that she recognized the building: the Elizabethan Makers in the stained-glass window were unmistakable.

Sam was inside the Guildhall.

Cordelia held her breath as Sam climbed past a vast stained-glass window and continued up a thin tower, stupefyingly high.