Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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Arya craned her neck up, gauging the height of the bell tower from where she stood. Damn how tall this was. She glanced at her feet, noting the worn, lace boots she wore. The semi-wedge heels now stuck out of their soles like a sore thumb. Climbing whatever stairs present inside the tower would hurt.
Still, she didn't have any time to waste. She glanced at the vague direction of the Civil Hall and squared her shoulders. Let her get this whole thing over with. Grottway could strike any time and she had to be prepared for whatever trick he had played then and would be playing in this lifetime.
She gritted her teeth and strode around the tower's base. Door. There has to be a door here somewhere.
A mess of thin planks nailed against the crumbling stone walls greeted her the moment she rounded a corner to see the last face. The street opposite it offered no clue as to who did the nailing. Fancy cafes and packed dress shops with dolled up mannequins peeking through the polished glass facades lined the whole alley. This late in the afternoon, the shoppers have mostly retired to their houses, leaving Arya to be quite alone in her strange adventure.
She licked her lips. Looked like she didn't have much of a choice, then. With a step back, she transferred most of her weight on one foot. Then, she lifted her other leg and swung. Her heel caught the flat side of the lowest plank, emitting a loud, banging sound echoing into the semi-empty alley. She lowered her leg and swiveled, searching for someone who gave a hoot about what she was doing. No one was even within five steps from her.
So, she repeated the same thing. Again and again until the lowest plank gave out and snapped. She took hold of one of the halves and pulled. Splinters dug into her skin but the plank popped free. It met the ground with a dusty thud. She worked on breaking and pulling for the next few minutes, praying to whatever god for the Maltarci to never show up and charge her with desecration of cultural heritage sites.
Then again, nobody seemed to care about this bell tower for it to be vandalized with planks and nails. Or maybe Arya was just deluding herself into thinking that.
As soon as she had punched a large enough hole into the planks, she squeezed past them only to come across a wooden door. Except it wasn't a door anymore. Rot has eaten most of it, leaving only the barest shape of a rectangular slab hanging from rusty hinges. The smell of molds, damp sewer water, and dust had never invaded Arya's senses this much before.
She pressed her nose to the crook of her arm, letting the long sleeves of the rumpled dress shirt she threw on before she left the flat muffle most of her breaths. A set of wooden stairs curved up, bracing the walls of the tower as it led towards a single landing where one could touch the bell. A single rope dangled from the lofty piece of brass down to where the stairs first started.
Her boots stirred a thick layer of dust everywhere she stepped. Cobwebs formed a twisted veil, stringing down in every cranny and nook she set her eyes on. The image of spiders dropping from the ceiling and crawling all over her hair and skin made her throat constrict. And she was supposed to start dreaming in this place? Gods, no.
