Fortress of Ephemera: A Gothic Thriller by Eric Christopherson Page B

crock of shit too, and we're going after the sister instead. It's only Cormac who's staying behind.” From amid the debris at his feet, he picked up an artist's paintbrush, lit the bristles over the newspaper bundle, and used it as a taper to relight the gas lantern. “Now put out that damn fire you caused, before the whole building burns to the ground.”
    But Miss Buxton had already removed her blue fox fur coat, and she proceeded to smother the newspaper bundle with it. I was left to stamp out a few stray flames licking up the dust nearby. Her coat was by now filthy and charred. She tsk-tsked at it mournfully, but slipped back into the garment, due to the chill.
    “What use have you for me now?” I asked Howard.
    “What use? We just had two tons of crap dropped onto our heads. And lest we forget, Langley had a crossbow rigged up and waiting to shoot arrows at intruders. How many more deadly surprises has he, do you think?”
    I shrugged. “Quite a few, I'd say.”
    “On every floor, I'd say. Maybe in every room. So guess who's going to lead our little search party upstairs. You, Trenowyth. And you'll be well out in front of the rest of us too, so that whatever booby trap goes off next, you'll be the only one who gets it. I think they call it 'walking the point' in the Army, am I right?”
    “Yes,” I said and thought of Max Beasley, a comrade from the war who'd stepped on an anti-tank mine while walking the point. The only sign of him afterwards had been his helmet. I started for the stairs.
    Howard kicked an empty tin can that sailed by my kneecap. “We never should've slit that newsie's throat.”
    “Aye,” Cormac said. “He'd of made a fine sacrificial lamb too.”
    “But at the time we had no way of knowing we'd need live bodies.”
    I scooped up Noah's codebook from where I'd dropped it at the base of the staircase and faced Howard. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather have me keep working on this code? I've made a real breakthrough in the last few minutes. Honestly.”
    “You'd say anything to avoid walking the point, wouldn't you, war hero?”
    “No, really, if you'd just let me—”
    “Get moving.”
     
    A Diversion
     
    Approximately 8:00 PM
     
    With one foot on the bottom stair, I hesitated. The narrow path leading upwards wove through a stockpile of clutter à la the paths that we'd traversed on the first floor and down in the basement. Its unpredictable twists and turns would help to conceal any booby traps ahead.
    “Shouldn't we wait on the other reprobate?” I asked Howard. “Willie?”
    “Never you mind,” he said and turned to Cormac. “When Willie gets back, tell him he needs to catch up to us, pronto.”
    The injured mick postponed his low moaning long enough to say, “Aye.”
    Howard turned back to me. “Go. We can't spare another minute.”
    “As you wish.” I began my ascent, frequently bumping into matter, the omnipresent heaps of declining worth. “Which floor is our destination?”
    “The top floor,” he said. “That's where Langley stuck his head out the window, greeting us earlier. She must be up there.”
    “A logical guess,” I said. “But still a mere guess.”
    “Brady!” Howard called.
    “What is it?” Brady replied from above.
    “Trenowyth's heading up first!”
    “Yeah?”
    “He's to continue on up to the top floor, no delays! Follow him, but leave him out in front by ten stairs, minimum!”
    “What for?”
    While Howard explained, I glanced over my shoulder. Miss Buxton was beginning her climb, not a hint of fear in her bearing. My Annabel, I remember thinking, would've lapsed into hysteria by now. Howard followed, gripping the lantern in one hand, the gun in the other.
    “I'll need my own light,” I said to him. “Otherwise, our progress will suffer greatly.”
    “Here comes the lantern.” He slithered by Miss Buxton in order to hand it off to me personally. “I need not describe for you what would happen to the woman should this light