He threw off the blanket and stretched, and proceeded to make himself a weak tisane from a used
bag and eat a piece of bread he found on the table. Then he explored the Kryptos thoroughly. There was little to see: Folly’s bedroll, his own makeshift bed, some crockery. He went to the
trunk and in a matter of seconds he had sprung the lock and lifted the lid. There were clothes on top – trousers and shirts – and he helped himself to one of each. He also found a
compass and a roll of maps, including one of Antithica province and a smaller detailed map of Degringolade. He spread the latter on the table and took a few moments to peruse it. The Flumen River
was clearly marked in blue, skirting the city before flowing out to the Turbid Sea.
With his left index finger he traced a path out of Degringolade along the Great West Road to a wide area marked Palus Salus – the salt marsh, he guessed – in the middle of which was
the symbol for a Komaterion. Further across, a dark patch indicated the Tar Pit. Folly was making it out to be harder than it was, he thought; all he had to do was follow the path across the marsh
and it would lead him back to the city. In a decisive mood, refreshed from sleep and frustrated at having wasted so much time already, he quickly packed up his belongings, including the map and
compass, and took a spare manuslantern. ‘Goodbye, Folly, whoever you are,’ he murmured on the threshold of the Kryptos. ‘And thanks for everything.’
He stepped out into semi-darkness and a thick swirling mist. The warm Kryptos suddenly seemed very inviting, but the sight of his bandaged hand steeled his resolve. He set off, whistling to keep
himself cheerful, and spent a few hundred yards relishing thoughts of how he might exact his revenge on Kamptulicon, each more grisly than the last. Suddenly he remembered the heel of his boot and
stopped to check it. He was not surprised to find that the book was gone. Kamptulicon must have taken that too. Oh, how he would have loved to give the sadistic maggot a taste of his own
medicine.
But, if he was completely honest with himself, Vincent knew that all he really wanted was to retrieve his smitelight and go on his way. He was a thief and a picklock with a badly injured hand;
Kamptulicon was quite obviously a lunatic with an equally mad and stinking friend. At least
he
couldn’t sneak up on him; his smell would always give him away! Yes, he would exact his
revenge, but he could wait.
He was heartened, however, by the thought of the mansions on the hill. He would pay one or two a visit before he left Degringolade. He remembered too the green-eyed girl’s Trikuklos. What
a fine prize that would be. And then he would get the Aether out of this place.
Resolutely he strode on, but the path was increasingly difficult to negotiate, and it wasn’t long before he was beginning to feel uneasy. Surely he should be able to see the city lights by
now. Once the edge of the path gave way and he sank ankle deep into the marshy verge. ‘This’ll do my boots no good at all!’ he lamented as he pulled his feet out of the sucking
mud – they were a particularly fine pair he had stolen prior to his arrival in Degringolade. Back on firmer ground, he checked the compass but the needle was spinning wildly, refusing to
settle. His heart sank. How long had he been going the wrong way? To compound his unease, the ever-present howling was increasing in volume and to Vincent, alone out on the dark, inhospitable
marsh, the noise seemed rather more menacing than when he had first heard it from his perch in the Kronometer. So, when a cluster of blue lights appeared up ahead in the mist, he hailed the
mysterious lantern bearers with some relief.
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you going?’ They must have heard for the lights steadied in one place, though no one replied. ‘Should I follow?’ he wondered.
The lights moved on and he found the decision was made for him.
bag and eat a piece of bread he found on the table. Then he explored the Kryptos thoroughly. There was little to see: Folly’s bedroll, his own makeshift bed, some crockery. He went to the
trunk and in a matter of seconds he had sprung the lock and lifted the lid. There were clothes on top – trousers and shirts – and he helped himself to one of each. He also found a
compass and a roll of maps, including one of Antithica province and a smaller detailed map of Degringolade. He spread the latter on the table and took a few moments to peruse it. The Flumen River
was clearly marked in blue, skirting the city before flowing out to the Turbid Sea.
With his left index finger he traced a path out of Degringolade along the Great West Road to a wide area marked Palus Salus – the salt marsh, he guessed – in the middle of which was
the symbol for a Komaterion. Further across, a dark patch indicated the Tar Pit. Folly was making it out to be harder than it was, he thought; all he had to do was follow the path across the marsh
and it would lead him back to the city. In a decisive mood, refreshed from sleep and frustrated at having wasted so much time already, he quickly packed up his belongings, including the map and
compass, and took a spare manuslantern. ‘Goodbye, Folly, whoever you are,’ he murmured on the threshold of the Kryptos. ‘And thanks for everything.’
He stepped out into semi-darkness and a thick swirling mist. The warm Kryptos suddenly seemed very inviting, but the sight of his bandaged hand steeled his resolve. He set off, whistling to keep
himself cheerful, and spent a few hundred yards relishing thoughts of how he might exact his revenge on Kamptulicon, each more grisly than the last. Suddenly he remembered the heel of his boot and
stopped to check it. He was not surprised to find that the book was gone. Kamptulicon must have taken that too. Oh, how he would have loved to give the sadistic maggot a taste of his own
medicine.
But, if he was completely honest with himself, Vincent knew that all he really wanted was to retrieve his smitelight and go on his way. He was a thief and a picklock with a badly injured hand;
Kamptulicon was quite obviously a lunatic with an equally mad and stinking friend. At least
he
couldn’t sneak up on him; his smell would always give him away! Yes, he would exact his
revenge, but he could wait.
He was heartened, however, by the thought of the mansions on the hill. He would pay one or two a visit before he left Degringolade. He remembered too the green-eyed girl’s Trikuklos. What
a fine prize that would be. And then he would get the Aether out of this place.
Resolutely he strode on, but the path was increasingly difficult to negotiate, and it wasn’t long before he was beginning to feel uneasy. Surely he should be able to see the city lights by
now. Once the edge of the path gave way and he sank ankle deep into the marshy verge. ‘This’ll do my boots no good at all!’ he lamented as he pulled his feet out of the sucking
mud – they were a particularly fine pair he had stolen prior to his arrival in Degringolade. Back on firmer ground, he checked the compass but the needle was spinning wildly, refusing to
settle. His heart sank. How long had he been going the wrong way? To compound his unease, the ever-present howling was increasing in volume and to Vincent, alone out on the dark, inhospitable
marsh, the noise seemed rather more menacing than when he had first heard it from his perch in the Kronometer. So, when a cluster of blue lights appeared up ahead in the mist, he hailed the
mysterious lantern bearers with some relief.
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you going?’ They must have heard for the lights steadied in one place, though no one replied. ‘Should I follow?’ he wondered.
The lights moved on and he found the decision was made for him.
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