The north stairs smelled of old bronze and wet rope.
Cynthia took the lamp.
Mesterica took the left wall.
Rigel told the two complainers to stay on the landing and shout if anyone came up smiling.
Erna came anyway, hammer on her belt.
"If that bell moves I want to see what it's sitting on," she said. "You lot look at enemies. I look at fixtures."
The bell chamber was open to the night on three sides.
The royal bell hung crooked on a wooden yoke that should have been locked.
It was not locked.
The bronze had turned a finger's width, enough to scrape the stop.
Cynthia held the lamp higher.
"Nobody rings this," she said. "Not since the flag changed. Father had the clapper chained."
The chain was still there.
The clapper sat in its loop like it had never been touched.
The yoke was what had moved.
Rigel put a hand on the wood.
It was damp.
Not rain. The same damp as the linen seam.
