Clyde motioned for Gord to get up, throwing him a cruel wink that indicated he should be afraid of what was in store for him, and then gestured for him to head down the corridor while he followed. “I’d bash his brains in m’self, Roak,” said Clyde over his shoulder as they moved away, “but that might infect my club. I’ll just leave it up to-” and by then they were out of the short corridor and heading down a set of stairs, and Clyde didn’t bother to finish the sentence.

Gord thought about trying to run away, but there was no way he could have succeeded. In spite of himself, he began to quiver with fear. His eyes darted from side to side, and he even began to take small steps away from the guard. Clyde saw that his charge was near complete panic, so he muttered softly: “Stop it, you stupid punk! In a minute you’re gonna blow the whole thing for both of us!”

Now Gord was more puzzled still, but the utter fear that had been washing over him subsided enough for him to remain in control of it. Soon they were at the front gate of the prison. Clyde handed over the document he had scratched out moments earlier, and the sentries passed them through without word or question. Gord could scarcely believe what was happening! In a few minutes the workhouse was lost from sight as they walked briskly into the Thieves Quarter.

Gord tried to find out what was happening and where they were going. His first set of questions was ignored, and when he tried again a couple of minutes later he got a slap on the side of the head for his effort. Obviously, the guard was not going to tell him anything more, and from moment to moment Gord’s confused emotions vacillated between optimism and apprehension. After a walk of some distance, they came to a stop in front of a huge, old, dilapidated building. And still the guard said nothing.

Chapter 3

The inside of the old building was a marvel of decayed, rococo splendor.