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It’s still too great for me to manage, but there’s no going back. I push off with my back foot and lunge for the opening. My chest hits the bottom edge, and my hands and arms splay out on the floor, seeking any hold. Fortunately, while the Sanctum’s outer walls are smooth and fitted so tightly a thread couldn’t be worked between them, the floors no one sees are much less so. My fingers find an uneven place between stones and grab on. The toes of my boots have enough traction to lever me up until my whole upper body is inside and I can pull myself the rest of the way in, heart pounding.
That’s when I realize I still have my safety rope around my waist. Had I remembered, I could have used that somehow. Too late now.
I stand and look around. Several smaller bells are arranged at my height, and I weave around and through them, peering up into the framework placed by the first builders decades ago. The largest bell in the center blocks most of my vision, but beyond it, near the top, I spot the bottom of a pair of boots. Remi sits across from a bell of medium size and weight—medium being four feet in diameter and weighing over two thousand pounds. It will have no trouble knocking him over.
How in the Light did the killer get up there?
Narrow walkways run between the beams, but the spiral staircase to the top of the tower is enclosed by long metal bars, so it’s useless for getting to them. In the opposite corner lies a wooden platform attached to a series of pulleys for lifting a person up to inspect the bells.
Its ropes have been severed.
More ropes run up the wall and out to the wheels on the sides of the bell yokes. Their ends go down through the floor to the bell ringer’s room. Even with my enhanced eyesight, the tangle is impossible to sort, otherwise I would just cut the one leading to the bell in front of Remi. The trapdoor must be bolted from the underside because it won’t budge.
Climbing up the framework doesn’t frighten me, but it will take time. When I pull myself up to a lower bell’s yoke, my weight tilts it enough that the clapper strikes the side, ringing out.
From a distance, a small bell like this has a soft, pleasant sound. This close, surrounded by stone walls and magick, the reverberation is deafening, not to mention the actual vibration of the metal itself, which conducts painfully through my body. A number of pigeons roosting on the surrounding beams burst into flight.
“Hang on, Remi!” I shout through my rattling teeth. “I’m climbing up to you!”
I’m halfway to the top when Simon, Lambert, and Oudin finally reach the tower, entering from the trapdoor below.
“Cat!” Simon shouts. “Where are you?”
“Up here!” I call back. “Remi’s trapped! Stop the bell ringer before he’s hurt!”
Lambert and Simon both run back down the way they came, but Oudin stays, looking up for me. The moon has passed out of the window, leaving the inside of the tower almost completely dark. Athene’s moonstone is the only reason I can still see.
A bell strikes below as Oudin begins climbing up as I did. The birds which had resettled explode into the air again, and I fling one arm across my face to protect against feathers and claws, losing precious seconds. By now I’m even with the top of the largest bell. Remi’s feet are only another arm’s length away when I see the round mouth in front of him begin to tilt.
The bell is being pulled.
“No!” I scream. “Stop!”
It swings back, going farther. Even if I can get to Remi in the next few seconds, there’s not enough time to get him down or out of the way, nor can I stop that much weight.
But now I can see which rope leads to the wheel.
It’s a short leap to a close-set pair of beams, which I run across to the other side. I grab the rope to stop its movement, but the weight of the swinging bell drags it through my clenched hands, leaving searing marks across my palms and fingers.
I’ll have to cut it. I reach for the knife at my waist, realizing at the last second it isn’t there—I loaned it to Remi.
The bell swings again, tilting even higher, and the clapper brushes against the side, singing a note of warning.
No time. Anything sharp will do.
I dig into my pocket for the voidstone, but my fingers are burned so raw I nearly drop it as I settle it in my palm. Grasping the rope with my other hand, this time I make no attempt to stop it, moving up and down with it as I saw on it from below. The first twist of rope parts as the bell strikes again, louder. My ears ring as I press harder and drag the glass-like edge across the fibers, hearing and feeling more break with each stroke.
A second cord splinters apart. Only one remains.
Out of the corner of my eye, Oudin comes level with me on the walkway. I give the rope one more vigorous slash, severing the last strands with a single stroke. There’s not even a split second of relief before the voidstone continues, slicing into my forearm.
The world goes dark.
