Gilded Cage (Dark Gifts #1)(32)
‘Ooof!’
Luke had run straight into Renie’s back, and she had every right to look narked, given the precariousness of their footing. They’d passed from the relative safety of the roof onto a narrow grate walkway that joined the building to its neighbour. There was no handrail, just a low metal lip along each side.
‘Keep your mind on the game,’ Renie scolded, sounding more like Mum than any thirteen-year-old had a right to. Then she relented; he must have looked pretty shame-faced. ‘Not bein’ mean. Just we can’t ever afford to clock off, you know? Not till a thing’s done.’
‘No,’ said Luke. ‘It won’t happen again, I’m sorry – and for saying what I did earlier. I’m a bit petrified, to be honest.’
‘S’okay,’ Renie said, her pinched features softening a bit. ‘Me too. This is a biggie.’
She pointed into the gloom ahead. ‘Here we go. This top floor is the Overseer’s Office, for the Overbitch, an’ then all her cronies beneath her. That’s where I’ll go down. Do a bit of redecorating.’
Renie turned and spat expressively over the side of the walkway, then headed for the spot she’d indicated. Luke followed, careful to keep two paces behind, no more, no less.
What had Renie meant about having no schooling? How had she acquired her intimate knowledge of every corner of Millmoor? Could she really have been here for years? That would explain a lot, not least her feral ways and scrawny size.
She’d helped the Doc give the briefing earlier, describing in detail how Luke could make his way up to the rooftop without being seen. She’d outlined the route Oz and Jessica would take, too. They were way across on the other side of Millmoor, near the vehicle depot. Asif and Jackson were at the largest call-centre complex. How were they all getting on, he wondered?
But no, mustn’t get distracted.
Focus, Luke.
Renie was waiting for him, jiggling up and down on the balls of her feet. The thing in her pocket gave a muffled rattle.
The roof here had no parapet, just an edging that came up to about knee-height. If he lost his footing, it wouldn’t be enough to stop him going over.
He pulled the rope bundle from his shoulder, laid it out on the concrete and started sorting through. When he asked her, Renie stepped into the harness without demurring. It was far too big, of course, but he tightened what straps he could until she was cradled in it well enough. He’d spotted a good anchor point for his end of the rope – some sort of maintenance hatch in the roof. The MADhouse occupants presumably never had to wait to get their air-con fixed if the filter bust.
And then for the knots he’d carefully learned. There was a figure-eight follow-through to secure Renie’s harness, with the loop at his end so he could control her descent. He tugged the lines he’d laid down and practised paying out the rope to make sure everything flowed smoothly. Next he ran his hands along the edge of the building, checking for anything that might snag or fray the rope. Renie watched him.
‘Very thorough,’ she said, approvingly. ‘You’re getting good at this, I can see.’
Luke grinned back, running a hand over his fuzzy scalp – some bloke in the dorm had had a go at it with electric clippers a few days ago. Mum would have freaked at the result, but Luke thought it looked sharp.
‘Can’t be dropping you, can I? Not even the Doc would be able to scrape you back together.’
‘Don’t be so sure.’ Renie checked her watch. ‘Come on, kiddo, it’s time.’
He was going to protest at being called ‘kiddo’ by a thirteen-year-old, but Renie avoided any retort by stepping backwards off the roof.
Luke staggered as the rope went taut. But it held. His heart was banging away beneath his ribs: should-have-done-another-check-did-I-anchor-it-firmly-enough-what-if-the-knot’s-loose-what-if—
‘More!’ Renie’s voice floated up from the darkness below. ‘Three metres. Slowly.’
Luke paid out the rope, little by little. From over the edge came a rattle as Renie drew the canister from her pocket and shook it. He heard the pop of the plastic lid coming off, then the hiss as she sprayed the letter as large as she could make it. Luke wondered what colour paint she’d purloined. Something neon would be good. Or red, like blood. He imagined it dripping slowly down the building. Yeah, nice effect.
‘Lower!’ Renie called.
Luke shifted to feed out more rope, wincing as it scraped along the roof edge. Again, he heard the whirr of the ball bearings and the hiss of propellant gas. He felt their connection flex as Renie twisted her body. The rope dug into his palm, but didn’t cut, and when she called up he paid out one final length. Renie was fifteen metres down and despite her sparrow weight the tension through the cord was unbelievable.
The third letter. He heard a huff of effort as the girl strained to draw it in one long, smooth shape. Then the plastic cap snapped back in place. The smell of wet paint and aerosol drifted up from the darkness, tickling his nose.
‘Up!’ he heard.
He braced his foot against the edge and prepared to heave the deadweight that was Renie back up and onto the roof. Oz would easily manage Jessica, but he wondered if the Doc and Asif had tossed a coin to decide who did the heavy lifting in their team.
Of course not. No coins in Millmoor. Just one more bizarre thing about life here, he thought, as he grunted and hauled. No cash. He used to wonder at the stories in his mum’s magazines about women who bankrupted themselves shortly after finishing their days. They emptied their savings accounts from their lives before and blew it on handbags, shoes, junk like that. He thought he understood their madness a bit better now.