"No, Ridley, absolutely not."
They were standing in a long gallery in the Temple with high arched windows all down one side, and Ridley and Cuddy were arguing.
"Cuddy, he said it, you heard him. He knew something was going to happen to the Temple - he said the Erl King was planning something - anything he knows could help us."
"Do we believe him?" Cuddy arched an eyebrow, "Skelton has said all kinds of things in the past, would say anything now, to get his way - which is precisely why no one talks to him, not now."
"But I think that now he's telling the truth," Ridley protested, "I think that attack on the Museum was a feint, a distraction."
"Felt real enough to me," growled Murray, who was now nursing an injured leg from his fight with the sphinx.
"This is a precarious situation, Mistress Ridley," Cuddy was obviously not going to be swayed, "The last thing we need is Skelton getting involved, threatening everything we've worked for..."
Oscar couldn't quite muster the energy to join in with their argument - he was tired and was only now starting to realise that Maggs had really, truly gone, just at the moment when he was realising just how much he could do with her help right about now. And the worst of it was that it was all his fault - if he hadn't suggested the plan in the Museum, hadn't given Thursby the idea about attacking the White Tower, hadn't gone to Hammages in the first place, none of this would have happened and Maggs would have been perfectly alright. He slumped against a window sill, staring out at the night, feeling sorry for himself and even sorrier for Maggs.
The windows looked out onto a dark quadrangle, surrounded on all sides by tall walls. There was a lighted window in a wall opposite and he realised that he could see his Uncle Rufus was sitting there, under the window, apparently reading a book. Those must be the rooms where they had locked him away.
For a moment Oscar looked around for some way to open the window and shout to him, but he supposed that would only give Cuddy and Ridley something else to argue about. He continued staring out, hoping to get his Uncle's attention just by the force of his stare.
There was another window next to Uncle Rufus'. The room inside was only dimly lit, partly by the light from Uncle Rufus' room and partly by the moonlight. What had caught Oscar's attention was something moving in there, a patch of solid dark in the indistinct twilight. He had seen it out of the corner of his eye and now he watched more carefully, trying to see it again.
There it was... something black, twisting, turning... it was hard to make anything out - it was like a piece of the night itself - darker than the orange glow of the London sky, darker even than the shadows of the courtyard - a piece of night twisting and turning, as if it were searching for something, sniffing for a scent. Something about its odd straining made Oscar uncomfortable - it moved wrongly somehow... and then it made another twist and something ghostly white glimmered into view in the moonlight.
A long, smooth, bone-white, skull, gleaming in the moonlight as it turned towards the window, its featureless face uplifted to the night, scanning for some trace. And then it seemed to sense Oscar on the other side of the courtyard, and it turned its emptiness full at him and a single elongated, taloned hand came up to the glass and tapped once, twice - it could only mean one thing - his godfather had been right: The Erl King, Master of the Wild Ride, was in the Temple!
Oscar was rooted to the spot. He tried to shout out to the others but all he could do was make a sort of faint peeping noise in his throat. Even from across the courtyard he could feel those thin, cold claws leaving a thin scratch of ice down his arms.
He wrenched himself away from the window, stumbling into Ridley, who grabbed him and stopped him falling.
"Oscar! Please - I need to talk to Lord Cuddy..."
"...Uncle Rufus..." was all Oscar could manage.
"I know, we're going to sort it out, I promise..."
"No! He's here..."
"He better be," said Cuddy, "I put a guard on the door."
"...not Uncle... he's here..."
"Oscar?" Ridley had caught the tone of fear in his voice, "What is it?"
"...Erl King... he's here..."
"What?"
"...Uncle Rufus' room..."
Ridley lunged at the window, dragging Oscar after her.
"Where is he?"
"He was in the room next to Uncle Rufus... he's gone now..."
"No! There, look - a floor up..." Ridley was right, Oscar caught the briefest glimpse of that ghostly white face, but he knew what it was, without doubt.
"Cuddy! We've got to get Skelton out of there!" Ridley turned back to Cuddy to find him standing in the middle of the gallery, mouth hanging open in shock. Oscar could see that his hands were trembling. At the sound of Ridley's voice, he jerked round, blinking.
"No!" his voice was almost a shriek, "No time! We've got to get out!"
"Pull yourself together!" Ridley grabbed hold of him, shaking him vigorously, "Look at Oscar: is he panicking?"
"Actually..." said Oscar.
"No," Ridley cut him off, "This is our chance, man: he doesn't know we've seen him - for once we have the element of surprise..."
"She's right, my lord," said Murray, "We could catch him!"
"Catch him?" squeaked Cuddy.
"We'll need teams," Murray was evidently thinking furiously, "We'll need to sweep the whole Temple thoroughly..."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Ridley grinned at Oscar, "We already have a plan, don't we Oscar?"
