‘Oh,’ said Crake. ‘I must be mistaken.’ He lowered his voice, and moved close to murmur: ‘I thought this was the lavatory. It’s quite desperate, you see.’
‘Other end of the corridor,’ said the man, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
‘Much obliged,’ he said, and hurried away.
His mind was racing. If Thade had anything worth hearing, he was saying it right now, and Crake was too far away to listen. This whole excursion would be wasted if he couldn’t get back in range, and quickly.
Just then he passed the foot of a staircase. It was relatively narrow and simple, with white stone steps and elegant, polished banisters. A manservant stood on the first step, barring entry to guests.
And suddenly Crake had an idea.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Would you mind terribly if I had a nose around up there?’
‘Guests are not allowed, sir,’ said the manservant.
Crake grinned hugely. His best grin, his picture-grin. His gold tooth glinted in the light of the electric bulb. The manservant’s eyes glittered like a magpie’s.
‘I’d be most grateful if you could make an exception,’ he said.
The corridors upstairs were cool and hushed and empty. The gabble of conversation and music from the ballroom were muted by the thick floors. Crake could hear a pair of maids somewhere nearby, talking in low voices, giggling as they prepared the bedrooms.
He chose a direction that he judged would take him towards Thade’s study chambers. Despite the awful thrill of trespass, his limbs were beginning to feel heavy. Using the earcuff, and now his tooth, had sapped his energy. Years of practice had trained him to endure the debilitating effect of employing daemons, but the sustained, low-level usage had worn him down.
A man’s voice joined the women’s. A butler. Chiding. Get on with your work. The three of them were up ahead, just around a bend in the corridor. They might step into view at any moment, and Crake would be seen. He could feel his pulse throbbing against his collar. His palms were clammy and wet with the terror of being caught doing something wrong. He marvelled at how people like Frey could flout authority with such ease.
Then, a murmur. The faintest of sounds. The daemon thralled to his earcuff was humming in resonance with its twin. He was picking up the conversation again.
Stealthily, holding his breath, he moved down the corridor. The butler was issuing instructions as to how the master wanted his guests’ rooms arranged. His voice grew in volume. Frustratingly, Thade’s didn’t. Crake was skirting around the limit of his earcuff’s range. Somewhere on the floor below him, Thade and Grephen were discussing the secret matters he’d come here to learn about. He had to get closer.
Crake crept up to the corner, pressing himself against it. He peered round. The butler was in the doorway of a nearby bedroom, a little way inside. His back was to the corridor, and he was talking to the maids within.
Crake took a shallow breath and held it. He had to do this now, before his nerve failed him. Soft-footed, he padded past the doorway. No voice was raised to halt him. The butler kept talking. Unable to believe his luck, Crake kept going, and the conversation in his ear grew audible.
‘. . . concern that . . . still haven’t caught . . .’
He opened a plain-looking door and ducked inside, eager to get out of the corridor. Within was a small, green-tiled room, with a shuttered window, a scalloped white sink, and a flush toilet at the end.
