Tobin liked the highest landing best when the morning bells were still sleepy. From there, he could see the Tarnedrift Steps curling up and down like a stone ribbon above the clouds. He set one hand on the pole of the celebration lantern and kept the other near the rope, careful and steady. The lantern was meant to glow bright for the feast tonight, and Tobin had promised to bring it up without a wobble.
But the lantern was acting strange.
Its little flame was warm enough to pull extra air into the silk shade, and the whole lamp gave a soft tug against Tobin’s hand. Then the rope went tighter. Not just a little tighter, but tight enough to hum. It stretched across the walkway above a line of rosemary pots, past a balcony with blue paint peeling at the rail, and right through the place where two women were shaking out bedsheets. A boy with a cart ducked under it, then looked back with wide eyes.
Tobin stopped with one foot on the next step. If he kept climbing the usual way, the rope might catch on a clothesline or trip someone coming down fast. If he pulled harder, the lantern might jerk free and sail where it should not go. Behind him, Mira’s quick footsteps pattered up from below, and Sella’s voice floated from a balcony garden, soft and worried: “Oh dear. That line is reaching everywhere.” Tobin looked from the glowing lantern to the busy steps ahead and had to decide what to do first.
What happens next?
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