The double rounded the slate corner at an easy, athletic jog. Its eyes were wide and unblinking. It reflected the pale, greenish glow of the distant copper safety lanterns that marked the upper galleries. It moved with the easy economy of an uninjured body, its weight carried forward on the balls of its feet. Its hands were held low and relaxed at its sides.
In its mind, the layout of the Star tower was an open book. It possessed the Survey Office blueprints learned by heart by Len during his courier training, supplemented by the detailed route sketches stolen from Len’s notebook on Day Five. Those sketches showed that this southern drainage gallery continued in a straight line for forty paces before terminating at the heavy oak door of Junction Four.
The double was not a monster driven by blind malice or bloodlust. It was a physical manifestation of an unsealed civic ledger, an enforcement rig built by twelve years of authoritarian law. It moved with the steady, unimpassioned smooth speed of a court guard serving a seizure warrant. Its objective was single and total. To obtain the registered physical death confirmation of Len Vey, close the claimant file, and secure the four stolen milestones as permanent, unchallengeable civic property.
