THE SMALL, BARRED grate that had served as the only inlet for natural air and light in the cell had been forcibly ripped from its concrete moorings from the inside. The circus strongman known as Prometheus had escaped.
'Remind me again of your employee's innocence, Cornelius,' seethed Oliver Dray.
'There has to be some mistake,' gasped Quaint. 'He wouldn't just-'
'Oh, but he has. He won't get far though, I promise you that,' snapped Dray, as he turned on his heel, and barged past Destine and Quaint, dragging Berry with him in his wake.
Quaint squatted down onto his haunches and inspected the metal bars, discarded on the ground along with chunks of crumbled masonry from the wall. He looked to Destine for reassurance that what his eyes were recording was actually taking place, and he had not just set foot in a warped fantasy land. 'So tell me, fortune-teller-did you see this coming?' he asked.
Destine stood at his rear, her veiled face hiding her expression of surprise, but her silence told Quaint all he needed to know.
'I see,' grumbled Quaint. 'What on earth is Prometheus doing? What does he think this will accomplish? Why would he be so stupid? If Dray didn't already have a noose measured up for him, he will have by now. How the hell do we repair this damage?' he said, peering at the window's grate. 'Hang on…what's all this then?' He licked his finger, and gingerly touched the tip of one of the iron bars. He yelped, and withdrew his hand quickly. 'Well, well,' he said under his breath.
'What's all what, Cornelius?' Destine asked.
Quaint ignored her, and stood up sharply. 'I knew there was more to this than met the eye!' he proclaimed, and approached Destine. She froze as he placed his arm on her shoulder, and plucked something from the tight bun at the back of her head. 'Ah, perfect, Madame. Thank you!' he snapped excitedly, and squatted back down onto his knees, inspecting the grate.
'Cornelius…I know you take great delight in perplexing me,' Destine said, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth. 'But what exactly are you doing with my hairpin?'
Quaint ignored her again, and began poking tentatively with the metal pin at the window's grate in silence.
Destine tapped her foot on the floor. 'The Commissioner will have mobilised his lynch mob by now, Cornelius,' she said impatiently. 'Whatever you are doing, it is costing us valuable time!'
'I don't think so, Madame, I think that-aha!' exclaimed Quaint, skipping easily to his feet for a man of his age and stature. With a broad grin, he held the metal hairpin towards Destine's face. 'This mystery seems to have developed a new level of perplexity, Madame. Take a look!' A thin, barely visible wisp of smoke trailed from the tip of the hairpin, stolen quickly by the wind that blew freely into the cell through the hole in the wall. 'Well, what do you see?' he beamed, like an eager child, proudly presenting a painting to his mother.
Destine lifted her veil and stared uncomprehendingly. 'My eyes are not what they used to be. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at, may I ask?'
'Madame, do you not see? Those bars were not simply wrenched from the wall by Prometheus's strength alone. They have been eaten away! Look…eroded…by some sort of acid! It is burning the metal pin as we speak.'
'Acid?' asked Destine, beseeching Quaint's impassioned eyes. 'But how would Prometheus get hold of acid in a police station?'
'Anyone's guess. Perhaps there is a lot more to this than we had imagined.' Quaint turned, and strode towards the open cell door. 'Come, Madame, let us see what havoc Oliver's causing upstairs.'
'Perhaps we should keep this mystery to ourselves for the time being, Cornelius…I am no longer sure whom we can trust.'
With a crash, Quaint and Destine exploded through the thick set of double doors into the main station office and stared at the pandemonium before them. Commissioner Dray was holding court in the centre of the station as his men rushed about to and fro around him, obeying his every command.
'Hurry it up, men! We don't have all day. God knows when he decided to run for it. Didn't anyone hear anything? There's half a damn wall missing!' Proving that rage can be a most powerful fuel, Dray yelled with the vigour of a man half his age. 'Sound the alarm, I want that man found!'
As Quaint approached Dray and Sergeant Berry, he looked around the madhouse that was the station. Policemen were rushing everywhere in panic, their eyes to the floor, desperately trying to comply with Dray's barrage of orders. Raised voices thronged the air, police whistles screamed and Commissioner Dray had Constable Tucker by his jacket lapels up against a wall.
'When was the prisoner last checked, Tucker?' Dray yelled.
'Sir? The giant, you mean?' said a flustered Tucker. 'Well…he was given some breakfast I think, not too long ago.'
'How long, lad?' Dray demanded.
'About an hour maybe,' said the petrified Constable Tucker. 'Could be a bit longer, I…I'm not sure. Why, what's wrong?'
'What's wrong, Tucker, is that he's bloody absconded! Ripped the bleeding bars out of the damn wall, he did. Have you got cotton in your ears, son? Did you not hear anything?' Dray demanded.
'Why, Oliver…did you?' asked Quaint, stepping up behind Dray.
The Scotsman shot a furious look over his shoulder. 'You stay out of this, Cornelius, this is police business. Your friend just signed his own death warrant.' He switched his stare back to his constable. 'Tucker, get all the men we have available out on those streets right now. I want an immediate street by street search for the prisoner. Use whatever force necessary to restrain him and haul his arse back here, sharpish!'
'Seven feet tall, with a bushy beard and muscles like an ox. Shouldn't be too hard to find, Oliver, even for your men,' Quaint said sarcastically, even though the situation clearly dictated against it. 'Let me help. If Prometheus is anywhere nearby, or if he's returned to our transport, we'll find him. He is one of ours, after all.'
'Oh, don't think I've forgotten that. Just you make damn sure you bring him back here, Cornelius,' Dray muttered, flattening back the lapels on Constable Tucker's uniform. 'Don't go getting any funny ideas either! Your lot are going nowhere unless I say so, got it?'
'Understood. But you needn't waste your men's time, Oliver. My train's not going anywhere until this mess is straightened out,' Quaint said, feeling Madame Destine's fingers tighten around his arm like ivy around a drainpipe. She leaned towards his ear and tugged him firmly to one side.
'Cornelius, we may have further need of this man, if your temper hasn't burnt all our bridges,' she reminded him. 'So play nice. Exacerbating a grievance with the Commissioner will do us little good in exonerating Prometheus.'
The pair exchanged glances as between a school mistress scolding her favourite pupil. Quaint lowered his eyes, and turned sheepishly towards the Commissioner.
'Look, Oliver…I am sure we'll get a speedy resolution to this unfortunate business,' he said, holding out his hand towards Dray. 'It is a shame we could not meet under less…pressing circumstances.'
'Cornelius…we both know what I owe you,' said Dray, grasping Quaint's open hand. 'A long time ago, a world away from London-you saved my life. But this is just too big to sweep under the carpet. I've got no choice but to react with extreme measures. I have to do what's right by the letter of the law-whether your friend is in the firing line or not! Now, off you go. And if you really want to help your friend…stay out of my way.'