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He
was
thinking
.
He
looked
at
the
prints
in
the
mud
.
He
used
his
regulation
pike
,
which
he
knew
was
exactly
seven
feet
long
,
to
measure
their
size
and
the
distance
between
them
.
He
whistled
under
his
breath
.
Then
,
with
considerable
caution
,
he
followed
the
alley
around
the
corner
;
it
led
to
a
small
,
padlocked
and
dirt
-
encrusted
door
in
the
back
of
a
timber
warehouse
.
There
was
something
very
wrong
,
he
thought
.
The
prints
come
out
of
the
alley
,
but
they
don
’
t
go
in
.
And
we
don
’
t
often
get
any
wading
birds
in
the
Ankh
,
mainly
because
the
pollution
would
eat
their
legs
away
and
anyway
,
it
’
s
easier
for
them
to
walk
on
the
surface
.
He
looked
up
.
A
myriad
washing
lines
criss
-
crossed
the
narrow
rectangle
of
the
sky
as
efficiently
as
a
net
.
So
,
he
thought
,
something
big
and
fiery
came
out
of
this
alley
but
didn
’
t
come
into
it
.
And
the
Patrician
is
very
worried
about
it
.
I
’
ve
been
told
to
forget
about
it
.
He
noticed
something
else
at
the
side
of
the
alley
,
and
bent
down
and
picked
up
a
fresh
,
empty
peanut
shell
.
He
tossed
it
from
hand
to
hand
,
staring
at
nothing
.
