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But even as he hurried back toward his hiding hole in Green Angel Tower； he wished his friends were around to talk him out of it。
The sun had set a few hours before。 A fine drizzle was descending from the night sky。 Simon stood in Green Angel Tower's doorway and prepared himself to step out。 It was not easy。 He was still feeling weak and hungry； although after sleeping the day away he had found the remains of someone's supper； a crust of bread and a scanty rind of cheese； on a plate in an alcove off the tower's antechamber。 Both bread and cheese were dry； but still seemed only hours old； not days or weeks； even as he gobbled them down he had wondered whose meal it had been。 Did Barnabas the sexton still care for the tower and its great bells？ If so； he was doing a poor job。
Thinking of Barnabas had made Simon realize that not once in the time he had returned had he heard Green Angel's bells。 Now； as he stood in the doorway of the tower； waiting for darkness； the thought came to him again。 The great echoing cry of the bronze bells had been the heartbeat of the Hayholt as he had known it； an hourly reminder that things went on； that time passed； that life continued。 But now they were silent。
Simon shrugged and stepped out。 He paused to cup his hands beneath a stream of rainwater running down from the roof； then drank thirstily。 He wiped his hands on his breeches and stared at the shadow of Hjeldin's Tower against the violet sky。 There was nothing left to do。 There was no reason to wait any longer。
Simon made his way along the outer perimeter of the bailey； using the cover of the buildings to keep himself hidden from any eyes that might be watching。 He had almost walked into the arms of Pryrates and the soldiers the night before； despite the seeming emptiness of the keep； he would take nothing for granted。 Once or twice he heard wisps of conversation drift past； but he saw no living people who might have been responsible。 A long； sobbing laugh floated by。 Simon shivered。
As he moved out around the edge of one of the out…buildings； he thought he saw a flicker of light in the tower's upper windows； a momentary gleam of red like a coal that still hid smoldering life。 He stopped； cursing quietly to himself。 Why should he be so sure that just because Pryrates was gone； the tower would be empty？ Perhaps the Norns lived there。
But perhaps not。 Surely even the priest needed servants to look after him； to sweep the floors and light the lamps； just as Simon had once done for Doctor Morgenes。 If anyone moved inside the tower； it was likely some terrified castle…dweller forced to labor in the red priest's stronghold。 Perhaps it was Rachel the Dragon。 If so； Simon would rescue her as well as Bright…Nail。 Wouldn't she be astonished…he would have to be careful not to frighten her too badly。 She must have wondered where in the world her wayward scullion had gone。
Simon turned before he reached the tower doors and clambered into a patch of ivy growing along the bailey wall。 Hero or not； he was no fool。 He would wait to see if there was any sign the tower was occupied。
He huddled； holding his knees。 The bulk of the tower overhead； its blunt dark stones； made him unfortable。 It was hard not to feel it waited for him like a giant feigning sleep； anticipating the moment when Simon would e within reach。。。
Time seemed to pass very slowly。 When he could stand the waiting no longer； he dragged himself out of the ivy； which seemed to cling more strongly than it should。 No one had e near the doorway； no one was moving anywhere about the Inner Bailey。 He had seen no more lights in the windows； nor had he heard anything but the moaning of the wind in the towertops。 It was time。 But how to get in？ There was scarcely any chance he would be able to unlock the huge black doors…someone as secretive as Pryrates must have bolts on his fortress gateway that could keep out an army。 No； it would undoubtedly take climbing。 The gatehouse that stood around and over the front door was probably his best chance。 From the top of it he could perhaps find a way up to one of the upper windows。 The stones of the walls were heavy and crudely set： climbing holds should not be too difficult to find。
He ducked into the shelter of the gatehouse and paused for a moment to look at the black timbers of the front doors。 They were indeed massive…Simon guessed that even men with axes would not penetrate them in anything less than half a day。 Testing； he grasped one of the massive door handles and pulled。 The right side door swung out silently； startling Simon so that he stumbled backward； out into the thin rain。
The doors were open…unlocked！ For a moment he wanted only to run； certain it was a trap set just for him； but as he stopped； hands raised as though to ward off a blow； he realized that was unlikely。 Or perhaps there were more certain protections inside。。。 ？
Simon hesitated a moment longer； his heart rattling。
Don't he a fool。 Either go in or stay out。 Don't stand around in the middle of everything waiting to be noticed by someone。
He clenched his fists and stepped through； then pulled the door shut behind him。
There was no need yet for the torch in his belt； which he had refurbished with oil from one of Green Angel Tower's storage rooms； one already burned in a bracket on the wall of the high antechamber； making shadows shiver in the ers。 Simon could not help wondering who had lit it； but quickly dismissed the useless thought： he could only begin looking； try to move quietly； and listen for anyone else who might be in Hjeldin's Tower with him。
He walked across the antechamber； dismayed by the loud hiss his boot soles made rubbing on the stone。 Stairs led upward along one wall to the highest； darkest parts of the tower。 They would have to wait。
So many doors！ Simon chose one and opened it gently。 The torchlight bleeding in from the antechamber revealed a room filled entirely with furnishings made from bones that had been tied and glued together； including one large chair which had； as if in mockery of the High King's throne； an awning made entirely from skulls…human skulls。 Many of the bones still had bits of dark dry flesh stuck to them。 From somewhere in the room came the fizzing chirp of what sounded like a cricket。 Simon felt his stomach rising into his throat and hurriedly shut the
door。
When he had recovered a little he took his own brand and lit it from the wall torch。 If he was really going to look for the sword； he would have to be able to see even into the dark corners； no matter what he might find there。
He went back to the bone room； but further inspection turned up nothing but the dreadful furnishings； an incredible array of bones。 Simon hoped some of them were animal bones； but doubted it。 The insistent buzz of the cricket drove him out once more。
The next chamber was filled wall to wall with tubs covered by stretched nets。 Things Simon could not quite make out slithered and splashed in dark fluid； from time to time a slippery back or an oddly…terminated appendage pushed against the netting until it bulged upward。 In another room Simon found thousands of tiny silvery figures of men and women； each carved with amazing accuracy and realism： each little statue was a perfect representation of a person frozen in a position of fear or despair。 When Simon lifted one of them； the shiny metal felt slippery and strangely warm against his skin。 A moment later； he dropped it and backed quickly out of the room。 He was sure he had felt it squirm in his grip。
Simon made his way from one room to the next； continuously disturbed by what he found； sometimes by the sheer unpleasantness of the priest's possessions； sometimes by their inprehensibility。 The last room on the ground floor contained a few bones as well； but they were far too large to belong to anything human。 They were boiling in a great vat that hung above an oil flame； filling the damp room with a powerful but unrecognizable stink。 Viscous black fluid ran in oozing drops from a spigot on the vat's side into a wide stone bowl。 The fetid steam swirling up made Simon's head reel and the scar on his cheek sting。 A quick search discovered no trace of the sword； and he retreated gratefully to the relatively clean air outside。
After hesitating a moment； he climbed the stairs to the next level。 There was undoubtedly more to be discovered beneath the tower； down in its catabs…but Simon was in no hurry to do that。 He would put such a search off for last； and pray that he found the sword before then。
A room full of glass beakers and retorts much like things Morgenes had possessed； a chamber whose walls and ceiling were draped with inordinately thick spiderwebs…his search of that one was brief and perfunctory…another which seemed an indoor jungle full of trailing vines and fat； rotting blossoms； Simon passed through them all； feeling more and more like some peasant boy from a story who had entered a witch's magicalcastle。 Some of the chambers had contents so dreadful he could do no more than peer for a moment into the shadowed interior before shoving the door