"I think we need to go up a couple more... Yes, this is our floor, I think – it's down along here." Nola sighed, feeling as though they were going in circles. The sound of Winkman and his men grunting could still be heard throughout the stairwell, so they didn't have much time to waste.

As they left the stairwell, Lockwood checked the doors, but there were no more bolts to draw. They pelted down the corridor.

"Which office room was it?" Lockwood asked. He still was most certainly not himself, but he managed to recover at least a little. He felt much less like he was going to die there and then.

"This one... No, that's not right. They all look the same!" Nola cried out.

"It must be the one in the corner of the building. Here – look, there's the window." Lockwood pointed.

"But it's not the right room. Lockwood – where are the notice boards? There are nowhere near as many barrels in here!" She was looking around frantically, feeling as though she was trapped in some sort of concrete labyrinth. Meanwhile, her feet were throbbing from the high heels she still wore, and her tights were beginning to itch the skin of her thighs.

Lockwood had thrust open the window and was looking out into the night. His hair hung down as he craned his neck out. "We've come too far – we're even higher than before. The pipe's here, but there's a nasty kink in it just beneath us, which I don't think we can climb past."

"Can we go back down?" Nola asked wistfully.

"We'll have to." Lockwood nodded. But, when they ran back to the stairwell, they heard the thump of feet a flight or two below, and saw the first faint torch-beam on the wall. "Back again." Lockwood said. "And quickly."

They returned to the little office. Lockwood motioned for Nola to guard the door. She positioned herself flat against the wall, took her last canister of Greek Fire that Lockwood had given her, and waited.

Lockwood crossed to the window and leaned out. "George!" He called. "George!" He listened to the night.

Nola listened to the passage; it was very quiet, but it seemed to her that it was an attentive silence.

"George!" Lockwood called again. Far below the agent, in the dark of the river, the hoped-for voice echoed.

"Here!" George shouted up from the water. He and Flo were standing in Matilda, flailing their arms back and forth.

Lockwood held the hempen sack up high. "Package coming down! Are you ready?"

"Yes!" George called, his voice calling through the London night's air.

"Take it and then go!" Lockwood leant slightly further out of the window. Nola felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched him.

"What about you?" George's voice was small and quiet from down below.

Lockwood kissed his teeth. "No time. We'll join you later. Plan H! It's Plan H now, don't forget!" He threw the bag out into the night. He didn't wait for George's answering shout, but jumped back into the room and called to Nola. "We're climbing up, James. That's the only option. We get to the roof and then see."

Stealthy, cautious footsteps sounded in the passage.

Nola peered round the door. Winkman and two other men – one of the guards, and another she didn't recognise – were advancing along the corridor. As she moved her head back, something whined past and bit into the far wall. She tossed the flare round the corner and ran across to Lockwood. Behind her, the floor shook; there was a silvery explosion and assorted cries of woe.

"Put your feet on the sill." Lockwood said. "Reach out and swing yourself up. Quick now."

It was another of those occasions where if you thought too hard, you were lost. So, Nola didn't look at the gulf below or at the glinting river, or at the great expanse of moonlit sky that threatened to tilt and tumble before her dizzy eyes. She just stood on the sill, pulled herself out and threw herself against the pipe, clutching it, dropping only a little way before her feet found purchase, and she was clinging safely to it. At once, she began to climb.

In two ways, this second ascent of the drainpipe was easier than the first. Nola was climbing for her life in quite the literal sense, so she didn't care so much about the wind, the flaking paint, or even the drop below her. Also it was shorter – she only had the equivalent of one floor to climb before she reached a rusty ledge of black guttering, and found herself clambering over it onto a flat expanse of leaded roof. In all, the whole thing probably took her just over a minute. She'd paused a single time, when she thought she heard a shrill shout of anger (or perhaps pain) somewhere below. But she could not bear to look down; she could only pray that Lockwood was close behind. And sure enough, almost immediately, she heard a scratching noise below the gutter, and saw him haul himself up beside her.

"Are you alright?" She said. "I thought I heard..."

Lockwood pulled off his balaclava and smoothed his hair back. He had a small cut on the side of his forehead, and was breathing heavily. "Yes. I don't know who he was, but I expect he deserved it. Unfortunately, when he fell out of the window, I lost the nice new Italian rapier."

They knelt side by side on the roof for a time, until their breathing slowed. "The only good thing about being up here," Lockwood said finally, "is that I can't see Winkman clambering up after us. Aside from that..." He shrugged.

Nola looked from the rooftop, but she couldn't see Flo or George, or their little rowing boat, at all.

"Good." Lockwood said. "That means they've hightailed it. Or sunk to the bottom, of course. Either way, the bone glass is out of Winkman's hands."

Nola nodded. "Nice view up here. The city looks quite pretty when you can't see all the ghosts." She glanced at him. "So..."

He grinned at his girl. "So..."

There was a sudden scrabbling at the far end of the roof. Lockwood jammed his mask back over his face. Hands appeared on the parapet; a figure pulled itself swiftly up and into view. It was that of a man, but that was about as much as Nola could figure out. He was wearing the signature, cult-ish, cloak and balaclava, therefore his identity was rather hard to decipher.

"It is carnage down there." The man spoke. "An impressive way to announce yourselves. That's two parties you've ruined tonight."

"You were at the ball?" Lockwood asked firmly.

The young man frowned. "Sorry? Didn't quite catch that."

Nola gave Lockwood a tactful nudge. "Your balaclava."

"Oh yes." Lockwood pulled up the bottom of the wool. "Sorry. I was asking, you were at the ball? You know of us?"

The young man chuckled. He had very blue eyes and a pleasantly open countenance. Suddenly, and with quite the dramatic flare, he pulled the cloak from above his head. "Ah, yes. You must be Lockwood & Co."

"Ahh." Nola hummed, nodding along in amusement as she realised who was under the cloak. "Not to fear, Lockwood. It's just the tosser with the golden blade! The one that he can't actually use all that well."

The man cocked his head to one side. "Oh, 'The Golden Blade'. Hm, I quite like that."

"How do you know who we are?" Lockwood asked.

"Oh, that's the least of what I know about you... Anthony." The man pulled a smarmy smirk.

Nola looked to Lockwood, who once again looked slightly frightened. She pulled out her rapier and slung it defensively across hers and Lockwood's bodies.

"Give me the glass now, and I promise to let you both go. I'll say you escaped with it. Then both of us win. You live, and I keep the glass, without having to pay that revolting troll Winkman."

Nola shrugged her shoulders. "It's a good offer." She said. "And very amusing. I almost wish we could agree. Sadly, we don't have the glass."

"Why not? Where is it?" The man appeared flustered.

Lockwood grinned tauntingly. "I threw it in the Thames."

"Oh." The young man said. "Then I really will have to kill you."

"You could always let us go anyway, in a spirit of good sportsmanship." Nola suggested cockily.

The young man with the golden rapier laughed. '"Sportsmanship only goes so far. That spirit-glass is something special, and I had my heart set on it. Anyway, I don't believe you have thrown the thing away." He turned his attention to Lockwood. "Maybe I'll kill you, Anthony, and get the girl to tell me where it is."

"Hey." Nola hissed. "I still have my rapier, and I can clearly use it a damn sight better than you can."

"However we do it, let's get this done." The Golden Blade walked swiftly towards the agents along the roof. They looked at one another.

He and Nola were soon interlocked in a rapier battle, whilst Lockwood was searching for a way out. The girl remembered every single piece of combat training she had ever received; especially that of which Lockwood had taught her. She had already had an impressive sense of swordsmanship, but Lockwood had only made her better. They tousled, fought, kicked and scratched in a heap across the warehouse ceiling. The man with the golden blade had grasped Nola in a headlock. "At least you're better than that silly little DEPRAC agent. I mean, who would do such a dangerous job for such little money?"

"Oh, come on!" Nola called out as she freed herself from the man's grasp with ease. "You must be able to do better than that." She cracked her stiff neck at one side. "You've got ambition, I'll give you that. But, for someone with such a bloody gaudy weapon, you really are terrible at using it."

The man was clearly getting irritated by Nola's taunting. He lunged towards her, striking his foot against the back of her calves, causing her to collapse to the ground.

"Hey!" Lockwood called out. He held the broken stump of something wooden in his hand, forming a make-shift stake. "Enough about the DEPRAC agent."

"Oh, forget about it. I already told Winkman who he was. I believe they were planning on killing him live on stage as a grand finale! Wouldn't that have been great? You really did ruin the end of that auction." The assailant chuckled maniacally.

Nola grunted from the ground, feeling a seering pain in the backs of her legs. She did, however, slide her rapier across the ground, through the man's legs, and towards Lockwood's legs. Her colleague picked it up with haste, thankful for her quick thinking.

"You told Winkman?" Lockwood frowned. "Who the hell are you? Are you with Fittes?"

"I'm the iron in your sword." The man began. "I'm the flame that keeps the fire burning." He began spinning his rapier in an obnxiously pointless fashion.

Nola rolled her eyes. "How bloody poetic." She muttered.

Lockwood was scoffing audibly. "Oh, do shut up."

It was now Lockwood's turn to battle the villian. The two men darted across the warehouse roof, rapier blades glinting throughout the night's air. They jumped, crouched, lunged. It all happened so quickly, but Nola kept her eye on Lockwood. He was faster than the young man, and more skilled too, but he was clearly growing tired from the day's challenges.

"Enthusiam and technique." The young man hummed. "At least you are somewhat a worthy opponent."

Lockwood traced the rapier against the concrete he stood upon, sharpening the tip. "Enough enthusiam and technique to put you in the ground, you pretentious prick."

As the battle resumed, Nola heaved her heavy bones from the floor, and stood upright. Several of her bones cracked and her muscles twanged as she went, but this was nothing new to her. Being an agent often meant being punched about a little. She did however, notice the hunk of wood that Lockwood had dropped upon the ground when he picked up the rapier.

"Come and get it!" Lockwood sneered, and rushed.

As he rushed, he swung a powerful right slash of his sword. The Golden Blade met him halfway,  and lashed out with his own right. Lockwood's move was faster, and it caught  the young man flush. The blade struck the man's mouth, causing him to spit blood. The Golden Blade aimed a quick thrust on the Lockwood's belly, to no effect. He had missed, again.

"Oh, come on. This must be a joke. You really are completely and utterly shit at this." Nola chuckled, before slamming the hunk of wood over the Golden Blade's head with all of the strength she had. The impact was hard and strong, and sent the man hurtling to the ground in a state of unconciousness.

Lockwood was looking at her as if he had seen a ghost. He was, quite frankly, amazed.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Nola gasped. "We need to go, before he wakes up!"

Lockwood jumped into action, and the pair began to search frantically across the warehouse roof, desperately looking for an escape route.

"Well, let's see what our options are." Lockwood pondered, peering over the sides of the building.

Their options, in short, were limited. They were on a long stretch of flat roof above the  swollen Thames. To one side rose a sheer brick wall – belonging to a  rooftop structure that had probably once enclosed the warehouse's power  units. It ran across the width of the roof, and they could not easily scale it. On the other side of them was the river. Far below them, moonlight glinted on water lapping at the joists and girders. It seemed a  long way down.

"You stole my bone glass!"

The pair turned around frantically towards the booming voice. The found the Golden Blade once again approaching them, though he was staggering slightly. The blow to his head was now bleeding profusely. He held out his weapon towards the agents, and was pacing forwards slowly. He was trapping them in a corner. A corner right about the river.

"Jesus, you're like a coldsore! You just keep coming back when nobody wants you here!" Nola hissed, retreating back slowly.

"Just give up! The mirror is with DEPRAC now." Lockwood sighed with exasperation.

The Golden Blade tutted, shaking his head. "You simply don't understand the game, do you?"

Lockwood looked over at the rim of the bulding, towards the lapping river. There was a short wall that he stepped up on, his legs wobbling.

Nola glared at him. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and once again, it was suicide. "No, no. Lockwood, absolutely not."

"James, he will kill you!" Lockwood cried out.

She turned to him, to his worried eyes, and took his outstretched hand. Her feet shuffled across the short wall, and her breath stopped briefly as she looked at the river below. She was at a great height, and she once again had developed the sudden feeling that she was going to die. "Lockwood, I really can't." She shook.

"It'll be all right. Flo's flaky, but we can trust her about some things. Water depth is one of them" Lockwood nodded. The Golden Blade was swiftly approaching behind them.

"We make such a habit of doing this." Nola said.

"I know. But it's the last time."

"Promise?"

But they were already bending their knees, building up as much momentum as they could. Then they jumped out together, hand in hand.

Somewhere during the next six seconds, Nola let go of Lockwood. Somewhere amid the screaming, rushing plunge, she let the rapier spin away. At the moment of jumping, she had her eyes tightly closed, so she didn't see the stars take flight, or the city leap to meet her, as Lockwood afterwards said he had. Only later, much later, maybe four or five seconds in, when she couldn't believe she wasn't already dead, and opened her eyes just to prove it, did Nola see the brightly sparkling waters of the Thames spread out in silent greeting beneath her rushing boots. She was in the process of remembering the rules about hitting the surface like an arrow so you didn't break all your bones when, with a whip-crack and a roaring, she was ten foot under in a cone of bubbles, and still going down.

At some point,she hit equilibrium: She slowed, slowed... and hung suspended in the blackness, without thought, without emotion, without much attachment to life or living things. Then the current tore her up and sideways, and in a flurry of panic, she recalled her life and name. She struggled, thrashed, and swallowed half the river – at which point it vomited her out.

She was whirling on an oily swell somewhere in the middle of the Thames. She lay back, coughing, gasping. Lockwood was at her side; he grasped her hand. Staring up towards the moon, Nola had a final glimpse of a slim figure standing silhouetted on a far-off rooftop, before the black waters swept them both away.       

The pair dredged out of the water, stumbling onto a rocky bank. Nola's feet had given way underneath her, slipping on the stones, and she had collapsed in a heap. Lockwood soon followed suit, and slumped onto his back beside her. They were gasping for air in unison, and shivering to the bone. Their wet clothes clung to their trembling bodies, and their skin was developing a harrowing hue of blue.

Laying there, on the stones, frozen to the core, Nola began to sob. It was uncontrollable. A cascade of emotion. Staring up at the black night, the glinting stars, she managed to take a moment to analyse the events of the night. She managed to realise that she had actually just leapt off of a twenty-foot-tall building, into the freezing cold, endlessly deep Thames. She had nearly been blown up by flares, throttled by Winkman, stabbed by a maniac, drowned in the Thames, and now frozen to death. And, why? Because of Lockwood's obession with winning. She soon felt an anger bubbling in her chest once again, and she began reliving the conversation that they had had in the upstairs room of the warehouse. In order to be victorious, Lockwood had nearly killed Nola and himself, again.

Lying beside her, Lockwood turned his head to Nola, but her eyes were fixated on the sky. She was breathing in and out, in and out, so alarmingly fast, but she refused to look at him. He struggled up, limbs heavy as anchors and muscles aching, and reached out an arm to her.

Stiffly, sorely, Nola took his hand, and stood up on the stones. They were clutching onto one another, tense and trrembling with cold and fear. Their eyes locked for a moment, a few seconds, before Nola placed her hands on Lockwood's chest.

He frowned for the briefest of seconds, before Nola shoved him far away from her.

She stormed off, along the stoned bank, and didn't say another word.