Chapter 8 · free to read
Saint Ambrose had been shut since the flood defences went in. The organ was the only thing in it worth stealing and nobody ever had.
The fifth movement. Scored for organ, and for two hands that were not going to both be available much longer.
The stair went out from under Teodor Braga at twenty past five, and the rope was the only reason anybody walked out of that building.
Five movements now. And a copyist who had stood eleven feet away for four minutes and never once come closer.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.