The Broken Sun by Darrell Pitt Page A

outstretched,
but he was knocked into the display, sending mannequins everywhere. The thief sprinted
away.
    â€˜Stop him!’ Mr Roylott yelled.
    Jack gave chase, leaping from the diorama and racing across the room. The stranger
was lithe and unbelievably fast. An alert police officer tried to grab him, but the
thief slapped him to the ground.
    He flew out the main doors of the museum. I can’t believe he’s so quick , Jack thought. He’s like an athlete.
    Outside, it had started to rain. Jack followed the thief down a side lane, slipping.
The little man also slid and fell, giving Jack a chance to close the gap before the
stranger disappeared from sight.
    Jack reached the end of the lane, breathing hard. Ahead lay a dilapidated street.
A railway line cut across the end. This part of town, like so many in London, was
slated for demolition. The rain fell harder, sending the few people on the street
racing for cover.
    He must have ducked into one of the buildings. But which one?
    â€˜Excuse me, sir,’ Jack said to a passing man. ‘Did you see—’
    The man ignored him, hurrying past.
    Jack spotted a small boy with red curly hair sitting on a nearby doorstep.
    â€˜Did you see a man run down the street?’ he asked.
    The boy said nothing.
    â€˜I’ve got some candy. Would you like a piece?’
    The boy nodded. Jack produced the wrapped piece from his green coat and held it out.
Just as the boy reached for it, Jack pulled it away.
    â€˜Did you see a man run by here?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Where did he go?’
    The boy indicated a building across the road. Jack handed him the sweet and ran to
the house. The house was sandwiched between brick terraces, most of them burnt out,
and its front windows were boarded up, the door secured with a bolt and padlock,
the bottom panel broken.
    Jack peered through the gap to see a pair of legs scuttling up a flight of rickety
stairs. He squeezed through the door. Mould covered the carpet in large charcoal
patches and paint peeled from the walls in great strips like flayed skin. The place
smelt of mildew, the plop plop of dripping water echoing along the hall.
    Jack’s heart pounded, his face hot and flushed. It wasn’t just from the pursuit.
He was afraid. The man knew he was being followed. And he was dangerous. Jack paused,
wondering if there might be a better method than confrontation.
    â€˜My name is Jack Mason,’ he called up the stairwell. ‘All I want is to get the artefact
back to the museum.’
    He strained to hear, but the rain was falling so hard the man could have been dancing
a jig for all he knew.
    â€˜I’m not interested in taking you to the police. Just give me the piece of the Broken
Sun and you can go free.’
    More silence.
    Jack began up the stairs. The first floor landing opened out onto three doors. Two
were open to rooms lined with more peeling wallpaper, and rotting floorboards. A
pile of beer bottles lay in one. The other contained a broken kerosene lamp. Water
poured through holes in the ceiling.
    I guess that only leaves number three .
    Slowly easing it open, Jack saw another empty room, but this time the window was
open. As he stepped forward, someone grabbed him from behind.
    Jack bit back a scream and jumped half a foot into the air.
    â€˜Scarlet!’ he hissed. ‘What are you doing here?’
    â€˜Taking a walk in the park! What do you think I’m doing?’ She looked like she’d taken
a dip in the Thames. ‘Where’s the thief?’
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ Jack said. ‘Wait here.’
    He crossed the room. With every step the floor shuddered. The building was ready
for demolition. Too much weight on these floorboards might bring the whole place
down.
    Jack reached the window. The little man could not have escaped through it. There
was no ledge to gain a foothold. Carefully tiptoeing back, Jack said, ‘This isn’t
safe. You