He was the sixteenth Earl of the House Westowe after all. Besides that, he was guardian of the codex of the President Valac, Lord of the Eighth Gate, Master of Serpents and Keeper of Hidden Secrets. He had seen things that would make an ordinary man shit himself. It was stupid to think he should fear noises in the dark. And yet Beuphalus was afraid, there was no getting away from it.

His bare feet made little sound on the wooden floor. Occasionally his soles squeaked on the polished wood, or one of the boards creaked under his weight, but otherwise he moved like a spectre. When he had crept to the end of the corridor he stopped, raising the poker high above his head before peering around the corner.

As soon as he saw the source of the sound, Beuphalus let out a sigh. A window had sprung open, clearly blown inwards by the wind. It must have banged heavily against the stone wall, echoing its sound down the passageway to his study. It was a wonder the glass had not shattered within its frame.

The curtains to either side of the window were billowing in the wind, and the smells of the Manufactory were beginning to waft in on the evening breeze.

The Earl leaned the poker against the mahogany panelled wall and strode forward, his confidence fast returning. He should have felt just a little foolish at being so spooked, but then again he was right to be cautious; any number of intruders would love to encroach on the great tower of the Westowes, and it always paid to be careful, as great uncle Cresto had often said.

Before he shut the window, Beuphalus paused, gazing out onto the Manufactory below. The sun had all but set, and he could see that, far below, different coloured beacons were beginning to wink into life as the lamplighters went about their work. There was the chatter on the streets, and the sounds of engines and horses moving along the vast scribble of roads that entwined the tall towers of the Spires. Above, the droning sound of an airship peeled down as the vast machine cruised between two soaring towers, black smoke billowing from its vents as it went.

He closed the window and fastened the latch. Pausing a second more to look out at the vast metropolis, he suddenly caught sight of his image reflected in the glass. Beuphalus had never been a handsome man but he had always prided himself on personal grooming. Alas, the years were beginning to catch up with him and soon no amount of preening and trimming would be able to halt the onset of age. It was in that moment he saw that his own reflection was not the only one caught in the window. Someone was standing behind him, just visible in the shadows. Someone… or something.

The Earl froze, clutching the curtain that was still in his right hand. As he watched, gripped by sudden terror, the figure moved out of the dark. It was hooded, wearing a long cowl that shadowed the head and ran down a pair of broad shoulders. When it drew closer, Beuphalus could discern more features of the face; bestial, with a long pointed nose and black shadows for eyes.

There was no point trying to confront the thing, he had left the poker behind and, besides, he was no pugilist. With a girlish yelp of terror, the Earl set off at a sprint down the corridor, away from his study and the hooded intruder. As he ran he gave a quick glance over his shoulder. The cloaked figure merely stood, watching him from the darkness as he ran.

Beuphalus turned a corner, then another. If he could get to the entrance hall there were several exits from his lofty rooms. At least if he made it out of his front door he could call for help. But who would there be? This was a tower of House Westowe, there were no neighbours to speak of; he would have to race all the way to the base of the tower before he would see another soul. Silently he cursed himself for his stupidity in not hiring a minder, or five minders, or ten.