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Using his passkey, Harry ducked into the cavernous space Like the museuainst the glass roof far overhead Still, Harry’s footsteps echoed across the open space Another lance of lightning shattered across the sky The roof, divided into a thousand triangular panes, lit up for a blindingdoith the rain

Thunder followed, felt deep in the chest The roof rattled, too Harry ducked a bit, fearing the entire structure would co down

With his electric torch pointed forward, he crossed the court, heading for the north wing He rounded past the central Reading Roo the place for a handful of heartbeats Giant statues, lost to the darkness, appeared as if from nowhere The Lion of Cnidos reared beside the massive head of an Easter Island statue Then darkness sed the guardians away as the lightning died out

Harry felt a chill and pebbling of gooseflesh

His pace hurried He swore under his breath with each step, “Bleeding buggered pieces of crap…” His litany helped calm him

He reached the doors to the north wing and ducked inside, greeted by the farateful to have solid walls around hi seealleries He did a fast calculation If he hurried, he could coh time for another fast s hi him

The north wing had becoraphical collection portraying a co all cultures Like the Egyptian gallery with itsoff the various cultural galleries: Celtic, Byzantine, Russian, Chinese Each suite of rooate With the loss of power, the gates had dropped automatically

At last, the hall’s end caht

Most of the galleries’ collections were only temporarily housed here, transferred from the Museuallery had always been here, for as far back as Harry could recall It housed the museum’s Arabian display, a priceless collection of antiquity froallery had been corown rich by its oil ventures in that region The donations to keep such a gallery in permanent residence at the British Museum was said to top five million pounds per annum

One had to respect that sort of dedication

Or not

With a snort at such a foolish waste of good raved brass plate above the doorway: THE KENSINGTON GALLERY Also known as “The Bitch’s Attic”

While Harry had never encountered Lady Kensington, froht to her gallery—dust on a cabinet, a display card with a se on it, a piece of antiquity not properly positioned—was allery was her personal pet project, and none withstood her wrath Jobs were lost in her wake, clai even a former director

It was this concern that kept Harry a few ate He swept his torch around the entrance rooain, all was in order

As he turned aithdrawing his torch, movement drew his eye

He froze, torch pointing at the floor

Deep within the Kensington Gallery, in one of the farther roo shadoith its passage