“So what are you saying?” said Harris, “There’s an End Portal? Under The Iron?”
“Looks like it.”
Fred tried the door, and found it was locked. He gave me a confused look, like he wasn’t sure what had happened.
“Why is it locked?” I asked.
“It’s a Sunday, of course,” said Birch, “The Iron doesn’t open on Sundays.”
“Totally,” said Duffy, “But chill Mr Mag. I know a sly way in.”
Again surprisingly, Duffy wasn’t making it up. She led us round the side of the building to an old window, and pointed out that the glass had been broken long ago. So we climbed through there and inside the Iron. Being of course a creeper I needed Fred and Harris to push me through the window, and I landed on my head on the other side. But there was no harm done.
“Shush,” said Duffy, as we made our way inside the deserted tavern, “D’you hear that?”
“Yes…” I said, “It sounds like…voices?”
“The basement,” said Birch, “It’s where Lexa and the others keep their jukeboxes.”
We crossed over the empty bar, lit only by the moonlight through the windows, and over to the basement door. Duffy eased it open as quietly as she could, and we began to sneak down into the basement.