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27
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He left the shop and walked back along the narrow alleyway with canvas-covered scaffolding. He glanced over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight. The canvas flapped in the wind, the scaffolding creaked and groaned, Mort walked on.
Suddenly, there was a sound. He turned his head and looked up to the scaffolding. But there was little time to react: The scaffolding had come away from its mountings. It began to buckle and fall out into the alleyway.
Desperately, he broke into a run. Behind him, collapsing like a set of Dominos, the mass of canvas and metal gained on him as he sprinted for the end of the alley.
The last of the scaffolding hit the ground only inches behind him. He stood, his chest heaving up and down as he looked back at the tangled mess that only seconds ago had been all in one piece. It was a close one. He had just made it.
A thought suddenly entered his head. Just before in the book shop, the engraving he had seen--The peasant man approaching the bridge with two gate towers. And the archer aiming his arrow at the peasant.
"Danger from above," Mort said aloud.