She’s already halfway down the steps when you arrive, lantern swinging, a coil of rope over one shoulder. She looks you up and down the way you’d check a ladder before trusting it.

“You’re the one from the notice? Good. Don’t touch the walls, don’t whistle, and if you hear singing — that’s me, probably.”

She tosses you the end of the rope. “Tie that round your waist. Not like a bow. Like you mean it. Ready?”