Isabella's Heiress (33 page)

Emma tried to get up but the fall had knocked the wind out of her and she was momentarily paralysed. All she could do was try and kick with her legs in an effort to escape the oncoming mob but even that was proving impossible and she watched in mounting terror as the mist grew darker and the air got thicker with the shouts and screams aimed at her.

The first arms started to pierce the mist and the shouts reached a crescendo as they found her but they stopped almost as soon as they started as the ground shook violently beneath them. Confusion, then fear overtook the mob and what started as a slow retreat ended up being a rout as the ground shook again, this time accompanied by a low booming.

Emma looked at where the crowd had been only seconds ago trying to find the source of the shaking. She raised herself up on her elbows and took in some deep breathes but they left her in a hurry as she saw a booted set of feet appear next her. A hand came down and grabbed her collar before pulling her straight up. Rodolfo looked her straight in the eye. He did not look happy.

“Of all the places to get lost in, you chose here!”

Emma thought about mentioning the fact that generally getting lost wasn't a choice so much as an unfortunate state of affairs that was thrust on you, but seeing the dark look on Rodolfo's face she thought better of it.

“I don't know what happened. I thought I'd gone the right way…”

“…And ended up in the wharfs. We should not stay. Word will get back that you are down here. Keep close.”

Rodolfo motioned for Emma to stay by his side and they headed back into the mist. As they came back up into Queen Victoria Street, Emma could see the staff that he carried in his right hand,
so that was the cause of the tremors,
she thought. Emma's mind went back to the Soul Gorger and Rodolfo's actions back then. She'd watched as the Soul Gorger had been reduced to a wobbling jelly for a few seconds but only now realised exactly why.

They carried on walking until Emma felt an arm placed across her chest.

“We are here.”

Exactly where here was, was lost on Emma as all she could see was mist but the awful smell that was causing her to gag told her that the River Fleet was somewhere nearby.

“Where are we?”

“Newgate is off to our right.”

Emma stiffened at these words and hoped the mist was as thick there as it was here. It wasn't lost on her that it was now nearly dark.

“Fear not, they cannot see us. If anything, the fracas at the docks will have diverted their attention down there.”

“What happens now?”

“Now you continue on alone..” Rodolfo took her left hand and placed it on a cold, wet rail. “These steps lead down to a tow path which will take you to a door.” He placed something else cold and wet in her right hand, “This key will open that door. Turn left when you get to the bottom of the steps.”

Emma turned around and looked at him with wide eyes “You're not coming with me?”

“No, child, I cannot go in there, and if you had any sense you would abandon this foolhardy errand as well.”

But Emma wasn't in any mood for that and headed down the steps.

The door was hidden in a recess in the sewer wall. As Emma walked slowly towards it something moved to her left and she recoiled as a rat brushed past her, squeaking in protest, its whiskers and course hair rubbing against her ankle.

The walls were wet, green streaks of filth testament to the countless times the river had run high and over flown whilst the dark tide of scum running along the bottom gave off a smell that made her gag.

Emma's hands ran up and down the roughly hewn wood until they found a small piece of cold metal. She removed the key from its hiding place in her trouser pocket and, using her left hand, guided it to her right in the dark. When her hands found each other, Emma pushed the key into the hole. The lock, rusty and stiff after so many years of neglect, was unwilling to let the key pass, but after twisting it first left then right, Emma was able to push it all the way in. The lock protested with a grinding squeal. Emma stopped; scared that she might break the only way she had to get in. She teased the key, slowly loosening the mechanism until she managed to get it to rotate fully. The lock disengaged from the doorframe, giving one last grating
protest. Emma cringed, certain that everybody within a miles radius must have heard it.

After what seemed like an eternity Emma tried the door. She pushed gently with one hand but the door stayed firm. Emma realised the door was stuck fast and put her whole body weight against it. This time it flew open, as the last elements of rust and corrosion gave way.

She fell through the open doorway and felt a wave of cool musty air rush over her, banishing the foul smell of the river. She waited for her eyes to adjust and slowly started to make out the regular patchwork of a curved brick roof with low, narrow walls. Closing the door behind her, Emma instantly regretted her decision as the corridor was plunged in to pitch darkness.

This time there was no light for her eyes to adjust to. Instead she had to feel her way slowly down the passage with her left hand on the wall and her other waving out in front to ensure she didn't walk in to anything as the corridor twisted and turned. She edged forward inch by inch, every step sounding enormous. It felt like her heart would explode as every movement she made was met with echoes ricocheting down the passageway. The walls were slick with condensation and she had to be careful not to put too much weight on her hand lest it slip and she fall over.

It seemed as if the tunnel would go on forever with no end in sight but as Emma headed further in, it started to get warmer. Finally Emma felt the corridor gently rise and as she slowly headed up, she started to see a faint glow someway down on the right hand side. The glow got bigger until it took on the form of a small rectangle and Emma slowed down, fearful that she might be heard. She edged along the wall, her back slick with sweat until she was within touching distance of the light. By now she
could make out a small grate set into the brickwork.

Finally Emma plucked up the courage to take a look through it. She ducked down underneath the grate and crept sideways so that she could just about peek through the bottom right hand corner. Emma raised herself up, until she was level with the bottom of the grate and her left eye was capable of seeing what was on the other side. She was ready to run the first instant that someone looked like they had seen her but it was unnecessary, there was no one there. What Emma did see though made her gasp. The grate opened onto a vast hall, with granite arches, stairs and gangways leading off in every direction. Huge chains hung on the walls, their large metal eyes causing them to knock slowly against the brickwork. The hall rose out of site into shadow, the only light coming either from braziers sitting at regular intervals or torches on the wall. Emma could see Corinthian columns and archway upon archway leading upwards until they disappeared from sight. She also became aware of the pungent odour of sulphur and a clawing heat. It was slowly pervading her nose and she could feel it sticking to the back of her throat.

Emma heard a cry and froze, mortified at having been seen. She prepared to throw herself back down the tunnel, but no one came. The cry became louder and Emma realised that it wasn't someone shouting a warning but rather someone screaming in desperation. The voice was a man's and as it became clearer; Emma could make out his anguished pleas.

“Please no, not again. I'll do anything, just not that again!”

There was a large wooden staircase, which overhung the area immediately outside the grate, so didn't see the man until he was right in front of her. He was being dragged along by two monks, covered head to toe in
black habits. His feet were kicking and he was making a vain effort to struggle but the monks had a firm grip on him and he wasn't going anywhere. His cries cut through Emma and even after they had passed from view, she could hear his pleas.

Emma stepped away from the grate and sat down on the floor of the passageway. Her clothes were drenched and her skin was hot and clammy. She thought about what she had just seen and felt renewed doubt as to whether she would be able to rescue Taryn. Father Eamon's words came back to haunt her and she started to realise the size of the task she had set herself.

If she were going to try and reach Taryn, she would have to remove the grate. Emma took another look, this time concentrating on the grate itself instead of what was on the other side. It was two foot high, four feet wide and wrought out of iron. She checked once more to ensure no one was near, before running her hand along one of the bars. It was rough to the touch and warm. As she moved her hand up and down the grate, Emma felt pieces of rusted metal break away at the first hint of pressure, but even so the bars were solid and when she finally plucked up the courage to tug at them, they stayed firm.

Emma tugged viciously at the bars but it did not make any difference. They may have been ancient but they were built well and showed no signs of giving way. Finally, through sheer frustration, she collapsed to the floor. She stayed there whilst she caught her breath, trying to work out how to move forward.

Not knowing what else to do, Emma continued with this course of action until she was too exhausted to do anymore. If the grate couldn't be made to move she reasoned, then she would need to attack the problem from a different angle. This thought filled her with a renewed
vigour and she headed back towards the light. She ran her hands along the bottom of the grate, feeling for any gap or weakness she could exploit. At first it looked like this was as hopeless as pulling at the bars but when she ran her thumbnail along the mortar holding the grate in place, she felt little pieces crumbling away. It was a small victory but Emma felt a surge of optimism inside her. She repeated the process and more mortar fell away but it was only a few flakes and the grates surround was the better part of eight feet. Emma reached into her pocket for the key she had used to get into the passage. Scraping it along the bottom, it scored the mortar causing more to drop away. Emma forced the key further in, all the time making slow progress. At first she was scared she would be heard but any noise the keys scraping might have made was drowned out by the low hum of activity coming from the cavernous chamber on the other side.

Eventually Emma realised she would need something larger which she could get more leverage with, particularly as the key was now starting to smooth off and would soon be useless for anything except rounding off the groove she had created under the grate. Emma could see that the bottom of it was now fully exposed and it wouldn't be long until she had worked her way through but she would still have to deal with the other sides. With that in mind Emma continued with the key until it was completely useless. By then she had managed to force enough mortar out to get her fingers underneath and pull at the grate. There was a slight give but nothing more.

Emma fell back, grimy and breathing hard. Her fingers were cut and stung from where her sweat mixed with the blood. She sat down, away from the heat. The key was still just about usable but wouldn't be for much longer. She looked around for a replacement but there was nothing.
Emma started to despair. She had been there for hours and whilst she had hit on a way to get through the grate, she might as well have been holding a toothpick for all the good the key was going. At this thought, a smile crossed her face. She got up and headed back towards the start of the tunnel. It was slow progress, her footing less sure now she was tired, but eventually she made it to the door and immediately started to pad her hands up and down the inside, careful to avoid splinters, until she found what she was looking for. As the wood had got rotten over time, it had started to split. This allowed Emma to pull off large stakes from the once smooth door.

After she had got an armful, she made her way carefully back to the grate before placing them on the floor, careful not to make any noise. Emma fashioned a crude chisel by holding a batch of splinters with the thick ends used to work the mortar. She went to work on the left hand side of the grate. The mortar was stubborn but years of condensation had taken its toll and Emma started to make progress as dry cement fell away to reveal rotten honeycomb. Emma started on the other side to find the effect was the same, initial resistance followed by free falling mortar.

Emma hadn't taken any breaks since she had restarted. Now she felt the burn of exhaustion and stood back. She could see the progress she had made, the mortar having disappeared at the bottom and nearly gone from the sides. For the first time she worried about how she was going to remove the grate without dropping it. It was at eye level and looked heavy. Sitting back on her haunches and mopping sweat from her brow, Emma thought through different scenarios as to how she could remove the grate but they all seemed to end up with the grate either crashing to the floor or clattering on to her.

Eventually she settled with forcing her body against
the wall, hoping it would have the effect of acting like a break as the grate came away. Emma stood up, shook the cramp from her legs and approached the grate. Grabbing hold of the middle bars, she pulled hard. Nothing happened. She did it again, this time holding onto the bottom. Emma repeated the process time and again until she felt the mortars grip start to fail. As she continued the mortar running along the top gave way with a mild snapping noise and a jagged hairline crack spread instantly along its entire length.

Emma heard a shuffling noise come from just the other side. She froze and waited for what would happen next. She could barely breath; terrified the noise of her effort would carry.

A shadow spread out along the floor, followed by a hooded figure that shuffled slowly into view. It turned into the alcove, pausing by a table under the staircase. The staircase had the effect of throwing everything under it into a deep shadow. Emma could hear the metallic clash of metal on metal but couldn't see what was happening. She watched as the figure leant over the table, picking up long, dark instruments before putting them back down. Sweat was building up on Emma's brow and was now tickling her eyelids. She daren't move so had to settle for leaning her head forward and hoping that the salty droplets would succumb to gravity and fall to earth.

When she looked back up, she saw that the monk now had an armful of sharp objects from the table. He was turning away and heading out of the alcove. As Emma watched the monk depart, there was a splashing noise at her feet. Appalled, she looked down to see a chunk of mortar sitting in a small pool of water. She looked up to where it had fallen away from the top of the grate and saw a near-hexagonal hole where it used to be.

The monk had heard it as well. It had frozen to the spot as the sound echoed through the alcove. Emma prayed it would move on but her heart sunk as its head slowly turned around. It seemed to be listening. Slowly it headed back to the table where it dropped everything back down onto its top with a resounding crash that seemed to Emma to go on forever. The monk turned towards the grate and headed in her direction. Emma had to watch its slow progress knowing she couldn't run or hide because the grate was now loose and would fall if she let it go. Thankfully all she had to do was just lean against it to hold it in place. There was no weight on her arms, which was just as well as she had now been standing in the same position for the last five minutes and cramp was starting to set in. Emma flexed her arms and fingers hoping to stave it off, all the time watching as the monk drew closer.

It seemed to be sniffing the air as it went, its cowl shifting slightly as the head inside moved left and right then up and down. Emma started to get a better view of the monk as it drew closer. Its habit was frayed and dirty and the sandals it wore did little to protect its gnarled and calloused feet. It extended its arms and started to feel its way around the brickwork. Emma was confused, why didn't it just go straight for the grate? All she could see was the monk's feet; they shuffled left and right as it scraped and prodded the wall. Emma couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and couldn't scratch the itch that had developed on the end of her nose.

The monk was working his way down the wall and even though Emma couldn't work out what it was doing, she could tell by the way its body was starting to bend at the waist; it wouldn't be long before it found the grate. It happened sooner than she thought. As the monk moved its feet, a toe caught one of the bars. It stopped for a second,
before crouching down and frantically started slapping the wall. It was grunting and snarling, making enough noise that Emma was able to carefully place her feet against the opposite wall to allow her to resist should the monk try to force the grate.

Its hands found the grate and Emma's pulse quickened, her breath becoming shorter. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to control her breathing. As it felt the rough circumference of the bars, Emma got her first close look at a black monk. The first thing she noticed was whilst that
it
was nominally a
he
, it had long since stopped having any human traits about it. She immediately understood why he hadn't gone straight for the grate. Its eyes were closed, the lids sewn together with course, uneven stitching. They were set in an old, emaciated face and as Emma looked closer, she could see the eye lids were like two pieces of old leather sewn together but instead of a smooth globe for them to run over, they were covering empty sockets. The monk's nose seemed to have taken up the mantel of the lost eyes.