The Dark Assassin (48 page)

"That's
..." Runcorn cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, but his words
were lost.

Orme looked at
Monk.

Crow shrugged
and followed after Sutton.

Monk and Rathbone
had no better knowledge of the tunnels. All six of them and Snoot crossed over,
gripping each other through the fast flowing stream, only just keeping their
balance.

The tunnel
curved around and started to go upwards. Then, just as Monk was thinking he
could smell fresh air, it came to an abrupt end. There was water flowing from
the left, a thin, steady spout out of the raw earth already carrying soil with
it, and growing stronger even as they watched.

"It's going
to burst through!" Rathbone said, his voice high, beyond his control.
"We'll be drowned!" He swiveled around to look for escape. The tunnel
behind him sloped downward, the way the water would flow.

Monk saw it and
understood. There was no escape. Oddly now, with disaster so close, his fear
was under control.

Snoot began to
bark, writhing to get from Sutton's grasp.

" 'E can
smell rabbits," Sutton said quietly. "We ain't got no other way. If
we break this the stream'll come, but it isn't big. I reckon as we 'it wot they
used to call the Lark, afore it went under. It in't very deep. We'll get proper
wet and cold, but keep goin' an' we'll come out." And without waiting for
approval he attacked the soil with his hands.

Monk looked at
Rathbone, then at the others. Snoot was already digging just as fiercely as his
master. Monk stepped forward and joined them, then so did the others.

The stream broke
through in a rush, almost knocking them off their feet. Sutton fell against
Runcorn, and Crow bent to help them back to their feet. The lanterns were all
shattered, and they were plunged into obliterating darkness. There was no sense
of direction except that of the icy water.

"C'mon!"
Sutton shouted.

There was
nothing to do for survival except to follow him into the stream. They crawled
against the water, trying to breathe, to keep hold of anything, to move
forward, upward, clinging, gasping, cold to the bone.

Monk had no idea
how long it went on, how many times he thought his lungs would burst. Then
suddenly there was light, real daylight, and air. He fell out after Sutton into
the shingle bed and stumbled up the sides of the stone culvert. He turned
immediately to see who was behind him. One by one the others dragged themselves
out, filthy, drenched, and shuddering with cold. He swung around to thank
Sutton, and saw with a wave of boundless relief that he had Snoot in his arms.
"Is he all right?" he demanded.

Sutton nodded.
"Thought 'e weren't," he said shakily. "But 'e's
breathin'."

"Thank you,
sir." Rathbone held out his hand to Sutton. "You have saved our
lives. Now we must go and deal with Mr. Sixsmith. I suggest you get your dog
warm." He fished in his pocket and brought out a gold sovereign. "Be
so good as to give him a teaspoon of brandy with my compliments."

Monk felt the
emotion well up inside him too intensely for him to speak. He met Sutton's
eyes, looked again to make sure that Snoot was indeed breathing, and clasped
Rathbone's arm very briefly. Then they followed Crow, who seemed to know which
way to go.

The five of them
were perishing with cold and smeared with clay and remnants of sewage when they
reached the head of the tunnel again. They found Finger and almost twenty other
navvies near the great machine.

Finger saw Monk.
"We got another cave-in, bad one," he said grimly. "Blimey! Yer
look like bloody 'ell!"

"Very well
observed," Monk replied. "Too accurate to be accounted abusive
language. Where is Sixsmith?"

"Down
there." Finger pointed at the entrance.

Monk looked at
it and a wave of nausea enveloped him. He could not go in that again. He simply
physically could not. His legs were shaking, his stomach sick.

It was Runcorn
who walked forward, his face set like stone. "I'll get that bastard up
here," he said grimly. "Or I'll bring the whole bloody lot in on both
of us."

"What!
Runcorn!" Monk shouted after him. He swore violently. He could not let
Runcorn go in there. He had no choice. He charged back into the semidarkness a
pace behind Runcorn, still shouting at him.

Fifty yards in,
the tunnel was still dimly lit from lanterns on the wall. A hundred yards and
the glow came from ahead of them and Runcorn stopped abruptly.

Monk caught up
with him. "Fire," he said, his voice catching. "I can feel the
heat of it. Where's Sixsmith?"

Monk pressed
forward again, more slowly now. He had covered another twenty yards around a
curve when he saw the broad-chested figure ahead of him. It was unmistakably
Sixsmith from the way he walked. He was coming towards them. He must have
recognized Monk at that same moment. He stopped and stood with his arms loosely
by his sides. If he was surprised to see Monk was not alone, there was nothing
in his voice to betray it.

"You'd
better let me past. There's fire behind me, and I'm the only one who can put it
out! If I don't, it could come up into the streets and burn the whole of
London."

"Did you
mean to kill Toby Argyll?" Monk asked without moving.

"Eventually,"
Sixsmith replied. "But Mary taking him over with her was a piece of luck.
I had intended to have him blamed for her death, but the way it worked out was
better. Don't waste time, Monk. The fire'll break through soon. That whole
tunnel behind me is ablaze. There's enough air in here to feed it."

"Why did
you do it? For the Argyll Company?"

"Don't be
so damn stupid! For revenge. Alan Argyll took my invention, the money, and far
more than that, he took the praise for it! I don't give a damn if this whole
thing blows up, Monk, but you do! You won't let the city burn, so get out of my
way! I can put it out! Those fools up there don't know what to do."

Behind Monk,
Runcorn was moving. Monk swung around to see what it was, and at that instant
Runcorn threw the rock. It caught Sixsmith just as he raised his hand with the
gun in it. He fell backwards as the shot exploded, and the bullet hit the
rocks.

"Run!"
Runcorn yelled, grabbing Monk by the waist and almost pulling him off his feet.

Side by side
they hurtled towards the entrance again, feet flying, shoulders banging into
the walls. Monk fell once. Runcorn stopped and hauled him to his feet, almost
yanking his arm out of its socket, nearly tearing his wound open. But they
reached the entrance just as Finger fired the great lifting machine into life,
under Orme's orders. The earth began to shudder and stones were dislodged.
Boulders quaked and the whole machine slid forward. The giant stakes that held
it were gone and it slithered and pounded, belching steam.

Finger jumped
down and ran away from it as it lurched forward. The boulders crashed over and
down, then gradually the entire wall and all its retaining boards and planks
buckled and slid. Crossbeams exploded like matchsticks. With a great eruption,
the earth collapsed with a roar and crashed over the entrance, burying it as if
it had never existed.

Pebbles rattled
and dropped; steam exploded from somewhere in a white column. Then there was
silence.

Monk wiped his
hand across his face and found he was shaking.

"Better
Sixsmith be buried," Rathbone said, his voice with only a shred of its old
humor. "I'm not sure I could have convicted him anyway." He smiled
ruefully. "Don't bring me another case for a while, Monk. You've ruined my
clothes."

They stood in a
row, five of them-filthy, freezing, and strangely victorious.

"Thank you,
gentlemen," Monk said. "Each and every one of you." He had never
meant anything more in his life.