Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City (18 page)

Rosemary kicked him hard between the legs, doubling him over. Her next kick cracked his nose and he clutched at it. Her third kick struck his shoulder, sending him sprawling. There was a clatter of man on wood, followed by a splash.

“Rosemary!” gasped Faith, shocked. But her eyes gleamed in admiration.

The basement door burst open. The henchmen piled down the steps, candles held high.

Rosemary shoved Faith to the steps. They clambered down, and found themselves inside a long, square tunnel of running water. At the base of the steps was a wooden jetty, bobbing in the stream, and beside it a large flatbed boat, four feet wide and four times as long, bucking against the current. Two lanterns shone, one at the bow
and one at the stern. They made the slick brick walls gleam as if molten. The air sopped their skin and smelled like all the alleyways in Toronto concentrated into a single drop, then multiplied.

The boatman lay unconscious, half in the stream. Above, voices and clattering crates approached the hatchway. Rosemary shoved Faith toward the boat. “In! Now!”

“What are you doing —”

“Don’t argue! Go!” Rosemary pulled the rope from its hook and jumped onto the boat as it started to slide away. Faith gripped the sides, but it held steady under Rosemary’s feet. There were poles on the bottom of the boat. Rosemary picked one up and pushed away from the wall, sending the boat toward the stronger middle current.

Then she looked up and quailed. The hatch was directly above her. One of the thugs stared down, a gun in his hand. He aimed.

“Down!” She dove on top of Faith, shielding her and making them both as small a target as possible.

The gunshot sent splinters flying. The tunnel rang like the inside of a drum.

Then the boat found the current and gathered speed downstream, leaving the jetty far behind.

For a long while, Faith and Rosemary lay huddled in the bottom of the boat, gasping. Finally, Faith pushed Rosemary aside and sat up. Rosemary checked herself for holes. She didn’t find any.

“Are you all right?” she asked Faith.

Faith nodded, her cheeks pale in the lantern light. “Where are we?”

“Storm sewer,” Rosemary replied.

They were in the centre of the stream. The wet walls curved above them, the brickwork sweeping past like picket fences by a highway.

Faith tried to gather her breath, with little success. “What ...,” she breathed, then started again. “Who ...,” another breath. “I cannot stop shaking.”

Rosemary squeezed her shoulder. “I know.” Her own throat was dry.

“What — what do we do now?”

Rosemary sat and stared at the passing brickwork. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Get out of here. Find Peter and Edmund. I don’t know where to start.” Then her eyes focused. Ahead of them, the curved brick wall angled into what had previously been open tunnel. She shot a glance to her right. The distance between starboard and brick wall narrowed steadily. She stood up. “Steering! That’s where we start!”

“What?” gasped Faith.

“Pass me that pole!” Rosemary snapped her fingers.

Then Faith saw the approaching bend and she looked around frantically. She found the pole lying on the bottom of the boat and picked it up. It was eight feet long and hard to handle, but Rosemary gripped it and dipped it into the water. The brick floor almost snatched it from her hands.

“I can’t slow us down,” she shouted over the rushing water. “Faith! Does this boat have a rudder?”

Faith turned. Stretching on her stomach, she reached for a twisting plank of wood resting beneath the back lantern. “Yes!”

“Turn it!” Rosemary’s voice rose with anxiety.

Faith turned it. The boat lurched to the right.

“The other way!” Rosemary shrieked. Her words echoed throughout the tunnel.

Faith twisted the rudder, but it was too late. Rosemary threw herself to the wooden bottom as the boat smashed up against the wall, the starboard side rising as it scraped against the brickwork. Faith screamed. The boat slowed. Rosemary twisted her staff and planted the end of it against the wall. She pushed.

The boat eased back out into the stream.

Rosemary sat up and planted the pole in the bottom of the stream. It caught. At this speed, she was able to hold on, and the boat slowed, then stopped. She eased up and the boat started forward, until she planted the pole again. This way, she was able to keep the boat moving forward at a leisurely pace.

“Keep manning the rudder,” she said, her voice steady. Her chest heaved.

“Yes,” said Faith. She looked ahead. The boat floated forward in the murk.

Then Faith stirred. She looked down. She stood up. “Rosemary ... My skirts are wet.”

“Huh?” Rosemary looked back, then down. Water sloshed over the bottom of the boat, edging up the sides. “We’re sinking.”

“What?” Faith’s cry echoed through the sewer. “How?”

“The gunshot must have blown a hole in the boat,” said Rosemary. “Running into the wall didn’t help, either.”

“I do not care how it happened,” yelled Faith. “What are we going to do?”

“Hold us steady.” Rosemary passed over the pole. Faith planted it in the water and held on for dear life. Rosemary clambered over the deck, searching, until she found an upwelling in the brackish water lining the bottom of the boat. She pressed her hand to it and felt a jagged hole in the wood. She cursed as her palm caught splinters. The viscous water seeped through her fingers.

“Rosemary, hurry!” Faith cried. “I cannot swim!”

“I’m trying!” Rosemary shouted. She looked around for something to stuff into the hole. Nothing could be seen. She pulled at the hem of her dress.

Then the boat vanished beneath them. Faith screamed and fell back. Rosemary gasped. The water swept over their legs. Crouched on all fours, Rosemary stared as the water rose to her elbows. Then the boat met the bottom with a crunch, and the water stopped rising. The lanterns dangled inches from the surface of the stream.

For a long moment, the only sound was the water lapping over their arms and legs. Finally, Rosemary got to her feet. “So, you can’t swim. Can you stand up?”

“Do not mock me!” said Faith, bitterly.

“Sorry.” Rosemary waded over and helped Faith to her feet. “Oh God, look at us.” Their dresses were black, sagging from their shoulders. The weight of the sodden material made them stoop. “I’m afraid I ruined your nice new dress.”

Faith stared at Rosemary in disbelief. Rosemary stared back. Her mouth quirked. Faith snorted, and then chuckled. Rosemary joined her.

Then the two were bursting with laughter, clutching each other, knee deep in the stream. The laughter lasted for several minutes before ebbing. Faith’s chuckle ended with a sob. They clasped each other a moment longer. Finally, Faith looked up, her cheeks dry. “We have to leave this place. Now.”

“I know.” Rosemary waded carefully out of the boat. Her feet slipped on the brick, but she caught herself and helped Faith over. “Take a lantern. We’ll walk downstream.” She grabbed her own lantern off the
bow. It was a storm lantern, ideal for ships at sea. The wick burned fiercely behind glass and the shutters were well-oiled and ready to click into place. The metal was hot to the touch, but the handle was cool.

“What if we find other boats?” said Faith. “Think, Rosemary: the jetty? The boat was waiting for us. This is not just a sewer, it’s an underground canal.”

“I know.” Rosemary clasped Faith’s wet hand. “But with those thugs behind us, we’re stuck on this route, at least until we can find a way to the surface. We should have some time before word gets back that we’ve escaped and everybody comes looking for us. Come on.”

They sloshed downstream, sticking as close to the wall as possible, where the water was shallowest. The lights from their lantern gleamed off the brick. The flowing water covered all other sound.

“Rosemary?” said Faith after a long while.

“What?”

“Why did ...,” Faith began. Then she faltered. “How could ... How could Edmund have fallen in with those men?”

“You saw the ledgers,” said Rosemary. “He was losing the shop.”

“Yes, but ... Why did he not tell me?”

Rosemary shrugged. “He was too proud?” She scanned the ceiling for manholes, but found none. “He wanted so much to keep you in school.”

“So this
is
my fault,” Faith muttered.

“No.” Rosemary turned on her. “It’s not your fault that Edmund is the proud idiot he is.”

Faith frowned. “How dare you speak of my brother like that!”

“How would you speak of your brother, then?” Rosemary shot back. She softened. “I know you love your brother. I like him too, even after he locked me in the basement. But for all that, he’s still in over his head.”

Faith bit her lip and stared at the water.

Rosemary squeezed her shoulder. “He’s still a good man. He wanted me out of the house for my own sake as much as his. And when thugs try to kidnap somebody’s sister, it’s because the brother is having second thoughts about the whole thing.”

Faith looked up. “Really?”

Rosemary smiled. “I bet you he’s being held captive for his ‘treachery,’ and it’s up to us to get the police and rescue him.”

Faith gave her a small smile. Then she looked downstream and brightened. “I see light! I see the end of the tunnel!”

Rosemary turned. The tunnel flickered in the distance. A gleam of light pulled into view. Her heart leapt and she clicked the shutter closed on her lantern. “The light at the end of the tunnel’s a boat.”

“They’ve come for us!” Faith squeaked. “Run!”

“Wait!” Rosemary grabbed her wrist. The distant light set the bricks aglow, but there was a black gap,
forward and to their right. The bricks on either side shone. “A branch tunnel! Come on! Quietly!”

They sloshed forward. Rosemary kept Faith’s lantern light on the wall. Then they found themselves looking into a narrow drain emptying into the stream with a small waterfall. It was barely four feet wide and six feet high.

“Come on!” Rosemary tugged Faith toward the drain, but Faith held back.

“Rosemary, no.” She drew a shaky breath. “I cannot go in there. This tunnel is bad enough, but that small hole —”

Rosemary pulled. “Come on, Faith! They’ll be here in a minute!”

“Rosemary, please! I cannot!” Hysteria edged her voice higher. “I cannot take much more of this. The walls are closing in on me. I ... I cannot breathe!”

Rosemary shook her by the shoulders. “Faith!” She waited until Faith focused into her eyes, then continued calmly. “I know how you feel. I feel it, too. It’s called claustrophobia. But you’ve got to keep calm. I can’t be level-headed for the both of us.”

“I cannot!” Faith sobbed.

“Yes, you can,” said Rosemary firmly. “Come on. You’re the one who’s going to be a doctor. Think of all those men who laugh at you every time you enter the building. Are you going to cry in front of them? Would a doctor cry?”

“What about you?”

“Me?” said Rosemary lightly. “I’m going into biochemistry. We’ll both be doctors, so we’re both getting out of this!”

The light drew ever closer. They could see it bobbing on the surface of the water now. Rosemary tightened her grip on Faith’s shoulder. “Faith, please!”

Holding each other’s hand, they stepped over the small waterfall and into the hungry shadows. The small stream sloshed over their boots and swept at their sodden shirts. The slimy brick brushed their shoulders. They went as deep as they dared. Then, with a final glance behind, Faith slammed the shutter over her lantern. They pressed close and stared out at the main tunnel.

The bricks began to flicker with reflected light. Voices echoed through the tunnel, slowly becoming loud enough to make out.

“I’m sure I heard voices,” said someone. There was a splash of an oar on water.

“Our company, probably,” said another. “We’re near the Watson jetty. You can ask them yourself what took them so long.”

The long gondola and its three-man crew eased into view. The man at the bow peered ahead. “Didn’t sound like men. Sounded more like women.”

The man at the rudder chuckled. “Another one of Michael’s sirens, perhaps?”

“Enough of that!” snapped the oarsman. “There are strange things in this sewer. I can hear them on the
water. We shouldn’t be down here, I tell you.”

“You’d rather we try to sneak behind the constabulary’s backs instead of beneath their feet?” said the bowman.

The oarsman muttered something surly.

The gondola slipped out of view. The watery light faded.

Rosemary heaved a sigh of relief. “They haven’t started looking for us down here yet.”

Faith said nothing. Rosemary could see her in the rising shadows of the departing lamplight, standing stock still, arms clenched around her chest.

Rosemary touched her arm. “Faith?”

She took a deep, shaky breath as the last of the light vanished. “We must leave this place. Now.”

“We will.” Rosemary gave her arm a squeeze. “We will, I promise. We’ll find a manhole and we’ll get ourselves out of here. Think of the open sky, the fresh air, our feet on muddy streets.”

Faith chuckled. “I might take my boots off for that.”