Page 88 of Guardian
And one for me.
Chapter 25
We climbed down the metal ladder and stepped back into the water, which felt even colder to my feet and ankles. My teeth chattered audibly as we made our way toward the boat. The red string had vanished, lost underwater.
From up ahead, we heard the intermittent echoing bleat of voices.
Art immediately doused the lantern, and I froze.
Instead of the complete darkness I expected, there was a dim light glimmering in the black water ahead. Was it light from the Thames? Or from someone else in the tunnel?
I prayed no one had found James. He could hold his own in a fight, even against two, but not when he was injured.
“Close your eyes,” Art whispered. “Use your hands.”
I obeyed and instantly my other senses became more acute. The plunks and smacks of the waves against the walls, a creak from something up ahead. The sour, briny smell of rot and the river. With the water sliding up and down my shins with each step, my right hand felt along the stone, finding jagged edges, chips and divots. Art and I proceeded at a snail’s pace, silently enough that I could hear the difference between the slaps of water against the bricks and the sloshing flow of the Fleet as we neared it.
At last, I opened my eyes to near-complete darkness. Whoever was here had doused their light or moved away. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed movement. It vanished as I turned toward it.
“James,” I said softly.
“Shhh.”
Then I heard it. The echoes of splashes and voices. I held my breath listening, hoping they were moving away, but after a moment I could hear them more clearly, and then well enough to distinguish a word. I inched my feet forward until I heard “Kit,” not more than a few feet from me. I expected my shin to hit a gunwale but found nothing.
“Smugglers,” Art whispered.
“They came downriver and went into the tunnel above this one,” James muttered. “They’re coming this way.”
“Where’s the boat?” I groped and found his arm.
“Near the Thames by now, I hope. Had to shove it off or they’d hear it and find us.” He must have felt my fear, for he added, “You’ll be fine, Kit. Art will help you.”
“Can you swim wi’ your leg?” Art asked.
“I’ll manage.”
The thought of his open wound in the vile water turned my stomach, but there was no help for it.
Art stepped forward. “Put your arm over my lef’ shoulder, mate,” he said, his voice low. “And Kit, take the other. It’ll be over your head in the deep part.”
“Get me to the middle,” James said, “where I can swim. I just can’t walk to get there.”
I gripped the coat over Art’s right shoulder, and he stepped out into the Fleet.
I anticipated the river water moving faster than in the tunnel, but the sudden icy lurch of it against the middle of my back stopped my lungs. My hand slipped from Art’s shoulder, and the water rushed over my head, dunking me. I came up gasping, Art’s hand grasping my coat. My hands clutched his shoulder, tighter this time. Art braced himself, one foot forward, one back, and then he moved. Now that we were in the river, we could hear the voices more clearly. They sounded close, but they had doused their light, for all was darkness behind us. They could no more see us than we could see them, so long as we stayed silent.
But they were moving faster than we were. The voices grew louder. If I could have swum, we all could have moved faster, and in that moment, I vowed that if I ever got out of this, I would bloody learn to bloody swim. I cursed in my head, but stayed as still as I could so as not to throw Art off-balance.
The water swelled. It was at the middle of my back, and I could feel the strain in Art’s shoulders as he tried to keep the three of us afloat. I knew what James was thinking as clearly as if he’d spoken. He wanted Art to get me to safety—and I wanted the same for him.
“I’m letting go. Ready?” James said, and Art braced again while James slid ahead of us with soft splashes. Art and I could move faster now. I held myself as still as possible, and the water grew colder and faster. I fought down my panic as it reached my neck.
“’Old your breath,” Art said, and I felt him lose his footing. But I could see the Thames, with the moonlight on it, not twenty feet ahead.
“Hey!” came a shout behind us.
The light coming from the end of the tunnel had thrown us into silhouette. I turned and saw our shadows as vague enormous shapes—heads and shoulders—moving on the wall.
