‘Is everyone up? Is everyone awake?’
‘Yes, Brother.’
‘Good . . .’ He thought hard. ‘We need to close the valves, obviously. Oh my word, who on earth would have opened them?’
‘Brother Rees!’ said a voice.
It was Brother Martin. His hair was wild and the bottom of his robe was soaking wet. ‘You’ve heard the news?’
‘We need to close the valves—’
‘It’s not possible, Brother. I’ve just tried. The pump-room’s cut off.’
The three men continued, climbing the steps as quickly as they could. They could hear the drumming of water above them and as they turned onto the platform, it became a roar that was frightening.
‘Oh my word! I see what you mean!’
The tunnel was no longer a tunnel. It was a canal and the water was racing. As they watched, they saw pieces of the old barge – a section of rib and a length of gunwale – spin madly, sink and then rise again. The velocity of the water was terrifying and its colour was filthy brown.
‘What can we do?’ shouted Brother Rees. ‘We’ll have to go the long way round!’
‘I think it’s a lost cause!’ yelled Brother Martin.
Brother Rees hitched up his robe and tucked it firmly into the cord.
‘What are you doing, Brother?’
He put his spectacles in an inside pouch and kicked his slippers off.
‘Brother, what are you doing?’
He put his mouth against Brother Martin’s ear. ‘I’m going to take a chance,’ he shouted. ‘I’m a strong swimmer – I might just do it.’
‘You’re joking! You’re mad!’
‘I want you to get everybody else up through Neptune; something very serious—’
‘No, Brother, this is suicide!’
‘Leave me alone. I’m worried about that boy.’
He closed his eyes, wondering if he was making a wise decision. ‘Miles,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about him.’
‘Brother Rees, you are far too old for this and I will not let you put yourself at risk.’
He saw his friend move to the edge of the platform and put out a restraining hand. Too late: Brother Rees had jumped, as far as he could, into the centre of the torrent. His friends gripped each other in astonishment and watched as the old grey head dipped beneath the waters. Ten metres on, it rose again, and they saw him breasting the waves making for the opposite bank. The water turned him like a stick, but he fought. There was an iron post driven into the wall and he fumbled at it, but the water had him again and drove him away. In seconds, he was swept round the curve of the tunnel and his chance was gone.
Just around that very bend, Sanchez was shouting into his radio. ‘Asilah, come in, please! Asilah, come in. . . . It’s Sanchez, over!’
He turned to Sanjay. ‘He’s not answering.’
Imagio snatched the radio and pressed a different switch. ‘Asilah, are you receiving, over?’
There was the buzz of static.
‘Asilah here – what’s happening down there? The lake’s moving. Over.’
Sanchez took the radio back. ‘We’ve got floods,’ he shouted. ‘There’s water in the tunnels. Ruskin and Oli are safe, but there’s still no sign of Miles. Have you seen him? Over.’
‘Nothing,’ said Asilah. ‘We’re just sitting waiting and we can hear . . . it’s like someone’s pulled a plug.’
‘No sign of Millie? Over.’
‘Negative. Where are the tigers?’
‘We sent them back – job done.’
‘What now, then? Over.’
Sanchez looked haggard. He hated indecision, but what was the best move? Instinct told him to get everyone back up onto dry land, but all he could think about was Millie, cut off and alone – it was like a headache, getting worse. ‘We’ve got to get to her,’ he said. His fury got the better of him. ‘Why does she have to do everything on her own?’
‘The monks might have found her,’ shouted Ruskin. ‘Maybe they did this—’
‘There’s someone in the water,’ said Sanjay.
‘Where?’
His sharp eyes had picked the figure out long before anybody else. It was rushing towards them, and it was only the quick thinking of Henry – always a boy to work by instinct – that saved the day. He stepped out into the water, holding the rail tight with one hand; as the body came by, he lunged and grabbed it with his left. Fighting the current, he drew it back and in, the railing bending under the strain. But he was held by many hands, and in a short while the bedraggled form of Brother Rees was up on the platform. The old man coughed up lungfuls of river water, wiped the weed from his face, and managed to sit up.
He looked up at Henry. ‘Thank you,’ he gasped. ‘Who’s draining the river?’
The boys looked at him.
His eyes went from face to face. ‘What’s going on? Why are you all down here in the middle of the night?’
‘My house has been robbed,’ said Tomaz.
‘Did you see Millie?’ said Sanchez. He was clutching the old man’s robe. ‘Were you in the pump-room?’ he cried. ‘Did you see Millie?’
‘What do you mean, robbed? Is the sword safe?’
‘Millie!’ insisted Sanchez. ‘Is she still in the pump-room?’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ said the old man. ‘I don’t know anyone called Millie and I haven’t been to the pump-room. It’s cut off, and we—’
‘But she said you were there!’ said Sanchez.
The water surged and a wave drenched them all. Nobody could speak for a moment and then it was Oli who said it. ‘What if the policeman got there? What if they’re the ones flooding the tunnels?’
Sanchez’s face lost the little colour it had. The water was now over the platform and over their ankles and the noise was unbearable.
‘Let’s go!’ shouted Sanjay. ‘What are we waiting for? We can swim.’
Brother Rees clambered to his feet. ‘Impossible,’ he said.
‘We have to try!’ yelled Sanchez.
The monk closed his eyes and thought a moment. ‘There’s another way,’ he said. ‘But it won’t be passable, it’s madness . . .’
He moved to a side tunnel and up some steps. The noise reduced in an instant, falling to a low throbbing.
‘I did it years ago, in the summer,’ he said, softly. ‘It wasn’t easy then, and it won’t be passable now, not—’
‘Another way? What do you mean?’
‘Another way to the pump-room. But it’s a long shot. I don’t hold out much hope . . .’
‘Why not?’ said Sanchez.
‘Because the caves will be submerged.’
‘We can try.’
‘There’s nothing more dangerous than an underground lake. Follow me!’
He continued, fast, along the tunnel. As he went, he tore off his saturated robe. He wore a black vest and shorts underneath, and soon he was half running. The boys jogged after him, their torches bobbing.
Chapter Fifty
The tunnel zig-zagged madly, for there were extrusions of rock. They ducked and grovelled, and at last came to a wall. It had crumbled and behind it was yet another rocky passage; they moved along it, as quickly as they could. There was hardly room to crawl.
‘I’ve been here once before,’ said Tomaz.
‘When?’ said Ruskin.
‘I came with Miles.’
‘Miles,’ said Brother Rees. He stopped. ‘Did he go back?’
‘From where?’ said Sanchez.
‘He was with me. This evening. Then he ran away and I—’
‘We haven’t seen him,’ said Sanchez. ‘Did you talk to him?’
Brother Rees closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. ‘I’m not sure this can get any worse,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep going – we’re nearly there.’
The passage got tighter and it was impossible to talk. They trained their torches forward and crawled. At length, out of breath and covered in dirt,
they clambered up to a sharp lip in the rock.
‘Careful!’ said Brother Rees. ‘There’s quite a drop – we call this a drowned cave.’
They dragged themselves slowly forward and trained their torches down. The rock hollowed beneath them into an enormous chasm. Had they had time, they might have admired the swooping columns and the folds of quartz. As it was, they simply stared at the jet-black water, spreading before them, and making further progress impossible.
‘We’re way too late,’ said Brother Rees, in a voice heavy with distress. ‘I’ve never seen the water as high as this.’
‘I can swim,’ said Sanjay.
‘Oh no,’ said the monk, grabbing the boy’s arm and holding it. ‘Nobody swims here. You can’t even think of swimming.’ The chamber gave his voice an echo and the grotto was full of whispers.
‘The caves will all be flooded now,’ he said. ‘They’re a labyrinth when they’re dry – imagine them full of water. There are currents down there too. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘We’ve got to get to the pump-room,’ whispered Sanchez. He had tears in his eyes. ‘Mille’s there. She might be . . .’
‘We can’t go any further!’ said the monk. ‘You see that column?’ He trained Sanjay’s torch onto it. ‘Just there and the pink arch under it. That’s where the passage starts, but the passages are low. The water sits in them – fills them. There’s no air.’
Oli said, ‘If they’ve got Millie, they’ll kill her.’
‘We’ll find a way up,’ said Brother Rees. ‘And call the police.’
Then a soft voice from the other side of the lagoon said, ‘Sanchez?’
Every torch shifted and every beam came to rest on a sharp rock rising out of the water. A boy was perching on it, wearing a tattered grey shirt and a black-and-gold tie.
He blinked in the light and put his hand over his eyes.
Sanchez said a prayer quietly in Spanish. ‘Oh, Miles,’ he said. ‘Oh thank God.’
‘I used to come here with Tom,’ said Miles.
‘I know,’ said Sanchez.
‘This is where I played the game.’
He had something in his hand. It was Sanchez’s gun.
‘I know,’ said Sanchez again. He spoke as softly as he could. ‘Come over here now. You shouldn’t be on your own.’
Miles stood up. ‘They’ve got Millie, haven’t they?’
‘No,’ said Tomaz. ‘We don’t know that.’
‘You’re going to fall,’ said Sanchez. ‘Sit back down. I’ll come to you.’
He could see the boy more clearly now, poised on the rock. He felt a sob rising in his throat. Miles’s shirt-sleeves were gone and his arms looked bruised and thin. His hair was a bird’s nest and he was shoeless. He balanced on bare feet.
‘I’m coming to get you,’ said Sanchez.
Miles smiled. ‘You’re too late,’ he said.
‘How can I be too late?’
‘You didn’t want me back, did you?’
‘Of course I did!’
‘This is my job.’ He pushed the gun into his belt. ‘I’m a guardian.’
‘You’re talking nonsense! Stay where you are, Miles! Stay—’
Miles slipped off his shirt and dived into the water.
Brother Rees cried out in pain and his howl echoed in the chambers above. He put his arms tight around Sanchez, who moved to jump too, and dragged him back. ‘Suicide!’ he shouted. ‘Suicide!’
Sanchez was screaming, Sanjay was on the edge, and Ruskin held his wrist. The water was churning and as they searched the surface, there was the most monstrous splash of all. Henry had seen at once that Miles would never come up. He shrugged off his blazer and threw himself after him.
Miles was in a darkness more total than he had ever known.
He had dived and then turned underwater, and for some seconds he didn’t even know which way was up. He opened his arms and legs; he kicked, knowing that this must push him to the top, but he had the curious feeling that he was moving downwards. There was a weariness in him, as if he had been running a long distance, and the water felt warm rather than cold. He sank, and sank, and he knew suddenly that he didn’t ever want to come up. The weightlessness was beautiful.
He felt rock under his feet. He opened his eyes and saw nothing. He pushed off, gently, and pulled with his arms. Now he was rising, picking up speed. He kicked again, surprised at how little he cared. He knew his lungs would burst soon and that he would gulp only water. He knew the bubbles would not be seen, because by now he had to be under the rock. He was aware of tunnel walls around him and a current taking him.
One more kick and he was moving faster still – the water was cold, swirling green. He could see a shape in the distance, swimming towards him as if from a mirror, and they were on a collision course. It was a boy, just like him, coming to get him. It too had floating hair and wild eyes, and he knew immediately that he was seeing himself. Closer and closer and they were looking into each other’s eyes, and they came together, rose together, and Miles broke the surface, gasping.
As he did so, another figure emerged, and this one was spluttering and coughing as much as he was. This one lunged for him and caught him by the shoulder. A torch came out of the water and Miles saw Henry’s huge face, racked with fear and desperation, the staring eyes made all the more mad by his slicked-back hair. They trod water together.
After some time, Miles said. ‘I don’t know the way.’
Henry pointed with his torch and they saw together that there were no options. The cave they were in tapered to a tunnel and, after ten metres or so, that tunnel submerged. They would have to swim blind, hoping that the roof would rise before they ran out of air.
Miles smiled at Henry and shook his head. ‘Suicide,’ he said.
Chapter Fifty-one
Above ground, Darren was making his move. He had realised that the level of the lake was going down. This exposed some of the pipework around Neptune and he could see a small, concrete platform, which had not been there before. There was a stone wall next to it, circular – it looked like a well. As he stared, trying to work out what it might be for, he saw a rowing-boat float up out of it and he was able to recognise three hunched figures.
He looked about him, stealthily. As far as he could tell, he was alone. The children he’d seen had gone down the Neptune statue: he’d heard nobody for a long time. He was bitterly cold and horribly bruised. Breathing was painful and he felt he had very little strength in his right arm. Still, he had done his duty by waiting; now, at last, it was pick-up time.
He lifted the oar of the speedboat – wincing as he did so – and pushed off from under the bridge.
D.C.C. Cuthbertson saw him and waved frantically.
Asilah crouched on the bank, observing everything.
‘Come in, Sanchez,’ he said.
There was no reply.
‘Sanchez, are you receiving? Over.’
‘Asilah, it’s not Sanchez. It’s Ruskin.’ The boy’s voice was cracking. ‘We’ve lost Miles and Henry. They jumped in! They just went and jumped!’
‘There’s movement on the lake, Ruskin,’ said Asilah. ‘There’s a boat coming over the lake. Over.’
‘Who’s in it?’
‘I can’t see who’s in the little one,’ said Asilah. ‘There’s no hurry – they’re not going anywhere. They’re . . . moving towards each other. I don’t think it’s kids – they’re too big. Unless one of them’s Henry . . .’
‘It must be Cuthbertson,’ said Ruskin. ‘Get him.’
‘What are you thinking, boss?’ said Anjoli. He had slunk up beside Asilah and they watched together as the two boats came together. Vijay was on the bridge and waved an arm. Two more boys ran silently to him and knelt by his side.
‘What are we waiting for?’ said Anjoli. ‘We gotta take ‘em.’
‘What do you think, Israel?’ said Asilah.
Israel chuckled. ‘He wants to fly, you let him fly. We’ll los
e them if we don’t move.’
‘You sure?’ said Asilah. ‘We never did this in water.’
Anjoli said, ‘I’m Icarus, man.’
The decision made, the three boys moved back to where the concrete pipe stood ready, the charge packed in a watertight skin. Anjoli put on a crash helmet and buttoned up his blazer. Then he took up the asbestos tray and clambered up the pipe. Seconds later, he was folding himself into its aperture. He got the tray under his backside and hugged his knees.
‘Ready,’ he said. His voice had a strange echo, emerging from a gun barrel.
Israel took a bearing and shoved the pipe sideways. He jammed a rock into the soil to stabilise it.
Asilah knocked on the pipe. ‘Anjoli – I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Light the fuse! It’s what I was born for.’
Israel grew impatient – he was a practical boy. Most of the orphans carried cigarette lighters and his had a healthy, five-centimetre flame. He touched it to the fuse and watched it burn, fast. Asilah heard the hiss and moved away: it was a ten-second delay, and that gave them time to get a little distance and crouch with their backs to the pipe.
The detonation rocked the peace of the night and was bounced back from hill to hill. The pipe itself burst, sending several shards of concrete zipping over the grass. Anjoli, however, was borne up in the most beautiful of trajectories. The tray saved his flesh and as it fell away, he was a diver rising in the starlit night, somersaulting higher and higher. He saw Orion’s belt and opened his arms to swing on it. For several seconds he seemed to hang in the air and enjoy weightlessness.
He got his bearings and sighted the two boats beneath him. They were touching. Anjoli gritted his teeth and became a weapon, pure and simple. He drew his knees to his chin – Flavio had coached him, so he knew the drill. His elbows gave him some control over direction and he fixed his eyes on the target.
‘My God, what was that?’ cried the headmaster.
He was standing in the deserted east tower dormitory; everyone crowded to the window. They missed the flash of fire, of course. All they saw was a black speck rising.
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