“I said three.” Kartik gasps as if his lungs are broken.
“S-sorry.” I wheeze.
Fowlson shouts at us from the wharf, and I see him readying to jump.
“Let’s go.” Kartik yanks me up, and we hobble to the stern, where the boat abuts another, smaller vessel behind it. There’s a small gap between them, but in the dark with the Thames lapping below, it seems a mile. The boat shifts, making it even more precarious.
“Jump!” Kartik calls. He leaps across the divide, dragging me along with him. “What the devil!” a surprised sailor shouts as we careen into his boat.
“Surprise inspection!” Kartik calls, and we’re off and running again.
Another jump and we’re on the embankment. We race over the slick ground at breakneck speed, trying not to tumble. Fowlson and his thugs are close behind. There’s an opening under the street. A sewer.
“This way!” Kartik shouts, and his words echo. The sewer is so malodorous I want to vomit. I press the back of my hand to my nose.
“I don’t think I can,” I say, gagging.
“It’s a way out.”
We creep into the foul, stinking hole. The walls trickle with moisture. A wash of filth floods the bottom of the tunnel. It seeps into my boots and coats my stockings and I have to fight the bile rising in my throat. The tunnel is alive with movement. Fat black rats scurry on their tiny legs, squeezing suddenly out of small breaks in the walls. Their squeaking cries raise gooseflesh on my arms. My very skin crawls. One bold fellow pokes a nose out near my face and I scream. Kartik clamps a hand over my mouth.
“Shhh,” he whispers, and even that echoes in the fetid sewer.
We stand, huddled together in the moist, foul tunnel, listening. There are a constant drip and the hideous scuttle of the rats’ claws. And something else.
“’Ello, mates. We know you’re in there.”
Kartik keeps moving, but up ahead, the sewer darkens, and it fills me with dread. I can’t go on.
“Just close your eyes. I’ll lead you,” he whispers. He comes beside me and wraps his arm around my waist.
I stand firm. “No. I can’t. I’m—”
“Gotcha!” Quick as a wink, Fowlson’s men are on us. They grab Kartik, bending his arm behind his back till he grimaces in pain.
“Now I’m quite put out,” Fowlson says, walking slowly toward us.
“I gave it to the Order,” I blurt out. “You’re right—I lied to you before. But just this morning I met with Miss McCleethy. She prevailed upon me to see her wisdom. I joined hands with her in the realms. The Order truly does have the power now. I swear it!”
Fowlson’s expression softens. He looks worried, confused. “This mornin’?”
“Yes,” I lie.
Fowlson’s so close I can smell the apple on him, see his jaw tighten with new anger. “If that’s true, there’s nuffin’ to keep me from cuttin’ Kartik here and now.” He presses the blade to Kartik’s throat. “Poor Brother Kartik. Shall I tell you wha’ ’appened to ’im, miss?”
Kartik struggles against the knife. “We pulled ’im in. Do you know ’ow long a man can last under our scrutiny?” Fowlson puts his mouth so close to my ear I can feel the heat of his breath. “I’ve broken souls in less than a day. But our Kartik, ’e wouldn’t bend. Wouldn’t tell us wot ’e knows about you and the realms. ’Ow long was it, Kartik? Five days? Six? I lost count. But in the end, ’e broke like I knew ’e would.”
“I’ll kill you,” Kartik gasps, the knife to his throat.
Fowlson laughs. “Is that your achin’ heel, mate? Don’t want ’er to know?” Fowlson has caught the scent of Kartik’s fear and he wants blood. He presses the knife hard to Kartik’s throat, but his words to me are harder. “’E went bloomin’ mad in the end. Started seein’ Amar in ’is ’ead. Old Amar ’ad a message for him: ‘You’ll be the death of ’er, brother.’ An’ whatever ’e saw next must ’ave been awful indeed, because ’e screamed and screamed till ’e didn’t ’ave no screams left and there weren’t nuffin’ but air comin’. And that’s when I knew I’d broken ’im after all.” Fowlson’s angry grin spreads. “But I can see why ’e wouldn’t want to tell you that story.”
Kartik’s eyes are moist. He seems broken again, and I should like to kill Fowlson for what he did. I won’t let Kartik be hurt again. Not while, I can stop it.
