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“Can’t have gone far.” Monk forced himself to sound positive. “They want the money, and they know this place. They’re only trying to not get caught!” This was far from what he felt, but he mustn’t let Laker know that.
Together, they moved back over the ground Laker had covered, picking their way through the debris on the floor by the light of Laker’s lamp. Something moved above them, flying in the dark.
There was no sign of Exeter.
The outside light was getting less. Twilight came slowly, but it was well after sunset and there would be little light in the winter sky.
Laker stopped suddenly, almost falling. “Damn!” he swore, his voice cracking with tension. He bent over and gently turned the body that had tripped him, then gasped.
Monk pressed forward, his throat so tight he could barely breathe.
Laker moved the lamp closer and then looked at Monk, his eyes wide and dark with fear. It was Hooper. His face was smeared with blood.
Monk felt as if it were he himself who had been struck. He was numb with the pain of it, and the immediate denial. “No! He can’t…”
Laker moved the light even closer, as if seeing more clearly would make him realize it was not really Hooper, just someone in his clothes who looked like him.
Hooper stirred. “Take that out of my face,” he said haltingly. “I can’t see!”
Monk felt tears sting his eyes immediately.
Laker swung the lamp away.
Hooper blinked, then struggled to sit up. “Damn, my head hurts! Where’s Exeter?” He tried to turn sideways, to climb to his feet.
Monk leaned forward and held him back. “You all right?”
“Yes! Just…hit me on the back of the head. Didn’t even see the bastard. Where’s Exeter? Damn you, let me stand up!”
Monk gave him his hand and pulled. Hooper was heavy and still dazed, but he made it upright. Without speaking, they all moved behind Laker, who had the only light, and followed him the way Hooper said he had come.
Monk had lost his bearings. He thought Exeter was only about twenty yards ahead of him, at the place he was supposed to meet the kidnappers. Exeter had insisted on going the last space alone, and repeated the directions over and over. Had he fought them over the money? They were obviously here! They had attacked Monk, Laker, and now Hooper as well. Were they making sure nobody followed them?
“Listen!” Monk said sharply to Laker.
Laker ignored him. He was already going as fast as he could in the poor light of one lamp and the little daylight that came through broken roofs and rafters and crumbling walls. The slurping was getting faster, and they must be as aware as Monk was of the water rising to the lower timbers, gathering force as the tide started to come in.
They found Marbury, dazed and limping. One side of his jaw was bruised, but it did not stop his grin of relief at seeing them. He dropped the piece of timber he had been holding as a weapon.
“Have you seen Exeter?” Monk asked him.
“He must be that way.” Marbury turned. “It’s the only way left.”
Silently, they went where he pointed, Laker first with one lamp, and Marbury last with the other. No one spoke. It took intense concentration to avoid potholes, rotting timbers, fallen beams across the path. Everything was wet. They were well below the high-tide line, and no one forgot it. Soon this would be filled to the ceiling with filthy water, black, airless.
It was Laker’s bull’s-eye that shone on Exeter’s terrified face, streaked with mud and blood and swollen, with one eye almost closed. “Have you got her?” Exeter shouted at him. His voice cracked and he drew a long shuddering breath. He looked at Monk, and Monk saw the hope die out of him, almost as if he had shrunk into a smaller man, beaten, all but lifeless.
Monk answered. “No. We all fought with them, and one is lying back behind us. She must be ahead. Did you give them the money? What did they say?”
Exeter looked stricken. It was difficult to tell how badly he was injured. There were quite a few dark stains on him that looked like blood, but it could have been his own or that of one of the kidnappers. If he could stand, that was all that mattered now.
“Yes…yes. I fought with some of them, several, I don’t know. They took the money, but I don’t know where Kate is. I’ve looked. They left her. Please…”
“Of course. Give me your lamp. I’ll lead the way.”
Wordlessly, Exeter handed him the lantern and fell in step, close behind Monk. Hooper, Marbury, and Laker all followed, stumbling in the dark, tripping over timbers, odd bits of rotted furniture, years old and sodden wet. When they reached the bottom of the stairs at the far side, the water was already ankle-deep. In half an hour, it would be over their knees, and the pull of it enough to knock them off balance and carry them away, battering them senseless against the pieces of wet, broken piling. If they caught a foot in refuse, they could drown. They all knew that, except possibly Exeter.
Monk lost track of time. Was it a quarter of an hour or only five minutes before he rounded a corner and came into a room that was almost dry? It was open to the weather completely on one side, but it was landward, and much of the wood was unbroken.
