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They stood, brushed themselves down, and passed through a doorinto a passage, which they followed past storerooms until theyfound themselves back at the three pantries. The rightmost one wasstill empty, its contents stacked in the corridor.
“You go on back to bed, Herbert,” Burton said, keeping his voicelow, his eyes fixed on the brick tu
“Right you are, Boss!” replied the philosopher. “When you getback to the Smoke, will you tell Miss Mayson that her swans arehale and hearty? She worries about them so.”
“I will.”
“Good luck, gents!”
Herbert Spencer departed.
“Come on, Algy-let's see where this leads.”
The king's agent and his assistant passed through the pantry andentered the tu
Burton shuddered. He wasn't fond of enclosed spaces, but feltsomewhat encouraged when they came to a flaming brand set in abracket on the wall. By its light, he examined the walls, floor,and ceiling.
“All brick,” he whispered to his companion, “and not so veryold. I'd put money on this having been constructed during SirHenry's time. And look-it definitely runs out in the direction ofthe Crawls.”
They moved on until they reached a point where the tu
“Granite,” Burton noted. “We're not under the house anymore. Andlook how this passage is level, though we know the surface above usslopes upward. It must cut straight through to a structure beneathLady Mabella's wheat fields.”
“Brrr! Don't mention her! I don't want to see that blasted spookagain!”
They crept forward. Burning brands were spaced regularly alongthe walls.
A few minutes later, they came to a junction and had to choosewhether to turn left or right.
“We're probably below the bottom edge of the Crawls now,” Burtonobserved.
He examined the floor. There was no dust or debris, nofootprints, nothing to suggest that anyone had passed.
“What do you think, Algy?”
“When Sir Alfred took us around the Crawls, we wentcounterclockwise. I say we follow suit, and go right.”
“Jolly good.”
They turned into the right-hand passage and proceeded cautiouslyalong it, listening out for any movement ahead.
Swinburne placed a hand on the left wall, stopped, and pressedan ear against the stone.
“What is it?” Burton asked.
“The wall is warm and I can hear water gurgling on the otherside of it.”
“An underground spring. A hot one, too. I thought so. Itexplains the mist. Let's keep moving.”
As they walked on, Burton measured their progress against hismemory of the topography of the surface above. He knew they werefollowing the bottom edge of the Crawls and predicted that thetu
It did.
“We're moving deeper underground now,” he observed.
Swinburne cast a sidelong glance at his friend. Burton's jaw wasset hard and the muscles at its joint were flexing spasmodically.The famous explorer, who'd spent so many of his younger yearstraversing vast open spaces, was struggling to control hisclaustrophobia.
“Not so deep, really,” the poet said encouragingly. “The surfaceisn't far above.”
Burton nodded and moistened his lips with his tongue, peeringinto the shadows.
The sound of dripping water punctuated the silence, though theycouldn't see any evidence of it. They kept moving until they cameto an opening in the left wall.
“We're about halfway along the length of the fields,” the king'sagent whispered. “This looks like it'll take us into themiddle.”
They stepped into the opening and followed the passage. After afew paces, it suddenly angled leftward, taking them back in thedirection of the house. They kept going, eventually reaching aright turn, and, a good few minutes after that, another.
“Now we're going back up the fields,” said Burton, “but thistime on their left border.”
When they again reached what he estimated was the halfway markbeneath the fields above, Burton expected to find an opening in thewall to his right. There wasn't one. Instead, the passage continuedstraight up to the topmost border of the fields then turned left.It continued under the highest point of the Crawls then swervedninety degrees to the right.
“Back in the direction of the house again!” Burton murmured.
“This is getting ridiculous,” said Swinburne.
The tu
“And now back up to the top. We're slowly spiralling inward,Algy. It makes sense. This place follows the design of a classicallabyrinth.”
“And here's us without a skein of thread!”
“We don't need one. Labyrinths of this sort are unicursal. Theirroute to the centre is always unambiguous: just a spiral that foldsback in on itself over and over until the middle is reached.”
“Where the minotaur awaits.”
“I fear so.”
Swinburne stopped. “What? What? Not another monster,surely?”
Burton smiled grimly. “No. The same one, I should think.”
“Sir Roger?”
“The Claimant.”
“Yes, that's what I meant.”
Burton looked at the diminutive poet speculatively. “Odd,though, how you keep referring to him as Sir Roger.”
“Merely a slip of the tongue.”
“Like Colonel Lushington's?”
“No! Let's push on.”
The echoing dripping increased as they passed along the stonecorridor, which angled back and forth, ever closer to whatever layat the centre of the structure.
Burton stopped and whispered: “Listen!”
“Water.”
“No, there's something else.”
Swinburne concentrated. “Yes, I hear it. A sort of low hum.”
“B below middle C, Algy. I'll wager it's the diamond, singinglike the Choir Stones. That's what sets the pianooff-resonance!”
They turned a corner and saw that it was much lighter ahead.
“Careful,” Burton breathed.
They started to walk on their toes.
The sound of ru
Voices came to them.
One, harsh in tone, said: “Check the walls.”
“Edward Kenealy,” Burton whispered.
“Yaaas, I check,” answered another.
“The minotaur,” Swinburne hissed.
“Hammer on each stone,” Kenealy instructed. “Don't miss an inch.There has to be a cavity concealed here somewhere.”
The king's agent tiptoed forward with Swinburne at his heels.They came to a right-angled turn and peeked around its corner.
Ahead, the tu
“Tears, that weep within My Lady's round,” quoted Swinburneunder his breath.
The humming of the diamond filled the space, seeming to comefrom everywhere at once, yet the gem was nowhere in sight.
Something pushed through the hair at the nape of the poet'sneck. A cold ring of steel touched the top of his spine.
“Hands up!” said a voice.
Swinburne did as he was told.
Burton turned. “Doctor Jankyn,” he said, flatly.
“A bullet will drill through this young man's brain if you tryanything, and you wouldn't want that, what!”