This is the fourteenth chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .
Light at the End of the Tunnel.
Coughing our way down the tunnel, obviously left undisturbed for centuries, dust fills the air and coats our lungs. Emily and I feel our way through the numerous twists and turns, in the pitch black, until a small glow becomes visible down a long straight pathway. Growing at equal rate with our eagerness, the light appears to be cracks in and around a door, equally as old as the tunnel it blocks. Our spirits are soon doused as if by a tsunami when the door is revealed to be firmly locked. The lock seems rudimentary enough with a large opening but is also firmly sealed with rust.
In frustration at yet another promising lead disappearing, Emily screams and boots the door. Boots the door so hard that her foot careers straight through the old, damp oak. Emily turns to me with wide eyes before starting to fall over. Everything slows down, reaching out a hand I grab her head and wrap my other round her back, arresting her fall. Then, after awkwardly manoeuvring her leg out of the door, we begin to dismantle the weak wood bit by bit. We do our best to be quiet but the splintering and cracking noises are inevitable. After dismantling a hole large enough for Emily’s slender frame to squeeze through, she disappears and I assume slips through the hole.
One thing is for sure, if we are to triumph in the end: we will have to use our powers and training in the most efficient and effective way we have ever done. A slight splinter being knocked back into the tunnel reveals Emily’s return. Panting ever so slightly she reports that there is no one guarding the outside of the fort or watching the moat. Their blunder is entirely to our benefit.
“Right, so if we say that we can operate indefinitely in the moat as long as we remain on guard and careful…” My thought process trails off and I look meaningfully at Emily, not sure what to do next.
“Why don’t we go and have a look, see if there are any points of weakness?” she suggests, obviously eager to be proactive.
This time, Emily remains visible, leading me out of the doorway, the strong light feels like its singeing my eyes. Sticking close to the inner edge of the moat, we make our way round the castle, looking for weak points as we go. Due to there being no good angle to view the battlements from, we decide to turn back. Sending both our heartbeats flying up, we dive against the wall, as a cluster of chatter and laughter floats down to us coupled by multiple streams of urine. Emily and I lock eyes, failing to stay serious we both desperately try to swallow out laughter but Emily slips. Slapping a hand over her mouth her eyes widen before flicking up to the men above.
The laughter turns to shouts as a hail of bullets evicts us from our ineffective hiding place. I push Emily in front of me and away from our attackers yelling for her to disappear. She shouts something inaudible but doesn’t melt away. It takes me informing her, “That is an order!” for her to obey. Everything slows down as I look over my shoulder. It’s just like a rugby game, right? Just instead of dodging people I’m dodging bullets. I see a sputter aimed close to the wall, so I stray away. Slipping slightly, I graze my face on the harsh tired masonry. Bouncing off it I accelerate round the corner in time to see the gap in the door shudder as Emily obviously dived through.
Skidding to an abrupt stop, the saturated ground leaves no grip and I slide right past the door and fall hard on my hip. Scrambling up in desperation, I see a flock of bullets streaking through the air and dive toward the wall, covering my head. Most of the bullets pepper the mud surrounding me, however, one stray bullet hits the wall just above my shoulder. Due to the firing point of the tower, the shooters are able to angle their shots into the base of the wall. Therefore, the bullet fragments and ricochets off -along with chunks of stone- embedding themselves in multiple parts of my right shoulder and upper back. Wincing at the pain, I dodge one more bullet (ducking to my left) and follow Emily through the door.
Struggling through the pain, we continue to flee down the tunnel, kicking up yet more dust. We fly back down the twists and turns, bouncing off the walls when we fail to properly slow down enough to make the turns. We see the faint glow of the entrance to the tunnel. Despite doing my best to focus on the situation at hand, my mind keeps rebounding to the irony that what used to seem like a prison now seems like the safest place to be.
We enter the basement and skid to a stop. Looking at the huge hole in the wall we barely have time to catch our breathes. Emily sighs in what seem awfully similar to defeat. A flutter of despair seeps into my thoughts but my ingrained stubbornness and intolerance of failure eradicate it. Looking at the stone on the ground it doesn’t look immovable. If we can get it back in then we can barricade behind it and continue to plot. “We, we, we need some sort of lever. Something which we can use to gain mechanical advantage with…” I begin to pace the room, thought rapidly racing through my brain.
“Jack, its over. I’m, I’m sorry, Jack…” Emily stares up at me with eyes swimming in regret.
A smile bursts onto my face causing Emily’s expression to faulter into confusion. “Don’t be sorry, come help me move that torture machine!” I call over my shoulder as I rush off. After much sweat and blood loss. The cursed machine is in place. Attaching all of the pulleys and such onto the stone as best we could, we try to turn the crank. Leaning against it with all our might all we achieve is a mere creak. But as the rust crumbles in the joints the centuries old hardened, murderous iron begins to find new life. The huge wheel slowly gives way to our efforts and with every click of the gears, the ancient masonry rises by an inch.
As the wonders of the simplest yet truly ingenious physics take their course, Emily and I gain momentum. Even if not in physical speed of motion, momentum in our hearts grows to new heights. The feelings of inevitable loss disappear and the idea of capture becomes laughable. A smile captures my face as I look at Emily. Both sweating profusely, muscles burning and bodies exhausted: all we can do is laugh, laugh in an ironic way, laugh because- despite everything seeming so dim- hope consistently manages to dance back into light. All the while the stone continues to rise until it falls into place, perfectly filling the gap and corking the possibility of defeat.
We take a minute to breathe and cough up all the dust which we had inhaled, then I return to the room filled with maps and begin to study other diagrams drawn up at similar times. It seems multiple identical tunnels were dug under the tower into the moat to upgrade the plumbing but technological advancements made them futile before they had been put to use. Therefore, there are three complete tunnels and a fourth partially dug tunnel branching out of the Tower of London. By photocopying multiple maps and piecing them together, I produce one super map covering the whole castle and all the tunnels.
Like a spark plug in an engine, my brain starts formulating a plan faster than I can annotate the map. I cast my gaze up to Emily leaning against the door frame and return her smile for a fraction of a second before returning to my work; not wanting to lose the ideas like a dying ember.
Writeboy 