The bulk of his own body effectively blocked any light coming from the open door behind him. Snuffling the cold mustiness of the air in the tunnel, with his neck and back aching from his stooped posture, he heard the door close faintly behind him. It was not appreciably darker as a result. The only relief was that, after a few yards, during which he could feel the floor of the tunnel sloping gently downwards while the top of the tunnel stayed level, he could straighten up. He stepped forward cautiously, one arm in front of him, the other groping first one wall, then the other wall, on either side. He was terrified that he would miss a gap in the wall that might take him to the quickest way out of the terrible dark.

Once the tunnel had heightened enough for him to walk upright, the whole passageway started to slope upwards gently until he reckoned himself to be about twenty feet above street level. He could see that the passage in front of him was pierced with thin horizontal shafts of light at irregular intervals. When he came abreast of the first one he placed his eye to the hole in the wall – on the other side, instead of the open street, there was a handsome room, panelled in oak. He could only see a narrow slice of the room, enough to see a huge polished table, some dark portraits on the wall opposite, tall windows on either side. There was no-one in the room as far as he could tell. He could hear a clock ticking. He went on for a while, looking through each peephole as he came to it, but it was always the same, cool empty rooms, grandly furnished, and no way of getting through to them from the passage that he was in.

Quite quickly however, the floor beneath his feet turned into a series of steps that led him back down to street level and beyond. The glimmer of light from the peepholes had soon completely vanished and he was back in the annihilating darkness. The same horrid fear surged back to take hold of him. To make matters worse, the tunnel had developed an echo, so that sometimes it sounded as though something was following after him in the dark. His footfalls seemed to be dogged by a second step fractionally later, which could never be detected if he stopped to listen, so convinced was he that he was being pursued by a nameless something out in the haunted dark.

He had never been claustrophobic, but now as he stumbled along, he began to feel breathless, as though the beating of his own heart was threatening to suffocate him. Each pulse seemed to rise up in his throat like a giant fist. He had to stop at one point and lean up against the wall, closing his eyes, so that he could fool himself that, when he opened them, it would be less dark. Where was he going? Had the Councillor sent him in here to die, just to get rid of him? He forced himself to remain rational. Nothing has changed, he told himself. He is a good man. You trusted him before. You can trust him now. If he wanted to destroy you, he only had to alert Oswestry.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to the dark. And it was less dark. He strained his eyes forward. Somewhere in the distance, surely, surely, there was something – was it only his imagination? Just lights dancing in front of his eyes? Taking heart, he went on more boldly and soon there could no longer be any doubt, there was a light, faint, small, but steady. He hurried on and soon the light was strong enough for him to see that he was in a narrow tunnel that lay below the level of the street. The air was now damp and pungent, the walls of the tunnel slimy and the floor slippery beneath his feet. Along the right side of the tunnel, a channel ran parallel to it, along which water trickled in a noisome stream that glistened purple and chartreuse in the pale light that filtered through the iron grilles set high up in the roof of the tunnel. At intervals there were iron ladders stapled to the tunnel walls, which gave access to the grilles.

The relief at being connected to the world again, through those fine slices of light and the sounds of the street that filtered down from above, was so great that Hex was almost tempted to shout out loud. He still had no idea where he was, but at least now he knew which way was out. He wondered how far he was supposed to go. He thought he must continue going down, since the city was built on a hill, until he could go no further, then find some way to get out of the sewer. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that he was not leaving those iron grilles. If there was any possibility that the tunnel was going to plunge off into the dark again, he would take the first ladder up to street level, even if it let him out in the middle of Constitution Square.

He lost track of how long he went on, always picking the downward slope whenever the tunnel divided. The light filtering down from the street above was getting dimmer as evening drew near. He was beginning to think that he should just climb up to street level, no matter where he was, and make his way to the gates above ground, when, coming round a gentle bend, he found his way blocked by a brick wall. He could go no further and to his right, although the waters still ran in their channel, an iron grille barred the way for anything more solid. Hex peered through the grille but could see only darkness and hear only the endless gurgling of the stream. Here, he guessed, was the city wall, and the way was closed, both for intruders from without the gates, or for any fugitive from the city. Retracing his steps, grateful to be able to escape the sewers, he found the base of the nearest set of ladders, and started to scale them.

When he got to the top, he listened to ascertain if anyone was around who might witness his sudden appearance from below ground. Satisfied, he gently pushed the grille to one side and cautiously poked his head above the cobbles of the street. He was in a narrow alley, with high blank walls on either side. At the end of the street he could see another broader thoroughfare, still thronged with passersby and carriages. Pulling himself up, he fitted the grille back in place and, with another cautious look around, sauntered down the alley and joined the jostling crowd. A long slow bell was tolling from a tower nearby. It was the signal for the last gate. Hex followed the direction of the sound and had nearly reached the gate when a hand on his sleeve arrested him.

Hex wrenched himself free, spinning round, then stopped short. ‘Cornelia!’ he exclaimed, half-exasperated, half-relieved. He pulled her out of the hurrying stream of people, behind the booth of a chestnut seller.
‘What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?’

Cornelia was bobbing up and down with nervous excitement. ‘I followed you,’ she said, her voice urgent but low. ‘I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay at Ashurst, but I was afraid. I wanted to know – and it’s just as well I did, or you’d have gone, without saying a word. I couldn’t let you go just like that. What if I need to get in touch with you? What if Anver turns up?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ said Hex gently. ‘I don’t know myself.’ Which was almost true, for it was only at this moment that he had quite made up his mind. ‘Councillor Wallop said I had to go and not tell anyone. They’re after me, Corny, and nothing can protect me if they find me.’

‘He didn’t mean me!’ protested Corny. ‘He didn’t mean Anver and me. You’ve known me all my life. I’d trust you with my life, Hex. I have trusted you with it. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?’

‘Corny, don’t say that to me. It isn’t fair. I’ve got to go. They’re shutting the gates.’

He started to make his way back through the crowds. Corny caught up with him and grabbed hold of his hand. It reminded him of past summers, when he could never escape Weal without Corny tumbling after him and Anver, demanding to be allowed to come too.

‘It’s Hammar, isn’t it?’ Cornelia blurted out. ‘You’re going to Hammar. That’s why you’re at the Keepgate. I’m right, aren’t I?’

It was uncanny. Could she read his mind? He hadn’t known himself till a minute ago where he purposed to run. He hadn’t headed deliberately for the Keepgate, which was the gate for the main road north. He hadn’t even known this was the Keepgate. He hesitated and Corny looked triumphant.

‘Look,’ Hex said, not admitting anything, ‘just stick with the Wallops, alright? They’ll look after you. And don’t worry about the Dame and your father. I haven’t forgotten. I won’t leave you to their tender mercies. I just need to sort this mess out first.’

The last peals of the closing bell were already sounding from the tower. Cornelia darted forward and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek. She had to stand on her toes to do so. ‘Look after yourself, Hex,’ she cried out. ‘I’ll see you soon, alright?’ She said it, as if she were reassuring herself.

‘Of course,’ said Hex firmly. ‘Get back to Ashurst as quickly as you can, won’t you? I don’t like you being out here by yourself.’

They were sliding the gates shut. There was no time to say anything more. Hex sprinted for the gate – he was the last one through before it shut. When he looked back, he caught a glimpse of the blue of Corny’s dress through a crack in the gate, then the great doors slammed to. He was outside Norton. He turned to face the grey twilight road. The sun was sinking fast on his left hand and the lights of other travelers were bobbing in the distance on the great road north. Wrapping his cloak tighter around him, Hex started after them.