‘Aren’t you being a little hasty, Sir? We don’t even know that she’s been kidnapped,’ protested Percy. ‘She could be on her way to Salcombe as we speak.’
The Reverend snorted. ‘And she might be floating there with a deuced boulder attached to her big toe if she put a rub in the way of the smugglers’ plans,’ he answered bluntly. As he finished speaking, their quarry turned left and started up a set of steep stairs set in between two narrow houses. Hesitating at the bottom, the clergyman stuck his head round the corner just in time to see Joseph Smith disappear through a door almost at the top.
‘What should we do now, Sir?’ whispered Percy.
Augustus Shackleford frowned. ‘Mayhap there’s a back way in?’ he ventured, starting up the stairs.
By the time they reached the top, the Reverend was convinced he was about to have an apoplexy. It was only the thought of having to greet the Almighty wearing his second-best cassock that prevented him toppling backwards. That, and Percy pushing him up the steps from behind.
‘Right then, Percy lad,’ he wheezed when they finally reached the top step, ‘just give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be good as new.’
The curate eyed his red-faced sweating superior doubtfully. ‘Are you certain you should be doing this, Sir?’ he questioned.
‘I can’t lie, Percy,’ the Reverend puffed in response. ‘This fearless leader business is not all it’s cracked up to be.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head, the action causing him to wobble ominouslyclose to the top of the steps. ‘But if not me, who?’ he implored sadly, shaking his head again and wobbling back the other way.
Percy watched the swaying with his heart in his mouth, murmuring a silent prayer when the Reverend finally sat down on the top step.
Satisfied that his superior was not suddenly about to meet his maker from the bottom of a fifty-foot flight of stairs, Percy turned his attention to their surroundings. Looming behind them, two tired looking cottages were squeezed together facing down towards the street below, effectively cutting out much of the natural light even though it was still early in the day. Percy could see no candlelight, nor any sign of movement and wondered if perhaps they were used for storage.
He turned his attention to the house they’d seen Joseph Smith disappear into nearly ten minutes ago now. Initially he didn’t think there was any space behind it but on looking more carefully, he saw that what he thought was a dead end, was in actual fact a narrow passageway. He’d nearly missed it due to a large barrel blocking the entrance. ‘Sir,’ he breathed, ‘I think there might be a way in.’
The Reverend peered into the blackness in the direction of the curate’s pointing finger. ‘Tare an’ hounds, I think you’re right,’ he muttered, clambering to his feet and hurrying over to the barrel. Giving it an experimental shove, he realised it was empty. ‘Give me a hand Percy,’ he said excitedly. Together they heaved the barrel out of the way and stared into the darkness.
The Reverend took a hesitant step forward, peering into the gloom. The ground was soft underfoot from the accumulation of debris. ‘I can’t see a door,’ he whispered back to Percy who was practically sitting on his shoulders.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea, Sir,’ the curate muttered. ‘I mean it’s so dark in here, we could be treading in … well,anything.’ He lifted his foot out of the muck, and bent his head, sniffing experimentally.
‘Don’t be so chuckleheaded, Percy,’ Reverend Shackleford whispered back, nonetheless lifting his cassock. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ he intoned, then paused before adding, ‘Though I don’t think old Francis Drake had your mother in mind when he spoke the words.’
He gave a soft chuckle and took another cautious step forward. Seconds later, they could see the end of the passageway. Augustus Shackleford sighed, thinking they were out of luck, until he took one more step, and his foot made a different sound. ‘There’s wood under here,’ he hissed excitedly to Percy. ‘Help me shift this muck.’
Cringing, Percy helped the Reverend kick aside the sludge underfoot. ‘I think that was a rat,’ he shuddered as something landed against the wall with a soft plop.
Seconds later, they’d revealed a trap door set into the ground. ‘Where do you suppose it leads?’ Percy asked fearfully.
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Reverend Shackleford bent down and took hold of a small ring set into the wood. ‘I hope that’s not rat innards,’ he muttered, shaking something squidgy off his finger. Percy made a retching sound but didn’t answer.
‘Right then, here goes.’ Taking a deep breath, the Reverend heaved, expecting the door to be sealed shut. To his surprise the wood lifted immediately, and momentum had him toppling backwards, landing on his arse with a low whoomph.
‘Fiend seize it,’ he muttered, struggling to his feet and attempting to see if anything nasty was sticking to his nether regions.
‘I think it might be a cellar,’ mused Percy, ignoring his superior’s capers and peering into the blackness.
‘Can you see how far the floor is,’ the Reverend questioned, finally abandoning his efforts to inspect his backside.
‘It’s too dark to see,’ the curate whispered back.
The Reverend bent down next to him, and Percy wrinkled his nose. ‘Right then, I’ll have to lower you down,’ the large man muttered.
‘What?’ Percy squeaked. ‘But we don’t know what’s down there?’
‘And we’re not likely to find out unless we have a look,’ retorted the Reverend matter-of-factly. ‘And at least you’re not going to have to lie in deuced rat droppings.’
‘Would it not be better to go a fetch Mr Cardell?’ Percy stalled. ‘I mean, he’s quite … well …large. He could probably jump down.’
‘Have you lost what little wit you have, Percy Noon?’ the Reverend exclaimed. ‘We don’t know which side Cardell is on. We could end up locked in with your mother.’
‘We don’t even know she’s down there,’ repeated Percy, his voice turning desperate.
