Wolf Angel by Mark Hobson (best e reader for manga .TXT) 📕

He had no idea where he was going. He tried to get a sense of direction, for, although there were a few twists and turns here and there, the route was essentially a straight one. Thinking back to the layout of the bar, the location of the cellar and the position of the tunnel opening, he thought he was headed generally southwards. Which meant he would be passing underneath the canal, hence the amount of water down here. But he was really only having a guess, and for all he knew he could be headed completely in the opposite direction.

Just then came that eerie laughter once more, the sound rolling and reverberating around the enclosed space, making it impossible to judge how far away, or close to him, Bart was.

After a few more minutes the tunnel levelled off and he paused to get his breath. He still had a hold of his gun in one hand and the mobile with its torch in the other. The beam of white light only penetrated two or three metres ahead, and beyond that there was pitch darkness, hiding anyone who might be lurking there.

Again he wondered if he should summon some help, but when he glanced down at his mobile phone he saw he had no bars, therefore zero reception, so it was too late for that now, and too late to go back. So on he went, the torch light jumping and bouncing around off the tunnel walls, creating a jerky world of light and dark.

His ear hurt like hell and he was starting to get winded and wondering just how far the tunnel went, when finally the floor cantered upwards. It gave him renewed vigour, so he pushed on up the gentle incline.

                                               The subterranean tunnel

The tunnel became even narrower. The walls and floor and roof closed in, and he had to crawl on his hands and knees now. To make his progress easier he slipped his gun back into its holster.

It became even steeper, and tighter still, until he was on his belly and pulling and dragging himself along with his hands, with the toes of his shoes seeking a purchase and pushing hard. He wondered how the hell Bart had got through with his huge bulk and height.

Finally after an age he noticed the roof of the tunnel disappear, and the end of the tunnel came up on him nearly by surprise, and he tumbled over the rim of the exit onto the floor two feet below. Carefully he stood up and looked at his surroundings.

Turning a full circle the torch revealed a square, brick chamber. In one wall was an old iron door, with large studs dotted over its surface. It was set just above the level of the floor and seemed to have flanges around its edges, a little like a ship’s hatchway. There was a small circular handle, which he guessed was spun left or right to lock and unlock the door. At the moment it was open slightly, but Pieter could see nothing through the narrow gap.

Near the centre of the room were a number of wooden chairs, arranged in a circle and facing each other. In the centre of the circle was a round pit, around six feet in diameter. Pieter approached it to see how deep it was or what lay down there, and when he pointed the beam of the torch on it he wished he hadn’t. At the bottom, cemented into the base with short chains, were four iron manacles. They looked to have red rust marks on them, or at least that’s what Pieter told himself they were. The pit itself was no more than three feet deep, and in one of its curved walls was a small grate.

He shook his head, trying not to dwell too much on the pit’s purpose, and he moved away, noticing as he did that beside one of the chairs was a long handle standing upright out of the stone floor, similar to a railroad switch.

Just then he heard faint voices, and he turned towards the door. They seemed to be coming from there.

Again he trod carefully as he walked across, afraid of making any sound. As he neared the door the voices rose in volume, then quietened, rose and fell, and it became clear what he was hearing.

From the other side of the door, drifting through the narrow gap, he could hear chanting.

A faint glow showed through the opening, casting enough light for him to see without needing the torch on his mobile. He put it away and drew out his gun again, and, gripping the iron flange around the door, he drew it open.

On the other side were three steps leading up to a short passageway. It was lined with a red carpet, and on either side was a double row of wall sconces holding lit torches. A heavy drape covered the far end of the passageway.

Pieter climbed the short flight of stairs and started forward. The chanting was growing louder now, more insistent, as though building up to something.

He paused just this side of the drapes, wondering whether to burst in and use the element of surprise or perhaps he should wait and see what happened, maybe try and sneak a peek into the room beyond. However, he didn’t have time to ponder his choices for long, for just then a strong arm reached around from behind and gripped him suddenly in a powerful neck lock, squeezing hard, and at the same time the muzzle of a gun pushed against his neck just behind his throbbing ear.

“Drop your weapon, you cunt,” a harsh voice whispered, Bart’s hot breath against his skin.

Pieter had no idea where he’d come from, there must have been a hidden alcove that he’d walked straight by or something. He