The Ebb Tide Read Online Free PDF

sounds, that I was thinking of the potential for escape. Back up the stairs and into the Goat and Cabbage? The idea was almost welcome. At the downriver end of the cavern, I saw now, stood a pair of high doors, closing off an opening wide enough to cart in any sort of freight—the way in, no doubt. The wardrobe door was simply a bolt-hole.
    And then something happened that was almost disorienting under the circumstances: I smelled pipe tobacco, faintly but distinctly. I looked around sharply, peering into the dim and distant recesses of the enormous room, but I saw nothing. My imagination? I heard a scraping noise from somewhere overhead, and I glanced up sharply at the walkways, where I glimpsed the small glowing circle of a lighted pipe. Someone leaned on a railing, looking down at us. He was tall man, I could see that much, and he was evidently in no hurry, but was considering us as if we were animals in a cage, which wasn’t far wrong. The light was too dim for me to make out his features, but I knew well enough who he was. I saw a second man on one of the platforms now, also making no effort to hide.
    “There they are!” I shouted, but my words were buried by the abrupt ratcheting, clattering sound of winches turning and of heavy chain hauled through iron rings and the whistle and gasp of steam. The entire system of chains and pulleys and winches seemed to be moving now, the cacophony erupting from far and near. The three of us turned as one back toward the stairs.
    But the lower flight of steps was hovering some few feet above the floor, hauling slowly upward on its chains, already moving out of reach. We were trapped, just as I had feared. I realized with a cold start that my feet were wet. There was an inch of water on the floor now. Sluice gates—they had opened sluice gates. The dark river beyond the diving chamber had risen—was rising—and the truth, pardon me for saying it, flooded in upon me. We had been lured here, hoodwinked, the biter bit.
    “The freight doors!” I shouted, probably worthlessly in that ongoing cacophony of noise, and I pointed wildly toward the distant doors and set out at a splashing run. Before I’d taken six strides, there was a hand on the back of my coat and I was stopped in my tracks, the water swirling around my ankles. I turned to see Hasbro gesturing in the direction of the diving chamber, which St. Ives was examining with a trained eye. Of course , I thought, wading after Hasbro, looking hastily into the maze of catwalks overhead, where the tall man still watched us. He was holding a rifle now, leaning casually against the railing as if he meant to shoot squirrels.
    The ratcheting and banging ceased abruptly, throwing the room into an eerie silence but for the hissing of steam. There was a gurgling noise and a soft splashing of water as the tide rose abysmally fast—knee deep now, cold and dark as death. St. Ives had the hatch door open and was climbing in, one foot on the nearest outstretched, bent leg of the craft, his hand on an iron rung. He disappeared inside briefly, turned around, and looked out at us, leaning forward and waving me along, although I had no need of encouragement. I found the rungs easily enough, my hands made nimble by fear, to tell the truth. St. Ives ducked back into the chamber to allow me room to enter the surprisingly spacious compartment, where I slumped down on a padded bench and sagged with relief.
    Hasbro’s face loomed into view outside the hatch now, and I bent over to give him a hand in, hearing at that moment a small explosion—the crack of a rifle. Hasbro teetered backward off the rungs, holding on momentarily with one hand. I leaned out, grabbing for the lapel of his coat, but finding empty air, watching him tumble into the black water and disappear. St. Ives was so concentrated on the controls of the craft that he was oblivious, and I shouted incoherently at him, turning around and backing out into the open again, hunched up like a