Mark Gatiss - The Vesuvius Club

I strained on tip-toe but finally managed to shove the tube into the gears. At once the cogs seized, although it was obvious I hadn’t bought Charlie much time. The oily teeth of the machine were already squeezing and crushing the thin metal of the map-tube.

Throwing myself over the stones of the well I pulled Charlie’s arms towards me with one hand and tore the knife from my watch-chain with the other.

Feverishly, I pierced the lock of the manacles with the thin blade and rattled it about inside.

«Quickly, sir!» squealed Charlie, his voice a hollow echo. «Oh, quickly!»

The lock snapped open. I slipped the blade between my teeth and, forcing the metal cuffs apart, I dragged Charlie from the hole just as the map tube was ground into pieces and the cogs resumed their inexorable round.

Little pieces of the destroyed chart fluttered like dead leaves all about us. Panting for breath, I found myself on the floor with my arms around Charlie as the now-empty manacles continued their descent into the depths.

«Well, Mr Box,» grinned Charlie. «It seems you can’t keep your hands off me after all.»

«You are very impudent, young man,» I replied. «It will get you a long way. Now, let’s get out of here.»

Just at that moment the yellow door was flung open, crashing back against the painted brick. Our hearts, I feel sure, stopped at the same moment.

Stromboli stormed in. The mask still disguised his eyes but it seemed a fair guess that he was staring down at Charlie and me as we lay in an undignified heap on the floor.

«What’s this?» he thundered in Italian. «The club has increased its membership somewhat unexpectedly, ah?» His masked head inclined a fraction as he looked at me.

I’m pretty nifty at thinking on my feet, even when I’m actually sitting down with a renter in my embrace, but this fellow’s sudden appearance had me more than a little stumped.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I extricated myself from Charlie and got up.

«Do forgive the intrusion,» I said, twiddling with my cuff-link. In one swift terribly well-rehearsed movement I had my revolver out and levelled squarely at Stromboli. «But please don’t move.»

The tall man held up his hands but seemed quite calm. «What is your business here, signor? Are you a… customer?»

«This boy,» I said, indicating Charlie, «is… my valet. I received word that he was being held here against his will.»

«So you came here to bring him home?»

«Correct. My laundry, you see, is in a frightful state.»

Stromboli shrugged. «Well, my dear sir. We need detain you no longer. There has evidently been some… misunderstanding. Your valet has been employed in this establishment and it appears that one of our gentlemen’s… er… games…» He pointed to the chains hanging from the ceiling. «Took on a logic of its own. If you were to let this little matter blow over, I’m sure no more need be said.» He indicated my revolver with a casual swing of his arm. «There is really no need for these… histrionics.»

I glanced quickly about. Could we really get out of here without the alarm being raised? I was armed, of course, but these people were evidently fanatics and knew that Charlie had betrayed them. What punishment had they meant for me, I wondered?

«Well, this is all most irregular, sir,» I said, reaching down and hauling Charlie to his feet. «I am not in the habit of rescuing my servants from dens of unnatural vice and then letting the matter pass.»

My indignity was, in all probability, a mite unconvincing.

«Given my pressing need for fresh linen, however, I am prepared to go no further with this. But I should like to know who I have the honour of addressing.»

The tall man laughed lightly and dropped his hands a fraction. With a jerk of the revolver, I indicated he should get them up again, sharpish.

Instead, three black-coated and very well-armed thugs emerged from behind their master.

Stromboli’s arm shot out towards me. «Kill him!» he yelled.

Oh lor.

One of the thugs dropped at once to his knee, assumed the position and prepared to fire his pistol. I shot him through the forehead and took a grim satisfaction from watching his brains slide across the wall like clay-slip.

Charlie rolled over and hid himself behind the lip of the well. Stromboli and another thug took cover behind the great raised table as I fired again. My report was answered with two shots of the thugs’ own. We were effectively pinned down, cut off from the only door.

«Bloody hell!» whispered Charlie. «This is a fix, Mr Box. What’re we going to do?»

I levelled my revolver on the stone facing of the well and tried to get Stromboli’s masked head in my sights. Frustratingly, it bobbed up and down like a shooting gallery target.

«You are trapped, my friend,» he called. «We had been saving you for our next… rehearsal . But now I fear we must put a swift end to this sport.»

I was breathing hard. There seemed no way out. Bullets sang off the stonework that was our only cover. I held up my arm to shield myself from the splinters of masonry. There was a cry to my left and I saw that Charlie had been hit by the debris. He crumpled to the floor at my side.

«Take them!» roared Stromboli. «Take them even if you have to die in the attempt! Forward, you scum!»

Obediently, the remaining thugs dashed forward. I looked around desperately. Only one bullet remained in my pearl-handled life-saver. No options presented themselves.

Except one.

I glanced down at the well.

Peeking over my stone barricade, I fired my last bullet. One black-coat was hit in the eye but the other was undeterred. Grabbing Charlie by the arm, and rolling over the lip of the well with a great unwilling cry, Lucifer descended into the pit and into the stinking darkness.

I TRIED to grab at the chains that Charlie had hung from but we fell into nothingness: a sickening, awful lurch that felt like the hangman’s drop. I was conscious only of my arms holding on to Charlie for grim death and my stomach flipping and my head spinning as we were precipitated downwards. If this was The Fall then I understood why my namesake came out so ill-tempered.

All of a sudden we were in water; warm, brackish, filthy water that seemed all around us, though I was hardly aware of a splash.

I swallowed a pint and then felt myself rushing towards the surface. Charlie was like a dead weight in my arms. Our heads broke the surface and I shook mine, blinking furiously as I tried to get my bearings in that horrible blackness.

Treading water, I managed to tuck Charlie’s head in the crook of my elbow and wipe the slime from my stinging eyes. We were in some sort of tunnel, as expected, though whether this was a sewer or the course of an ancient river was impossible to tell. That there was a form of current was unmistakable, however.

I glanced upwards quickly. Above us, I saw the surviving thug’s white face looking down at us as through the wrong way down a telescope. Would Stromboli order his man to jump after us? I gave in to the current. Charlie, oblivious it seemed to everything, was swept along with me.

In seconds we were moving swiftly away, borne like corks upon the effluent. As yet, no one seemed rash enough to follow us down.

After a little time, I became aware that the tunnel broadened out and I craned my neck from the water’s embrace.

We had reached a confluence where three tunnels met and merged. A great iron grille barred further progress. The current took us up to this barrier and I clung on to the slime-strewn metal with one hand while cradling the unconscious Charlie in the other.

I peered through the grille. The river sluiced through it and plunged down into further darkness. It was a man-made waterfall of some kind, though not the type that Blondin would ever have chosen to cross.