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She was reminded of waterfalls, and the strange thing was she now felt a curious stillness. This could not be death, she thought. You didn’t die like this. She beat the glass again and it
was obvious that no amount of kicking would even so much as crack it. The ceiling was more than a metre above her head and that was sealed with brass bands. The water was over her feet, past her
ankles. She could stand on one of the platforms, but . . . the level was rising. There was no space for doubt or dispute: the water would rise steadily.

The pump-room was empty. They’d bolted the door. She was alone.

‘Brother Rees?’

‘What?’

‘Brother! I’m sorry to disturb you – I know you’ve only had an hour or so . . .’

‘What’s the matter? Have you found Miles?’

‘No.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘It’s two a.m. and I hate to wake you, but we might have a problem. Brother Joe heard the noise and he woke me. It would appear that somebody’s got into the pump-room and I
think they might have done something rather foolish.’

‘What have they done?’

‘They appear to be draining the lake. The tunnels are flooding.’

‘That’s impossible. That was . . . I had a dream . . .’

Brother Rees was sitting bolt upright in his bed. He fumbled for his glasses and said a number of very quick prayers, bobbing to the crucifix in the alcove.

‘Is the sword in danger?’ said the other monk as he hastened after his friend.

Brother Rees was moving swiftly in the direction of the pump-room. ‘Technically, no,’ he said. ‘As I understand it, the sluicing tunnels would not interfere with Tomaz’s
home. Therefore the sword is not in any danger. We clearly have a situation, though. This could be very, very dangerous, so I think we need to get everyone up on the surface. When was the lake last
drained, Brother Joe?’

The monk shook his head. ‘Certainly not in my lifetime,’ he said. ‘I saw a chart once and nineteen hundred and two rings a bell.’

‘Is everyone up? Is everyone awake?’

‘Yes, Brother.’

‘Good . . .’ He thought hard. ‘We need to close the valves, obviously. Oh my word, who on earth would have opened them?’

‘Brother Rees!’ said a voice.

It was Brother Martin. His hair was wild and the bottom of his robe was soaking wet. ‘You’ve heard the news?’

‘We need to close the valves—’

‘It’s not possible, Brother. I’ve just tried. The pump-room’s cut off.’

The three men continued, climbing the steps as quickly as they could. They could hear the drumming of water above them and as they turned onto the platform, it became a roar that was
frightening.

‘Oh my word! I see what you mean!’

The tunnel was no longer a tunnel. It was a canal and the water was racing. As they watched, they saw pieces of the old barge – a section of rib and a length of gunwale – spin madly,
sink and then rise again. The velocity of the water was terrifying and its colour was filthy brown.

‘What can we do?’ shouted Brother Rees. ‘We’ll have to go the long way round!’

‘I think it’s a lost cause!’ yelled Brother Martin.

Brother Rees hitched up his robe and tucked it firmly into the cord.

‘What are you doing, Brother?’

He put his spectacles in an inside pouch and kicked his slippers off.

‘Brother, what are you doing?’

He put his mouth against Brother Martin’s ear. ‘I’m going to take a chance,’ he shouted. ‘I’m a strong swimmer – I might just do it.’

‘You’re joking! You’re mad!’

‘I want you to get everybody else up through Neptune; something very serious—’

‘No, Brother, this is suicide!’

‘Leave me alone. I’m worried about that boy.’

He closed his eyes, wondering if he was making a wise decision. ‘Miles,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about him.’

‘Brother Rees, you are far too old for this and I will not let you put yourself at risk.’

He saw his friend move to the edge of the platform and put out a restraining hand. Too late: Brother Rees had jumped, as far as he could, into the centre of the torrent. His friends gripped each
other in astonishment and watched as the old grey head dipped beneath the waters. Ten metres on, it rose again, and they saw him breasting the waves making for the opposite bank. The water turned
him like a stick, but he fought. There was an iron post driven into the wall and he fumbled at it, but the water had him again and drove him away. In seconds, he was swept round the curve of the
tunnel and his chance was gone.

Just around that very bend, Sanchez was shouting into his radio. ‘Asilah, come in, please! Asilah, come in. . . . It’s Sanchez, over!’

He turned to Sanjay. ‘He’s not answering.’

Imagio snatched the radio and pressed a different switch. ‘Asilah, are you receiving, over?’

There was the buzz of static.

‘Asilah here – what’s happening down there? The lake’s moving. Over.’

Sanchez took the radio back. ‘We’ve got floods,’ he shouted. ‘There’s water in the tunnels. Ruskin and Oli are safe, but there’s still no sign of Miles. Have
you seen him? Over.’

‘Nothing,’ said Asilah. ‘We’re just sitting waiting and we can hear . . . it’s like someone’s pulled a plug.’

‘No sign of Millie? Over.’

‘Negative. Where are the tigers?’

‘We sent them back – job done.’

‘What now, then? Over.’

Sanchez looked haggard. He hated indecision, but what was the best move? Instinct told him to get everyone back up onto dry land, but all he could think about was Millie, cut off and alone
– it was like a headache, getting worse. ‘We’ve got to get to her,’ he said. His fury got the better of him. ‘Why does she have to do everything on her own?’

‘The monks might have found her,’ shouted Ruskin. ‘Maybe they did this—’

‘There’s someone in the water,’ said Sanjay.

‘Where?’

His sharp eyes had picked the figure out long before anybody else. It was rushing towards them, and it was only the quick thinking of Henry – always a boy to work by instinct – that
saved the day. He stepped out into the water, holding the rail tight with one hand; as the body came by, he lunged and grabbed it with his left. Fighting the current, he drew it back and in, the
railing bending under the strain. But he was held by many hands, and in a short while the bedraggled form of Brother Rees was up on the platform. The old man coughed up lungfuls of river water,
wiped the weed from his face, and managed to sit up.

He looked up at Henry. ‘Thank you,’ he gasped. ‘Who’s draining the river?’

The boys looked at him.

His eyes went from face to face. ‘What’s going on? Why are you all down here in the middle of the night?’

‘My house has been robbed,’ said Tomaz.

‘Did you see Millie?’ said Sanchez. He was clutching the old man’s robe. ‘Were you in the pump-room?’ he cried. ‘Did you see Millie?’

‘What do you mean,
robbed
? Is the sword safe?’

‘Millie!’ insisted Sanchez. ‘Is she still in the pump-room?’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ said the old man. ‘I don’t know anyone called Millie and I haven’t been to the pump-room. It’s cut off,
and we—’

‘But she said you were there!’ said Sanchez.

The water surged and a wave drenched them all. Nobody could speak for a moment and then it was Oli who said it. ‘What if the policeman got there? What if they’re the ones flooding
the tunnels?’

Sanchez’s face lost the little colour it had. The water was now over the platform and over their ankles and the noise was unbearable.

‘Let’s go!’ shouted Sanjay. ‘What are we waiting for? We can swim.’

Brother Rees clambered to his feet. ‘Impossible,’ he said.

‘We have to try!’ yelled Sanchez.

The monk closed his eyes and thought a moment. ‘There’s another way,’ he said. ‘But it won’t be passable, it’s madness . . .’

He moved to a side tunnel and up some steps. The noise reduced in an instant, falling to a low throbbing.

‘I did it years ago, in the summer,’ he said, softly. ‘It wasn’t easy then, and it won’t be passable now, not—’

‘Another way? What do you mean?’

‘Another way to the pump-room. But it’s a long shot. I don’t hold out much hope . . .’

‘Why not?’ said Sanchez.

‘Because the caves will be submerged.’

‘We can try.’

‘There’s nothing more dangerous than an underground lake. Follow me!’

He continued, fast, along the tunnel. As he went, he tore off his saturated robe. He wore a black vest and shorts underneath, and soon he was half running. The boys jogged after him, their
torches bobbing.

The tunnel zig-zagged madly, for there were extrusions of rock. They ducked and grovelled, and at last came to a wall. It had crumbled and behind it was yet another rocky
passage; they moved along it, as quickly as they could. There was hardly room to crawl.

‘I’ve been here once before,’ said Tomaz.

‘When?’ said Ruskin.

‘I came with Miles.’

‘Miles,’ said Brother Rees. He stopped. ‘Did he go back?’

‘From where?’ said Sanchez.

‘He was with me. This evening. Then he ran away and I—’

‘We haven’t seen him,’ said Sanchez. ‘Did you talk to him?’

Brother Rees closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. ‘I’m not sure this can get any worse,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep going – we’re nearly there.’

The passage got tighter and it was impossible to talk. They trained their torches forward and crawled. At length, out of breath and covered in dirt, they clambered up to a sharp lip in the
rock.

‘Careful!’ said Brother Rees. ‘There’s quite a drop – we call this a drowned cave.’

They dragged themselves slowly forward and trained their torches down. The rock hollowed beneath them into an enormous chasm. Had they had time, they might have admired the swooping columns and
the folds of quartz. As it was, they simply stared at the jet-black water, spreading before them, and making further progress impossible.

‘We’re way too late,’ said Brother Rees, in a voice heavy with distress. ‘I’ve never seen the water as high as this.’

‘I can swim,’ said Sanjay.

‘Oh no,’ said the monk, grabbing the boy’s arm and holding it. ‘Nobody swims here. You can’t even think of swimming.’ The chamber gave his voice an echo and
the grotto was full of whispers.

‘The caves will all be flooded now,’ he said. ‘They’re a labyrinth when they’re dry – imagine them full of water. There are currents down there too. You
wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘We’ve got to get to the pump-room,’ whispered Sanchez. He had tears in his eyes. ‘Mille’s there. She might be . . .’

‘We can’t go any further!’ said the monk. ‘You see that column?’ He trained Sanjay’s torch onto it. ‘Just there and the pink arch under it. That’s
where the passage starts, but the passages are low. The water sits in them – fills them. There’s no air.’

Oli said, ‘If they’ve got Millie, they’ll kill her.’

‘We’ll find a way up,’ said Brother Rees. ‘And call the police.’

Then a soft voice from the other side of the lagoon said, ‘Sanchez?’

Every torch shifted and every beam came to rest on a sharp rock rising out of the water. A boy was perching on it, wearing a tattered grey shirt and a black-and-gold tie.

He blinked in the light and put his hand over his eyes.

Sanchez said a prayer quietly in Spanish. ‘Oh, Miles,’ he said. ‘Oh thank God.’

‘I used to come here with Tom,’ said Miles.

‘I know,’ said Sanchez.

‘This is where I played the game.’

He had something in his hand. It was Sanchez’s gun.

‘I know,’ said Sanchez again. He spoke as softly as he could. ‘Come over here now. You shouldn’t be on your own.’

Miles stood up. ‘They’ve got Millie, haven’t they?’

‘No,’ said Tomaz. ‘We don’t know that.’

‘You’re going to fall,’ said Sanchez. ‘Sit back down. I’ll come to you.’

He could see the boy more clearly now, poised on the rock. He felt a sob rising in his throat. Miles’s shirt-sleeves were gone and his arms looked bruised and thin. His hair was a
bird’s nest and he was shoeless. He balanced on bare feet.

‘I’m coming to get you,’ said Sanchez.

Miles smiled. ‘You’re too late,’ he said.

‘How can I be too late?’

‘You didn’t want me back, did you?’

‘Of course I did!’

‘This is my job.’ He pushed the gun into his belt. ‘I’m a guardian.’

‘You’re talking nonsense! Stay where you are, Miles! Stay—’

Miles slipped off his shirt and dived into the water.

Brother Rees cried out in pain and his howl echoed in the chambers above. He put his arms tight around Sanchez, who moved to jump too, and dragged him back. ‘Suicide!’ he shouted.
‘Suicide!’

Sanchez was screaming, Sanjay was on the edge, and Ruskin held his wrist. The water was churning and as they searched the surface, there was the most monstrous splash of all. Henry had seen at
once that Miles would never come up. He shrugged off his blazer and threw himself after him.

Miles was in a darkness more total than he had ever known.

He had dived and then turned underwater, and for some seconds he didn’t even know which way was up. He opened his arms and legs; he kicked, knowing that this must push him to the top, but
he had the curious feeling that he was moving downwards. There was a weariness in him, as if he had been running a long distance, and the water felt warm rather than cold. He sank, and sank, and he
knew suddenly that he didn’t ever want to come up. The weightlessness was beautiful.

He felt rock under his feet. He opened his eyes and saw nothing. He pushed off, gently, and pulled with his arms. Now he was rising, picking up speed. He kicked again, surprised at how little he
cared. He knew his lungs would burst soon and that he would gulp only water. He knew the bubbles would not be seen, because by now he had to be under the rock. He was aware of tunnel walls around
him and a current taking him.

One more kick and he was moving faster still – the water was cold, swirling green. He could see a shape in the distance, swimming towards him as if from a mirror, and they were on a
collision course. It was a boy, just like him, coming to get him. It too had floating hair and wild eyes, and he knew immediately that he was seeing himself. Closer and closer and they were looking
into each other’s eyes, and they came together, rose together, and Miles broke the surface, gasping.