Chapter Three Page Two, Dave, Sewers

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And so he’d climbed the ladder down into the manhole, and had dropped to his crouch. He wanted to stay in the shadows. He saw footprints in the sludge that lined the center of the sewer tunnel. When it grew too dark to see, David walked with his hand against the slick wall of the concrete, his eyes open but unseeing. He used his phone as a flashlight at intervals to check to see if the footprints had vanished. He turned at a fork, checked twice, and on the second time saw no more footprints. He turned and followed them back. He listened for the sounds of people talking. He hoped he’d hear them again so he’d have something to follow other than shoeprints.

The sounds of the city above sometimes echoed down; cars rolling across roads and trains moving on tracks. He found the footprints again and turned the other way when he arrived at the fork. Here, he found the footprints, casually strolling ahead. These were no longer the footprints of someone fleeing. This goon was confident now. He was sure he hadn’t been caught.

There was a locked sewer grate at the end, but on the other side was the river bank. The bridge was off to his right. Gebirr bridge.

The tunnel by Gebirr bridge, one of the goons had said.

I know where the tunnel is, David thought, I know where the Candle Crown is.

He checked his phone, this time earnestly trying to see what time it was.

“Don’t turn around,” said a girl from behind.

“Ok,” David said. His heart was racing and he could feel gooseprickles on his skin, but he’d managed not to jump at her voice. Of course he hadn’t heard her walking up behind him. The river, while calm, still made enough noise that it would have disguised her movements.

“You’re after Georgie,” she said, “The tall one. The one that hurt your friend.”

“I’m after the Candle Crown,” David said.

“But you followed Georgie,” she said.

“Yeah,” David said, “What else?”

“You are angrier at Georgie than you’ve ever been at anyone before,” she said, “Or at least that’s what you’re thinking, now that I told you he hurt your friend. You almost asked me how bad he was hurt.”

“I think it’s common to wonder how your friend is doing, but I’ve already spoken with him, he said he’s doing fine,” David said.

“You think Neil is lying.”

“You know his name too,” David said, “You obviously know mine.”

“It’s David,” she said, and then she cackled.

David had never heard an earnest cackle before. This time, when he got chills, genuine fear set in. He suddenly felt like a dog in a cage with a wolf.

“You like to be called Dave though,” she said, “You think David is too formal.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, “So what?”

“So, you think I’ve just been getting lucky with all of these guesses. You’re thinking I’m some kind of master of deduction. I’m that too, just so you know.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Dave said, “That’s what I was thinking, but you were close.”

“You were thinking of the one from the books though,” she said, “Not any more recent adaptations. You don’t tell anyone you read them. But I can see it written in your mind that Sherlock Holmes was your childhood hero. You were afraid for a long time that people would think you were lame for liking him. Guess what. You are lame.” She laughed again. “But not for liking Sherlock Holmes.”

Ok, Dave thought, Why am I lame?

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