FourteenTears' foot slipped off the bottom rung of the rusty ladder and he fell knee deep into the putrid water. The stench rose from the bottom and he gagged, pulled himself upright and took a moment to get his bearings.
It was dark and he groped for the torch, switched it on and trained the beam down the tunnel. Built by the Victorians, its brickwork was crumbling, but it still held firm. A testament to their engineering skills. It was narrow, barely wide enough to stretch out both arms, and it snaked on into the blackness, far beyond the reach of his puny torch. The cold bit deep, and he feared he would catch a chill. It was that time of year when the seasons where changing that he normally contracted a chest infection. This place could accelerate that, perhaps give him something even
