Hellboy, Vol. 2: The All-Seeing Eye by Mark Morris

the burial crypt, to the pie shop in Bell Yard. But if that’s true, it was blocked off long ago.”
    Abe knew the story, but he couldn’t deny that standing in the actual place where the dastardly deeds were purported to have occurred lent them an added frisson . He remembered what Kate Corrigan had said about this location possessing an occult resonance, about it calling out to bad men. What was it she had actually said? “Some places are steeped in wickedness.” Something like that.
    Well, Abe thought, if that was true then he couldn’t sense it. No doubt there would be some within the B.P.R.D. who would. The Bureau had more than its share of psychics, sensitives, clairvoyants. He’d been with a few who had fled screaming from what had seemed to him the most innocuous of places. Hellboy had a theory that the majority of sensitives in the Bureau’s employ were simply attention seekers. “There’s evil here!” he would cry in imitation, adopting his flakiest voice and throwing up his hands in horror. Then he would scowl and mutter, “Yeah? Tell me about it.” Cracked Liz up every time.
    “Where’s the manhole cover you mentioned?” Abe asked.
    Cartwright pointed into the shadows where the light couldn’t reach. “Just the other side of that arch.” He produced a rubber-handled torch from his pocket, turned it on, and led the way.
    Abe might not have been able to pick up evil vibrations, but he could hear the water calling to him loud and clear. If the Fleet proved inaccessible, as Cartwright believed, then he might have to assuage his craving with a dip in the Thames once his night’s work was done.
    The manhole cover was the size of a car tire, but it was thin and rusty, and lifted easily with the aid of the crowbar that Cartwright had left here earlier. The DI shone his torch into a stone channel which looked barely wide enough for a child to crawl through, along which brownish water was flowing.
    “Jesus,” he said, “it’s even narrower than I remember it. You’ll never get through there, Abe.”
    “I will,” Abe said, removing his hat, then peeling off his scarf and coat. “I’m very flexible.”
    “All the same, I’m not happy. What if you get stuck? We’re probably breaking all sorts of regulations even contemplating this.”
    Though Abe was touched by the policeman’s concern, he said airily,”The channel’s bound to open out eventually. And don’t worry about rules and regulations. I’ve got special dispensation from the U.S. government. I’m fully responsible for my actions.”
    “Even so ...” Cartwright murmured.
    Abe turned and placed a webbed hand on the policeman’s shoulder. “Detective Inspector, I’m going in whether you like it or not. This is my call.”
    Cartwright sighed unhappily. “Well, like I said, it’s your — “
    “ — funeral. Yes, I know. And if the worst does happen, you have my permission to send a wreath spelling out the words ‘I told you so.’ “
    Lowering himself into the culvert, his feet either side of the channel of rushing water, Abe felt the chill from the surrounding stonework settling on his skin. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Indeed, being neither claustrophobic nor afraid of the dark, there was an almost womblike comfort to be gleaned from what awaited him. He crouched down, and then slid headfirst into the water, sighing with pleasure as it swirled over and around him.
    The culvert was certainly narrow. It extended through the stonework ahead, a circular tunnel barely wider than an industrial drainpipe, beyond which only blackness could be seen. Abe pushed himself forward experimentally. It was a tight fit, but he thought the flow of water and the slickness of his skin would be enough to guarantee progress ... providing he could make himself as streamlined as possible. Lying full length in the water, he fumbled with the belt buckled around his waist. Losing it would mean having to cope without his gun, his homing beacon,