The Romulus Equation by Darren Craske

and it would be over quickly, for he did not think he could survive such prolonged torture for long. Quaint closed his eyes, knowing this was to be his end. After everything that he had lived through, was this to be the manner of his death? It certainly would have been, had an amazingly fortuitous series of events not occurred at that exact moment. There was no lancing blue fire, no ominous hum from the electrical machine, no inhuman cackle from the Specialist as he fried the conjuror alive. There was nothing. Nothing that was, apart from a very loud crash.
    Quaint opened his eyes to see the Specialist cowering on the floor, blood seeping from his nose… and Viktor Dzierzanowski towering over him.
    â€˜I hope I am not interrupting?’ he said, slamming the crypt’s door and bolting it. He rushed over to Quaint’s side and hastily unclasped his wrists from the chair. ‘We have to get out of here – and soon! I made my entrance from a window at the rear, but it was teeming with guards at every turn. We are trapped!’
    â€˜Trapped? Me? Never!’ said Quaint. ‘You there! Specialist! Is there any other way out of this crypt?’
    â€˜No, signor!’ he whimpered, blood coating his misshapen teeth. ‘But your friend is right about the guards. They patrol these tunnels every fifteen minutes whilst I am operating, just in case there are any complications.’
    A heavy thumping resounded against the crypt’s door.
    â€˜It seems they are ahead of schedule,’ said Viktor. ‘Cornelius, pull yourself together! You have got out of worse scrapes than this!’
    â€˜That’s a matter for debate.’ Quaint’s hands darted to his head, scratching at his nest of curls. He could feel the last ebb of the electricity fighting to stay in his veins as he tried his best to purge it. ‘Christ, the pain is killing me!’
    â€˜Cornelius, shame on you,’ said Viktor. ‘This is a house of God.’
    â€˜Romulus didn’t look much like God to me… quite the opposite, in fact.’ Quaint’s black eyes flicked wide open and he stumbled over to the Specialist, lifting him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. ‘You said that a river runs underneath this cathedral?’
    Another thump at the door.
    â€˜Yes!’ he answered. ‘It leads to an inlet that meets up with the River Annanti some miles away.’
    â€˜Good,’ said Quaint. ‘Can you swim, Viktor?’
    â€˜Do not be ridiculous, Cornelius! I am a grown man!’
    â€˜Another matter for debate, but can you
swim?
’
    Viktor puffed his cheeks. ‘
Nein
… I… I never found the time.’
    â€˜Well, now’s as good as any,’ said Quaint, as he pushed Viktor into the open grate in the floor. ‘Oh, and before I forget.’ He punched the Specialist in the face. ‘That’s for the torture part.’ He leapt into the rushing water just as the crypt’s door was forcibly smashed open.
    Five minutes and almost as many miles later, Quaint dragged his soaking wet body
from the freezing cold water of the River Annanti, clutching hold of Viktor’s collar. The bedraggled knife thrower coughed and spluttered, smashing his fists into the water.
    â€˜
Mein Gott
, Cornelius, you almost
drowned
me!’
    â€˜No… the
river
almost drowned you. I only pushed you into it. And had I not, we would probably both be trussed up and fried by that maniac’s machine by now, so show a little gratitude!’
    â€˜I
hate
getting wet,’ Viktor complained.
    â€˜I’m not all that keen on it myself, but it’s better to be wet and alive than dry and dead,’ said Quaint. ‘We need to find somewhere to bed down for the night before we go back to that cathedral tomorrow.’
    From somewhere in his lungs, Viktor found a mouthful of water to spit out.
    â€˜
Go back?
We only just escaped, why would we want to go