The Rosetta Key by William Dietrich Page B

and animals,” Jericho said, hefting his iron pry bar. “Not us.” He applied muscle and leverage and there was a snap, the rusty grill swinging inward with a screech. Once inside, our ironmonger closed the gate behind us, securing it with his own new padlock. “For this one I have a key.”
    I looked behind at the well’s long rim. Had someone ducked out of sight? “Did you see anything?” I whispered to Farhi.
    “I haven’t been able to see since we left Jericho’s house,” the old banker grumbled. “This is not my habit, splashing in the dark.”
    Soon the water was thigh-deep, cool but not cold. The tunnel passage we were wading into was as wide as my outstretched arms and from ten to fifteen feet high, bearing the texture of ancient picks. This was a man-made tube built to bring natural spring water into King David’s old city, Farhi told us. Its bottom was uneven, making us stumble. When we were far enough into the tunnel for Jericho to risk lighting the first lantern, I splashed up to Tentwhistle. “There’s no chance you were followed down here, was there?” I asked.
    “We paid our guides to keep their mouths shut,” the lieutenant said.
    “Aye, and didn’t breathe a word in Jerusalem, neither,” Ned put in.
    “Wait. The four of you English sailors went
inside
the city?”
    “Just to get some tack.”
    “I told you to lie low until dark!” Jericho hissed with exasperation.
    “We were in Arab sheets, and kept to ourselves,” Tentwhistle said defensively. “By the pulpit, I’m not getting all the way to Jerusalem and not have a look around. Famous town, it is.”
    “Arab sheets!” I exclaimed. “All of you look as Arab as Father Christmas! Your beet-red faces couldn’t be any more obvious if you’d marched in with the Union Jack!”
    “So we was s’posed to starve ourselves until nightfall and then dig
you
a hole?” Big Ned countered. “Meet us with some tucker if you’re so determined to keep us out of your precious city.”
    Well, what could we do about it now? I turned to Jericho, his face gloomy in the amber lantern light. “I think we’d better hurry.”
    “I left a strong padlock at the grate. But you’re our rear guard, with your rifle.”
    Suddenly Miriam yelped from the shadows. “Don’t touch me!”
    “Sorry, did I brush against?” Little Tom said salaciously.
    “Here, doll, I’ll keep you safe,” Ned added.
    Jericho started to raise his pick, but I stayed his hand. “I’ll handle this.” As I pushed my way back to the rear of the file, I let the barrel of my new rifle drive into Ned’s groin. “Bloody hell!” he gasped.
    “My clumsiness,” I said, swinging the stock away so abruptly that it nicely clipped the side of Little Tom’s face.
    “Bastard!”
    “I’m sure if we all keep our distance, we won’t bump.”
    “I’ll stand where I bloody well…” Then Tom yelped and jumped.
    “That bitch snuck up behind!”
    “Sorry, did I brush against?” Miriam was holding a pry bar.
    “I warned you, gentlemen. Keep distant if you value your manhood.”
    “I’ll geld you myself if you touch my sister again,” Jericho added.
    “And I’ll give you both a dance with the lash,” Tentwhistle said.
    “Ensign Potts! Keep discipline!”
    “Yes sir! You two — behave!”
    “Ah, we was just playing… Lord on high! What happened to
him
?” Farhi had passed through the lantern light, and the startled sailors had their first look at his mutilated face: the cratered eye, the snoutlike nose, the butchered ear.
    “I touched his sister,” the Jew said slyly.
    The sailors went white and kept as far from Miriam as they could.
     
     
    I f there was any advantage to the long slog through thigh-deep water, it was that it took some starch out of the panting sailors. They weren’t used to close places or land work, and only their assumption of ancient coin kept them from balking entirely. To keep them wheezing, I suggested to Tentwhistle that Ned and Tom help