Tom Swan and the Head of St George Part Three: Constantinople Read Free

unwanted erection bouncing along like an extra limb.
    The outer door of the apartment opened. ‘Khatun Bengül!’ roared Omar Reis.
    Swan came to the bottom of the steps. There wasn’t even a separate window to the courtyard. He’d have taken his chances with that – but he was in a stone chamber lined with shelves. A pantry.
    There were two curtained doorways.
    ‘If he’s here, he’s a dead man,’ Omar Reis said. ‘Auntie says you have polluted yourself.’
    There was something in Omar Reis’s manner – even through his terror, Swan realised that the Turk knew . He knew – everything.
    I’ve been had .
    Curiously, the knowledge that the Turkish lord had set him up – probably set him up to be caught with the auntie – wheels within wheels – stiffened his spine. He grew calm.
    If I get through this alive, I’m going to get that bastard .
    He heard the sound of soft Turkish boots on the stone steps.
    Two doors.
    He slipped through the nearest.
    It was dark. He tried to feel his way – silently – around, hoping against hope that there was a trunk, a barrel, anything to give him a chance. He began to consider fighting.
    Naked, against a professional .
    He stubbed his toe. Hard.
    Fell against cool stone, and smelled . . .
    Water.
    A well cover.
    Open. Why not? It was indoors.
    Turkish voices. Ten feet away. Two of them.
    He jumped into the well.
    If you ever want to understand the true meaning of fear , jump into a deep hole in total darkness and test your feelings as you fall.
    Swan fell.
    His right shoulder impacted heavily on something that hurt him, and then he was in water – deep, cold water. He struck it badly, and it knocked the wind out of him, and he went too deep, sputtering. It was all he could do not to breathe.
    He didn’t know which way the surface was. He didn’t know if he had enough air in his lungs to allow him to float.
    He was losing it.
    A great bubble escaped him – a gob of air lost. It rippled past his face . . .
    I’m upside down. Bubbles rise .
    He reversed himself, let out another tiny bubble of air, and swam – a panicked, wild, thrashing swim.
    But his head broke the surface.
    And smacked into something stone, in pitch darkness.
    He took three breaths. Then he had to swim, and his fingers hit stone over his head. When he tried a shallower stroke, he hit his head again.
    It finally came through.
    I’m going to die here. I’m in a well .
    He took another breath, and reached up. He ran his fingers across the stone, using his buoyancy to press him against the ceiling. I fell from somewhere, damn it . Somewhere within a few feet was an opening.
    He scraped an elbow, bumped his shoulder, and the feeling of the air on his face changed.
    His head bobbed free.
    There was something under his left hand, and he held it – an edge. For a very long time, he simply clung to the edge, resting. Breathing.
    It was a ledge. It was quite wide, and under only a few inches of water.
    He reached up as far as he could reach, and there was no ceiling.
    He got a knee up on the ledge. It seemed the hardest thing he’d ever done.
    He half lay on the underwater ledge for many, many breaths.
    Then he got the other leg up. He knelt.
    The drug had finally worn off, he was pleased to note.
    He crouched on the ledge. He wasn’t dead, but that was about all he could say. He was now bitterly cold and very tired. It was completely dark. Utterly dark.
    How, exactly, do I get myself into these things?
    He began to explore, cautiously. His rational mind said that he would be weaker later.
    His questing arms found a column. He put his back against it and stood cautiously, waiting for the feeling of stone against his head all the way, but when he was standing tall, he felt as if there was still a great deal of space above him.
    There was another ledge above the one he was on. It was six feet above him, and he only found it because his hands were feeling for the ceiling. He got his fingers over the edge, and