After the excitement of film night, sullen clouds closed in over the Dial. With the Quisling still too damaged to fly to Earth for supplies, the food rations were reduced again, until the scant portions could no longer satisfy even the meagrest of appetites. Mealtimes took on a violent edge: the inmates guarded their portions warily, aware that a stray breadcrumb or a spilled blob of soup could spark an argument with the person sitting beside them. After the fourth fight had broken out, extra guards had to be posted to the mess hall during mealtimes.

Adam kept out of trouble, taking particular care to steer clear of the Tally-Ho and their grim huddles in the exercise yard. Following their capture in the chapel, Corbett and his accomplice had been given a week in solitary – and judging by the filthy looks Adam was getting, it was clear that the Tally-Ho were pinning the blame squarely on him.

On the final day of his own punishment detail, Adam helped Doughnut stash away another mysterious consignment of boxes – this time in an empty attic room above the prisoners’ quarters – and then mopped the chapel until night fell, determined not to give Mr Pitt any excuse to dole out further chores. With aching muscles, he hauled his mop and bucket back across the bridge towards the mess hall. Guards were briskly patrolling the perimeter wall, training searchlights at the slightest movement in the darkness.

Adam hummed a happy pop song to himself as he walked, careful not to let his mind wander. It was easy to get spooked crossing the chasm at night, especially when passing the Re-education Wing. There was a chilly atmosphere to the brooding, windowless structure, an ice cube down the back on a boiling summer day. Late at night, the inmates told hushed horror stories of what took place within its walls, of troublesome inmates who had been dragged there in secret by the guards, who used the machinery to wipe their minds completely, reducing them to a state of vacant obedience. Though the tales made Adam shiver, when he recounted them to Bookworm all he elicited was a reedy laugh at the implausibility of it all. Wherever possible, Adam heeded the librarian’s advice and tried not to think about it.

No guards were keeping watch outside the mess hall; inside, the benches and tables formed an army of still silhouettes in the gloom. Adam navigated his way over to the cleaning cupboard and gratefully returned the mop and bucket for the final time. He was closing the door when a rattling noise in the canteen stopped him in his tracks.

“Hello?” he called out. “Anybody there?”

There was no reply, only a choked sob. His pulse beating a little quicker, Adam crept over to the canteen, pushed the door open and flicked on the light switch. And stared.

“Jessica?”

The girl looked up, her eyes wide with fright. She was standing beside a large fridge, her hand resting on the heavy padlock securing its doors.

“What are you doing here?” asked Adam. “If the guards catch you they’ll punish you for sure!”

“I thought there might be some food,” Jessica said, gesturing uncertainly at the fridge, “but it’s locked away. . .”

“The guards aren’t stupid. There’d be a riot here if it wasn’t.” Adam peered closely at Jessica’s wan features. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It’s just—”

She passed a hand across her forehead, and collapsed to the ground.

“Jessica!” Adam cried out.

He ran over and knelt by her side, lifting her head off the tiled floor. Jessica stirred hazily.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know,” she breathed. “I felt dizzy for a second.”

“You need someone to look at you. I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No! Don’t take me there!” Jessica clutched Adam’s arm. “I know how dirty that place is. People only get sicker there. I’ll be better after a night’s sleep, I really will.”

She climbed unsteadily to her feet as Adam hovered next to her, waiting to grab her if she fell. They walked awkwardly out of the mess hall together, and called back the walkway to take them to the prisoners’ quarters. Adam was afraid that at any moment a patrolling guard would stop and interrogate them, and he didn’t relax until they were standing back outside Wing II.

Jessica gave him a weak smile. “Sorry to cause such a fuss,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ll be OK in the morning.”

She walked slowly up the stairs towards the girls’ rooms, glancing back shyly over her shoulder before disappearing from sight. A resolute look came over Adam’s face, and he hurried back to his dormitory. He found Doughnut sprawled out on his bunk, lazily playing cards with Mouthwash. Adam pulled the fixer to one side.

“What’s up?” asked Doughnut.

“I need a favour,” Adam said softy. “A friend of mine’s ill. She needs food – proper food, not the rubbish they serve up here. I know you can get stuff other people can’t. Can you help me?”

“I wish I could. Everyone’s on at me to get them food, but I’ve got a problem with supply right now.”

“Please, Doughnut. This is serious.”

Doughnut chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“OK,” he said finally. “I’ll help you.” He grabbed Adam’s arm, his amiable features suddenly serious. “But you tell anyone about this – anyone – and me and you are finished. You’re on your own.”

“I won’t say a thing. I promise!”

The fixer shrugged. “What’s a promise worth in a prison full of traitors? I’ve told you how it is – the rest is up to you.”

“Can we get the food now?”

Doughnut shook his head. “Too many guards around,” he said. “Later.”

 

After lights out Adam lay impatiently in his bunk, fully clothed beneath the sheets, waiting for the whispers and sniggers to die down around him. Eventually the room went quiet, and as the boys fell asleep their deep, even breaths rose and fell in time with one another, until it felt as though the room itself was sighing with contentment.

There was a movement in the darkness: a large black silhouette carrying a knapsack rose silently from Doughnut’s bunk and, gesturing to Adam, crept towards the door with surprising stealth. Adam pushed back his sheets and followed suit, wincing at every creak of the floorboards beneath his tread. Caiman stirred in his bunk as he passed, but didn’t wake up.

Outside their dormitory, Doughnut turned right, heading deeper into the heart of the building. They ghosted through the corridors like draughts of air, alert for the burly footsteps of the guards. Doughnut led Adam down a flight of backstairs to a door, where he produced a bulky key ring from his pockets. Selecting a worn iron key, he slipped it in the lock, opened the door, and ushered Adam into the room beyond.

They descended into a dank cellar, where water seeped across the flagstones and the atmosphere was stained with damp. Doughnut picked up an oil lamp from a shelf and lit it carefully, casting a pale glow over the cellar.

“Nice place,” Adam said dryly.

“The goons tend to give this place a swerve. Good job, too.”

“So what are we doing here?”

Doughnut shone a light over a rotting wooden chest against the far wall. “Give me a hand with this.” As they heaved the chest away from the wall, the fixer explained:

“Believe it or not, when I first came here all the other guys thought I was a loser. People wouldn’t hang out with me, kept making fun of me. So I spent all my time exploring the Dial, from the cellars all the way up to the roofs. I bumped into the Tally-Ho a few times, and had to do some pretty fast talking to stop Major X setting his boys on me. I got caught by the guards too, and did some time in solitary. But it was worth it – I know this prison better than anyone, mate. Which is how I know what’s behind here.”

With the chest cleared out of the way, Adam saw that it had been concealing a small black hole in the wall behind it.

“See, prisoners have been trying to dig their way out of here for centuries,” explained Doughnut. “No matter how much time the guards spend combing the prison for old tunnels, they can’t find all of them. This was the first one I ever found – and the best. It’s how I started my business. Now everyone knows who I am, and if they think I’m a loser, no one’ll say it to my face. Follow me.”

Holding the lamp out in front of him, Doughnut got down on his hands and knees and crawled into the tunnel. After a brief pause Adam followed, staying low to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. The space was cramped to the point of breathlessness – there wasn’t even enough room to turn round. The light from Doughnut’s lamp flickered over the walls, picking out the wooden struts inserted in the tunnel to guard against cave-ins.

As he wriggled forward, rocks biting into his knees and palms, Adam felt a draught of cold air whipping across his face. It was coming from a long fissure in the left-hand tunnel wall. Adam stopped and pressed his face against it, taking in a deep lungful of fresh air. As he looked out through the hole, he found himself staring into a deep, desolate black. Adam swallowed and licked his lips nervously. They were on the edge of the chasm in the centre of the Dial. Above his head, the outline of the walkway was visible as it bridged the abyss.

“Come on, mate,” Doughnut called back softly. “No time for sightseeing.”

The tunnel curved to the left, skirting around the edge of the chasm. Adam wasn’t sure how long they had been underground – it might have been five minutes, it might have been an hour – but already his back was aching and the musty air inside the tunnel was making him dizzy. Only the fact that Doughnut continued without complaint stopped Adam from suggesting they turn back.

Just when he thought that the tunnel was never going to end, the ceiling changed from jagged rocks to smooth flagstones. Doughnut stopped, and turned out his lamp. He twisted round to look back at Adam.

“Not a word from now on,” he whispered. “Just watch me, and do what I do. OK?”

Counting the flagstones above his head, the fixer reached up and lifted one into the air, before pushing it to one side. He hauled himself up into the room above with Adam following close behind, grateful to escape the tunnel. They had come out into some kind of storage room, filled with crates stacked on top of one another. From upstairs there came the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, and scratchy gramophone music.

Doughnut quietly prised open the lid of the nearest crate and stared inside, his eyes lighting up. Looking over his shoulder, Adam saw that the crate was packed with food: cans of tuna, packets of biscuits and tinned peaches. After months of lumpy potatoes and thin gruel, the sight made Adam’s mouth water.

“What is this place?” he whispered.

“The pantry below the guards’ quarters,” Doughnut whispered back. He gave Adam an amused look. “What, did you think that they were eating stew too?”

As they rummaged through the crates, filling up Doughnut’s knapsack with food, Adam felt like a bank robber rifling through a vault filled with gold ingots and precious jewels. He was adding a jar of honey to their haul, stifling a triumphant chortle, when the door at the top of the stairs opened. Doughnut grabbed Adam and hauled him down behind a giant sack of flour. A light bulb flicked on. Peeping out from behind the sack, Adam saw a skinny boy with glasses enter the pantry, a look of disdain etched on his sallow face.

The door opened again, and a man’s voice barked down: “Make sure you get enough beer, Echo! I don’t want to have to send you back down there again.”

“Yes, sir!” the boy called back, a wheedling tone to his nasal voice. “Back as quick as I can!”

Echo waited until the guard had gone before rifling through a small crate on the floor. Watching the boy greedily stuffing chocolate bars into his pockets, Adam had a strong urge to rush out and throttle him. Did he not know that the other children on the Dial – his former friends and roommates – were slowly starving? Or did he simply not care? Seeing Adam’s fists clench, Doughnut shot him a warning glance and shook his head. Adam had to sit and watch as Echo picked up a case of beer bottles and carried them upstairs, humming a jaunty tune to himself.

As the door closed, Adam realized that he had been holding his breath.

“Close call,” he whispered.

“Too close,” Doughnut replied softly. “Let’s fill up this sack and get out of here. We can’t take too much, or the guards’ll know someone’s been down here.”

Above their heads, the party was in full swing: the laughter became more raucous, and feet stamped on the floor in time with the music.

Finally Doughnut’s knapsack was full, and he gave Adam the thumbs up. They were just about to lever themselves back into the tunnel when the room was engulfed in sirens.