DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

1 Kerry Greenwood
‘No, but I’m still s-standing.’
‘There’s a good professor,’ said Phryne. The lid was smooth,
but rust had pitted it somewhat and she managed to dig her fingers
into it and lift it a trifle. Her shoulder muscles twanged.
She shoved with all her might in the exact opposite of a sensible
direction and was rewarded with a creaking rasp. The lid
moved. A little light showed. Phryne pushed again, broke three
fingernails, toppled forward and fell, landing with more bruising.
Professor Brazell sank against the wall and groaned.
But the lid had moved aside. Light came down into the well.
Phryne gathered her possessions, re-assumed all available clothes,
and patted Edmund on the cheek.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she promised. Brazell lifted her
again and saw her get both hands on the lip of the well. Then
she sprang upward, inflicting more damage on his shoulders,
and he saw a strange flash of thigh and foot as she vanished over
the edge. Like those ships that fall off the edge of the world, he
thought, vanishing one bit at a time.
There was a crash and a cry. Brazell held his breath. Of course,
they would have left a guard. Then a body came hurtling down,
landing with a thud.
It was not Phryne—it was a man in a dustcoat. He appeared
dazed, which was not unexpected. Professor Brazell was feeling
fairly dazed himself.
To the noise of scraping and very unladylike language, a
ladder appeared in the half circle of light. Brazell climbed it,
not knowing what he would meet at the top. Phryne, panting,
dragged the ladder up after him.
‘Nasty piece of work,’ she said. ‘Tried to grab me as soon as
I got to the top. Could at least have waited until I got out.’
‘Most unc-civil,’ agreed Mr. Brazell. ‘Are you hurt, dear
girl?’
‘Not more than a few extra scratches,’ said Phryne. ‘Do you
know where we are?’
Professor Brazell squinted at his immediate surroundings.
Wine racks loomed out of the darkness.