Leo looked back at the manhole. Then at his jetting hose. He had the most powerful water jet in West Yorkshire. He wasn't just a drain cleaner anymore.

“It’s always fat, Mr. Khan. It’s a curry house. I’ll have it clear before your chef wakes up.”

And there, wedged in the bend, was a metal box.

“Dad,” she said, sleepy. “It’s 5 AM.”

The sound was a roar, a liquid dragon. The pressure was so intense that the manhole cover rattled. Water, black as tar and old as the Industrial Revolution, geysered up, coating the alley. Mr. Khan ran back inside.

But the final entry made Leo shiver.