The thought knotted Burke's stomach. Yet when he strove to move, his bonds held him, unyielding.
Theseus had done this job well, Burke decided. With no trouble at all, it could spell doom for him.
Which brought up another question: what time was it?
By the very fact that he remained alive, he assumed it still wasn't midnight; that Knossos hadn't been destroyed.
But even if he'd blacked out only for two or three minutes, the fatal moment couldn't be far off ... not more than half an hour, at most.
It was the kind of thought to put a man upon his mettle. Floundering, Burke tried to break his bonds.
It was useless. The cords wouldn't give a fraction.
That meant he had to find some other way out.
Twisting, he made an effort to check his pockets' contents.
Small change, a comb, two keys, his lighter.