So, what would happen to her, if he dropped down through this manhole into the sewer?
Answer: she'd die. In less than half an hour she'd die, without note, in the destruction of this strange, gleaming palace men called Knossos.
And nothing he, Dion Burke, or anyone else, could do would save her, so long as the Minotaur lived.
Now the question became, did he care about escaping, living, if he had to do it alone, without his lovely Ariadne?
Burke forced himself to hesitate on that one. He didn't want to react to it hastily, or casually, or emotionally, or without due thought and consideration.
The only difficulty was, a man's feelings weren't something he could put on or take off at will, like a suit of clothes. They were part of him, incorporated into every cell of meat and blood and bone and tissue.
And there was the answer to his basic question: win or lose, live or die, he'd leave Knossos only with Ariadne at his side.
Beside, hadn't the legends said that Theseus slew the Minotaur with his bare fists? Maybe a proxy could do likewise!
Swinging his legs up out of the manhole, Burke scrambled to his feet, somewhat heavily. The burns on his wrists were hurting worse now, and he hardly felt in the best of shape to do battle with a monster.
But it seemed he had little choice. So, lamp in hand, he moved along the wall looking for an exit.