This Dark Endeavor

by Kenneth Oppel

Before I could say anything, Konrad asked, “Are you warm enough?”

  “I am, thank you,” she said.

  The chill had certainly deepened. “Best to keep moving,” I said, and consulted the map once more. “That is our way, here.”

  Elizabeth marked our route with chalk. This tunnel was narrower, and we had to walk single file now, heads bowed. At every intersection I paused to look at the map, and Elizabeth made sure to chalk our choice.

  We proceeded slowly, for the floor was often uneven, and sometimes dropped suddenly by a foot or two. I was also worried about missing a turn. Mostly the intersections were obvious, but other times the new passages were little more than clefts in the stone, easily hidden in the shadows. Temerlin’s map lacked a good sense of scale, so I was often surprised by how quickly we reached certain intersections—or by how long it took us to reach others.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Half past ten,” said Konrad, to my surprise. An hour and a half already! We paused to drink from our flasks, and swallow some food, but I can’t say I felt much hunger.

  “How deep do you think we are?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Impossible to say,” Konrad replied.

  We continued on, always downward. I was starting to feel the weight of my pack, and regretted how much gear we’d brought. Konrad, however, had uttered no word of complaint, so neither would I. I kept my eyes fixed on the tunnel’s right wall, for our next turn would be there.

  “Shall I navigate?” Konrad asked quietly.

  “No, I have the knack of it now,” I said curtly.

  My turn finally came, and with it the sound of flowing water.

  “Excellent,” I said. “Temerlin mentions this. A rivulet flowing down one of the walls.”

  With every step the sound of water grew—and it became more obvious that this was no mere rivulet. Mist sparkled in the light of our lanterns. And then suddenly the tunnel widened, and down one side ran a cataract.

  “It’s a proper waterfall!” said Konrad.

  The sight of it made my heart glad—it was wonderful to see such vital energy in this dead rocky place. I was relieved, too, for it meant the map was true and I had not misled us.

  “It must be summer meltwater from the glaciers,” remarked Elizabeth. “It has been unseasonably warm lately. But … how are we to get across?”

  The waterfall itself did not block our way—but the chasm into which it plunged did. I edged closer and looked down. The lantern light did not penetrate far, and I wondered just how deep it was. From below came a dim roar. On the other side of this chasm, our tunnel continued.

  I swallowed and muttered, “Temerlin said it was no more than a little jump.”

  “This is more than a little jump,” Konrad said.

  I found the place in the notebook. “‘A short vigorous jump.’”

  “He must have been very vigorous,” said Elizabeth.

  “It’s not such a great distance,” I said. “Five feet?”

  “Six,” said Konrad.

  “Don’t go so close,” Elizabeth said to him, clutching his arm as he peered over the edge. “The stone’s wet. It might be slippery.”

  “I should have thought to bring a plank,” I muttered.

  “You couldn’t have known from Temerlin’s notes,” said Elizabeth kindly.

  “Still,” said my brother, “if you’d shared this with us, we might have been better prepared.”

  We looked at each other a moment, saying nothing.

  “We have a choice,” he said now. “We can turn back and get some kind of bridge—or we jump.”

  We were all silent. I could tell no one liked the idea of turning back, me especially. We had already spent at least two hours underground. If we turned back, there could be no hope of completing our quest within the day.

  “Let us jump!” said Elizabeth.

  Konrad looked at her with some surprise. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m a good jumper,” she said.

  It was true enough. She’d grown up with us and had chased and been chased in endless games.

  “If she can bite a vulture, she can jump a crack,” I said.

  “We have some lightweight line,” Konrad said. “We’ll hammer an anchor into the stone, and tether each jumper—just in case.”

  We struck the spike deep into the tunnel floor and fastened to it a good length of rope. The other end we looped into a kind of harness that each of us would wear during our jump.

  I went first. I removed my pack, tightened the harness below my armpits, and backed up. I ran for it. I made sure to push off well before the edge, and sailed over the crevasse, blinking through the waterfall’s spray. I saw the tunnel floor coming and knew I had made it. I hit the floor, skidding a bit.

  “Excellent!” called out Konrad.

  “A good foot to spare,” I said as I removed the harness. I coiled it and threw it back across. Konrad tossed me a lantern, which I relit so the next jumpers could better judge their landing site.

  Elizabeth was ready now. She took a good long run. As she jumped, I caught my breath, for her arc seemed too low. Konrad, I saw, watched tensely, his hands encircling the line, prepared to grip. Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on me with fierce concentration. She touched down, just, on the rim of the tunnel.

  “Ha! Made it!” she said with satisfaction.

  And on the slick stone, her feet went right out beneath her.

  “Elizabeth!” Konrad cried.

  She toppled back toward the chasm. In a second I had both hands around her forearm, pulling her to me with all my strength. I crashed to the floor with her atop me. For a few moments she just lay there panting, her breath hot in my ear. I held her tighter. I did not want to let go.

  “Thank you, Victor,” she said, sitting up and rubbing at her bloodied knees. She sounded more angry than grateful. “You’ve saved my life.”

  “Perhaps you’ll forgive me, then,” I whispered.

  “Are you all right?” Konrad called out.

  “Yes, it was a close thing, though,” said Elizabeth.

  Konrad threw across the rest of our gear before making his own jump. It went well, and after he’d landed and was taking off his harness, Elizabeth burst into tears. Konrad enfolded her in his arms.

  He looked at me over her shoulder. “We should not have brought her. It is too much. We were foolish and selfish.”

  Elizabeth pushed free of his embrace, and her wet eyes now blazed.

  “I’ve had a bad fright, and a cry—yes, tears come more easily to young women than men perhaps—but now I’m done, and I’m ready to carry on.” She wiped at her eyes. “Which way now?” she asked, her voice steady.

  And so we continued on.

  We went farther. We went deeper. My clock told me it was nearing noon.

  Our tunnel gradually contracted, and we had to crawl single file, dragging our packs behind us. I felt a new sympathy for Henry. I had never before been bothered by small spaces, but this rat’s maze threatened to rob me of breath.

  “Did Temerlin make any mention of this?” Konrad asked behind me.

  “Nothing. Maybe he was too busy blinking dust out of his eyes.”

  “You’re sure we are on the right path?”

  I gazed again at the map. “I’m sure of it. I’ve missed no turn.”

  Konrad sighed. “Then, on we go.”

  A sense of responsibility crushed down against me, as powerfully as the stone. I could not let myself be wrong. But after a few more minutes, as if to confirm my worst fears, the walls of our tunnel shrank even tighter. I stopped.

  “Is it a dead end?” Konrad asked.

  “Not quite.”

  I pressed myself tightly against one side of the tunnel so he might see the slit-shaped hole directly before us.

  I stuck my lantern through. “It widens quickly on the other side,” I reported.

  “But can we reach the other side?” he asked.

  “How could a grown man ha
ve fit through there?” Elizabeth demanded when she saw the opening.

  “Temerlin must’ve been very thin,” I said. I would not voice my fear, but it beat wildly in my chest.

  “I’ll have a try,” said Konrad. “If I can do it, you can do it.”

  I did not argue with him this time. There was something about the gash that terrified me.

  “And if you two can do it,” Elizabeth said, “I will surely have no problem.”

  We both watched as Konrad tried to push and twist and fold his body through the gap. It seemed he would never fit, and then suddenly he was on the other side.

  “It’s not so bad!” he called back to us. “Hand me a lantern, Victor, and come.”

  “I’m coming,” I said, and sipped some water from my flask, willing my stomach to stop churning.

  There was only one spot wide enough for my head, and I had to twist it most unnaturally to push it through.

  “It’s like … being born again,” I gasped as I narrowed my shoulders and tried to ease them past the bony contraction of rock. I could not. I tried to fold myself even tighter, shoved with my feet. I hated to think of the spectacle I must be making to Elizabeth, my feet scrabbling, bottom waggling. But my embarrassment quickly became panic.

  “I’m stuck!” I said.

  “You can do it,” Konrad said. “Our bodies are the same.”

  “You have lost weight,” I said. “You’re skinnier!”

  I felt a sudden crazed anger in me. I was an animal snared in a trap, knowing escape was impossible. Konrad had tricked me! He had lured me into this!

  “I can’t move!” I bellowed. “I can’t breathe!”

  “Be calm, Victor,” I heard Elizabeth say behind me. “We will ease you through.”

  My left arm was pinned tightly, and my right flailed about uselessly. I was as helpless as a newborn. There was a sudden warmth around my hips and I wondered in horror if I’d wet myself. Then I felt Elizabeth’s hands around my waist.

  “What’re you doing?” I cried out.

  “Applying grease,” she said.

  “You brought grease?”

  “For just such a thing. I found a very informative book on cave exploration in your father’s library. Now, Konrad, can you pull?”

  Konrad seized my upper right arm, and I felt Elizabeth shoving from behind.

  “Now!” she said. “Pull him, Konrad!”

  For a moment I didn’t budge. Then I shot forward, tumbling upon my brother in a heap. As we disentangled ourselves, I began to laugh hysterically in relief.

  “Are you all right?” he asked me.

  “I feel wonderful,” I gasped. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “You maniac,” he said, but soon we were both laughing uncontrollably.

  “When you boys are quite finished,” Elizabeth said, passing our gear through the opening. Then she eased her slim figure effortlessly through. We sat for a moment, putting our things to rights, eating some food.

  “It’s strange,” Konrad said, chuckling, “because Mother always said I was born easily but you took your time.”

  “Two minutes only,” I objected.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. You got stuck.”

  Both Konrad and I looked at her in utter surprise.

  “Really, Elizabeth,” he said, “this is a rather indelicate subject for a young—”

  “Honestly, Konrad, don’t be such a prude,” she said.

  “Did I really get stuck?” I asked her.

  “Boys never remember these stories properly,” she said with a sniff. “Girls do because we know it awaits us. You,” she said, looking at me sternly, “nearly killed your mother.”

  “She never told me—”

  “You were all twisted the wrong way, and the midwife nearly wasn’t able to get you turned round properly.”

  I nodded mutely. Glancing back at the opening, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the underground cold. I was very glad to see that up ahead the tunnel enlarged.

  “Let’s continue on,” I said, eager to leave behind the subject of my awkward and life-threatening birth. I did not care for this image of myself as a wailing baby—and did not want Elizabeth to think of me so.

  Down and down. Gradually the ceiling lifted. We crouched, then hunched, then stood tall and stretched, groaning in relief.

  “Which way now?” Konrad asked, for our tunnel suddenly branched into three. The first angled gently upward, the other two downward—one of them quite steeply.

  I looked at the map, sickened. There was no such branching indicated.

  “There’s only one passage marked here,” I mumbled.

  Konrad stepped closer. “Perhaps you’re reading it incorrectly.”

  I pointed at the spot where we should have been.

  “We’re lost,” said Konrad. “You should’ve let me help navigate.”

  “You mean take over entirely,” I snapped.

  “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  “My eyes are quite capable of reading a map, Konrad!”

  “You have been too greedy with it, Victor,” said Elizabeth quietly. “You might have let us share the responsibility.”

  This stung deepest. Humiliation and jealousy choked my voice. “You think him a better leader, do you?”

  “I did not say that—”

  Konrad snorted. “It’s this pigheadedness that has gotten us lost.”

  I shoved him hard against the wall—my twin, who, mere weeks ago, had been bedridden with fever. He lost his balance and fell.

  “Victor!” I heard Elizabeth cry above the pounding in my ears.

  Immediately I was overcome with guilt and reached out to help him to his feet. “Are you all ri—”

  He grabbed me by the arm and shoulder and hurled me against the wall, then stood before me, glowering, his fists raised. I clenched mine, ready to spring.

  “Stop it!” shouted Elizabeth. “Both of you, stop!”

  There was such anger and authority in her voice that we both turned to look at her.

  “Don’t you dare put this venture at risk!” she said.

  Konrad sighed heavily and dropped his fists. “This venture is at an end. We must turn back.”

  “Turn back?” I exclaimed.

  “To continue on without a map would be madness.”

  “Elizabeth can mark our every turn with chalk!”

  “Shush!” she said.

  “Do not shush me!” I shouted.

  “I hear something!” she said.

  We listened. Far, far away came a low murmur. For a skin-prickling moment it sounded like people whispering.

  “Water,” said Elizabeth.

  Konrad nodded. “But from where?”

  He moved a ways down each of the tunnels in turn.

  “I think it must be this one,” Konrad said at the threshold of the ascending passage.

  “No, it is this one,” said Elizabeth, standing at the steepest downward-sloping tunnel. “The sound is clearest here. Victor, what do you say?”

  I tried all three tunnels. It was virtually impossible to decide, for I thought I heard the whisper of water everywhere now.

  “I don’t know,” I said, defeated.

  “I do,” said Elizabeth. “This way our pool awaits.”

  Konrad looked at her, then at me.

  I nodded. “I trust her.”

  “Very well. We can always turn back if we find nothing. Mark the turning, Elizabeth.”

  Triumphantly she chalked the stone. “You are lucky to have my ears along with you.”

  “We’re lucky to have all of you along,” said Konrad, and won a chuckle from her.

  I wished I had the quick wit to make such flirtatious compliments.

  We started down the tunnel, and the lapping sound grew stronger.

  “You see?” Elizabeth said. “I was right.”

  Quite suddenly the tunnel angled sharply upward.

  “The floor is damp here,” Konrad said.

>   I ran my fingers along the slick stone. “The walls, too.”

  For some minutes we walked uphill, puffing. Then the tunnel leveled off and opened out onto the sloped rocky shore of a vast pool.

  “We found it!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  Its surface was not glassy smooth, as I’d imagined, but slowly swirling, as though in the grips of many hidden currents.

  “I cannot see the bottom,” Konrad said, holding his lantern out.

  “The light!” I said, remembering. “Trim your wicks. We don’t want to scare away the coelacanth!”

  As our lanterns faded, a new light dawned in the cave, for the walls and low ceiling were glazed with some kind of strange mineral that emitted a purplish twilight.

  “I wonder how deep it is,” I whispered, looking at the black water. Was it fed by the lake alone, or was there an even deeper source, fed by the waterfall? As I gazed at the pool’s surface, a portion of it shimmered, and a blue silhouette moved beneath it, its scales sparkling in the half-light.

  “That’s him,” I breathed. “The coelacanth!”

  It was but a quick glimpse, and then the creature disappeared into the depths. We all looked at one another, smiling. We had done it. We’d descended the caves and found the pool, and now all that was left was to catch the fish itself!

  “I got no proper sense of his size,” said Konrad.

  “It was too fast,” I agreed.

  “He was a marvelous dark blue,” whispered Elizabeth. “Did you see those white markings?”

  Hurriedly Konrad and I assembled our rods and tackle. Earlier this morning when William and Ernest had seen us with our gear, they’d eagerly started to hunt the garden for worms. They hadn’t realized that we’d need more substantial bait for what we sought. According to Polidori, the coelacanth ate other fish, things as big as small squids. But we’d let our younger brothers proudly present us with their pail of worms, and had promised to bring them back our prize. We’d brought heavy line, for we knew from Polidori’s specimen that these fish grew large.

  We baited our hooks with the pickerel we’d bought from a local fishmonger after setting off from the château. Then we cast into different sections of the pool and stood back, paying out our weighted lines. Down and down and down they went, until I was afraid we would run out of line before we hit bottom.

  “A hundred feet at least,” said Konrad finally, reeling back in a little.