“Goodness, no, Ladyship, those are not the dungeons,” Catrine cheerfully reassured. “That is, they are some kind of very old an’ rotted leftover dungeons, but they don’t use ’em these days. The new dungeon’s up ahead.”
And indeed, a few turns of the dismal corridor later, they came upon an opening and beyond it a twilit great chamber, filled with a remote soft sound. A strong draft came blowing at them at the entrance.
“Just a minnut.” And Catrine paused right at the entrance to the chamber and blew out her candle.
“Now why in Heaven’s name did you do that?” Nathan grumbled.
In the new dismal twilight, Catrine turned to him, her eyes glittering, and said, “Oh, but we have to do that, before we go inside! You see, Lordships, there are three very important rules to going inside the dungeons. The first rule is, we cannot bring any new light beyond what’s already in there. Not even a single candle, else real bad things will come to pass!”
And Catrine walked ahead of them into the dim chamber.
Nathan and Amaryllis found themselves in a huge cavern. No, this was not a mere cave-like chamber of stone, something wrought by man, but a genuine subterranean formation, a pocket of air within the earth, grander than the tallest hall, with smooth dripstone rocks coming down from the remote ceiling in long stalactite icicles and rising up in stalagmite columns.
On the side nearest the entrance to the cavern, there was a long iron-barred enclosure, indeed a cage, with many divisions, and it was filled with prisoners. Young girls and maidens, most of them peasants—although there were quite a few well-dressed maidens among them—were on the other side of the bars, locked inside, huddled in bundles and shivering from the relentless cold, and there was no one guarding them.
“Here are the other girls, Lordships!” Catrine said, blowing on her fingers for warmth.
But Amaryllis and Nathan were not paying attention. Instead, they both stared in amazement at the opposite side of the cavern, where, beyond shallow banks, a dark silvery river flowed, with slow-moving waters and no apparent bottom. It was the source of that strange whispering sound that they had first heard upon entering the cavern. Overhead, the stalactites dripped softly—must have been dripping for centuries—casting droplets of water onto the river below, and it resonated in delicate tinkling echoes along the current and the cavern walls.
On a distant wall near the bank of the river, mounted in a rusted sconce, was a solitary oil-burning lantern. It was the only source of light, casting a warm golden halo of steady radiance upon the whole cavern, reaching far and wide, and giving the ivory stone a delicate blue-green quality of subtle iridescence.
“Heaven! What an amazing sight!” whispered Nathan. “How high that cavern ceiling must go!” And he turned to Catrine. “Give me a candle, girl, I am dying to see the extent of this place!”
“Oh, no!” Catrine exclaimed and almost jumped back away from him. “You mustn’t light another light in here!”
“Say what?”
“Rule two,” sounded a girl’s voice from fifty feet away, from inside the iron cage enclosure. “You must never let the lantern light go out, and you must never light an additional one for as long as that one burns. Or at least that’s what they keep telling us.”
They turned to see the speaker, and there were at least five girls, who had gotten up to stand, hands holding the bars. “Enough dawdling, Catrine! Let us out of here already, before someone comes!” said the one who had just spoken, and Amaryllis vaguely recognized another girl from the incident on the road a few days ago.
“Sorry, Sybil, took us a while to get here. And don’t worry, no one’s coming for hours!” And Catrine ran over to the great cage and started fiddling with the lock.
“Good Heavens,” Amaryllis said to Nathan softly, “how many of them are there? Will they all be going with us?”
The lock was finally picked, and the door of the cage opened, releasing the girls. Sybil, a freckled redhead wearing a well cut hooded coat of royal blue, with a nice mulberry wool scarf tied around her neck, was out first, stomping her feet and straightening her skirts. After her came another familiar girl, by the name of Regata, also better dressed than the majority, in a warm green coat and a fur-trimmed cape-hoodlet.
As Catrine came around with her skillful lock-picking, the rest of the girls, at least two dozen, started coming out of the other partitioned enclosures, some looking frightened, others mostly dazed. A few remained seated in the cage and shook their heads indifferently when prompted by the others to follow.
“So, a whole warren-full of Cobweb Brides!” Nathan remarked. “Whatever shall we do?”
“Don’t worry, Lordships,” Catrine said, approaching once again, followed by three others. “They are not all going with us, just Regata and Sybil here, whom you’ve met, and Faeline, who’s a local. Some of the girls just wanna hide in different spots around the Keep and bide their time for later, you know, sneakin’ out. They’re far too afeared of the river.”
“Rule three,” said the girl called Faeline, a slim tiny blonde in a grimy tattered dress, and then awkwardly curtsied before Lady Amaryllis and Lord Nathan. “You must never drink from the river, nor touch its waters. Everyone else is afraid to come near it. But me, I don’t really care all that much, Your Lordship, Ladyship, I just really want to get out of here.”
“I see,” said Amaryllis, pulling her warm burgundy cape closer about her in the cold. “So what exactly is wrong with that river? And do you mean to tell me we will be going near it? Dear Heaven, you don’t expect me to swim?”
“Oh, no, we’ll be taking the boat.”
“What boat? I don’t see—”
But Catrine pointed across the cavern, and said, “That one!”
Nathan and Amaryllis saw that at the farthest end of the cavern, past the watery expanse, the opposite shore was visible. On the bank, sat a long wooden boat of bright yellow oak, pulled out of the water and resting on its side against a stalagmite. Two oars were lying on the floor of the cave alongside it.
“Let me see if I understand correctly now,” Nathan reasoned. “We will all of us get inside the boat—after by some divine miracle it floats across the river and comes to us of its own volition—and then we set sail along this possibly poisonous river that mustn’t be touched, into a dark unlit series of abysmal caves and tunnels that go lord knows where for lord knows how many leagues under the earth. And that is your idea of an escape? Are you addled, girl?” Nathan folded his arms and exhaled in anger. “Take us back upstairs; at least there are cots and swill waiting for us.”
“Pardon, Lordship, but the boat will get us out of here, it is as sure as I got me a nose on ma’ face.” Catrine fiddled with her satchel, digging around for something. “The whole reason I had your Lordships come down is ’cause the boat needs you to operate it.”
“What she’s saying is, the boat may not be used by anyone but a lord of noble blood, they tell us here,” added Regata.
“And who are ‘they’ who tell you all this nonsense?” Amaryllis trained her cold withering gaze upon the girl. “Who came up with these three idiot rules? The guards? The local servants? You seriously believe they would tell you things that are designed to be anything other than a way to keep you here?”
“Indeed!” Nathan began to pace. “If they tell you not to touch the river, then it may very well be a real way out of here! As for the extra lights, it’s certainly a way of keeping you from seeing possibly another exit or some other useful things to help you escape.”
“That’s sort of what I believe too,” Sybil said. “Been sitting in that stupid cold cage for days now, with nothing to do but think. I bet if we light up another candle or two, it might scare some bats up in the ceiling, no worse. And if that lantern goes out, well, that’s just giving us an easy way for us girls to sneak out of here!”
“Well, let’s see indeed what happens if we take a better look!” Nathan reached for the satchel, pulling it out of Catrin
e’s hands, and took out the short tallow candles and the lantern with the oil flask.
“Oh, Lordship, no, no! You mustn’t! What if some terrible monstrous thing comes out of the river?” Catrine put her hands up to her mouth. The other girls who had been wandering around the cave and heard this pronouncement, squealed, and a few of them started running for the corridor exit.
“Frankly, I don’t care if a three-headed behemoth emerges,” said Amaryllis curtly. “He is welcome to eat me whole, for I am cold and hungry and weary to death of this—all of this! Proceed, Nathan, do light up this place!”
And Nathan took two flints and struck them together, while Catrine covered her eyes in fear. He lit the first bit of candle and gave it to Regata to hold, then another, and handed it to Amaryllis who took it carefully between two fingers and held it as far away from herself as possible, so as not to drip the melting tallow upon her cape. Sybil took the last candle, and then, with the tip of her candle flame, she lit the wick dipped in the oil flask, and stuck it inside the lantern which Nathan held.
With their small individual flames sending up grotesque shadows in the cavern, they all turned about, looking in every direction, and then—because the constant gentle sound in the cavern suddenly started to fade—one by one they all glanced at the river. . . .
It was gone.
In place of the deep slow-churning waters with their silvery reflection on the surface, there was absolutely nothing—empty space beyond the bank.
Catrine, who had been cringing, lowered her hands from her eyes and gasped.
“The river!” she said. “Holy Lord!”
Nathan frowned, then holding the lantern walked up to the edge of the bank and looked down.
He saw that the bank fell away into a ravine only about eight feet deep, and there was a rocky floor below, perfectly flat and dry. The entirety of the riverbed was fashioned in a similar manner, a reasonably flat floor that could easily be walked across, and then on the other end the bank rose up again and tapered against the walls of the cavern. There sat the boat in the same place they could see it—all he had to do was march across the bottom of the riverbed and climb up a few rocks to get to it.
“What is it, Nathan?” Amaryllis asked, without approaching. “What’s down there? A precipice?”
“No, my dear,” he drawled, and started to climb down in easy leaps. “There is nothing but a few rocks on the floor, and I believe I have our solution.” His voice resounded in louder echoes, now that there was no water in the cavern and more empty space, as he quickly made his way across the hundred feet of riverbed. “Just keep shining those candles, and do not let any of them go out! Not until I tell you to!”
Within minutes, Lord Woult had reached the opposite shore, clambered up easily and stood next to the wooden boat. He looked inside, examined it for defect, and then pulled it a few feet, dragging it so see if it was at least superficially free of breaches to be seaworthy.
“Now,” he said loudly, and his voice echoed across the expanse of the cavern. “Blow out all your candles!” And in the same moment he blew out the lantern held in his hands.
The girls all complied, and the moment the light faded to the level of dim twilight of the single lantern in the wall sconce, the sound returned, and with it the silvery river—it was flowing as though nothing had happened, in the same channels where it was before.
“What manner of magical river is this?” whispered Catrine.
They watched Nathan pull the boat and attach the oars, then splash it into the silvery waters. He climbed inside with a minor grunt of satisfaction, then gripped the oars and started rowing with powerful easy pulls against the slight force of the current.
In a few breaths he had crossed the river and was climbing on the bank on their side, then pulled up the boat after himself. His hands were slightly wet and he examined them after releasing the oars and said, “No, nothing is damaged, I see. No caustic burn, no poison leaching my flesh off the bones. I touched the river and I am still decidedly myself. No behemoth either, you will be glad to note, Amaryllis, dearest.”
“The girls were staring at the river in wonder. Those of the remaining potential Cobweb Brides who had not scampered off, stood timidly, whispering amongst themselves.
“I think I know why they say a lord has to be the one to operate the boat,” Catrine said. “Who else would have the insolence to break the rules?”
“There is a difference between insolence and a gentleman’s proper education,” said Nathan.
“Or, a lady’s,” added Amaryllis coolly. “I would have done the same thing.”
“Yes! For one must always cultivate skepticism against abysmal superstition and other common idiocy,” Lord Woult continued. “Natural philosophy, my dear! Nature and reason, observation and experimentation can explain everything in this our Age of Enlightenment.”
“Yes, well,” said Amaryllis. “Except for the disappearing river. And the cessation of death. And—”
“All right, by Jove! If I cannot have my vanity and fashion, give me at least my moment of scholarly triumph, will you now?”
“Since we are experimenting,” Amaryllis said, “the next step would be to attempt removing all sources of light. I suggest someone go over to that lamp on the wall and snuff it out.”
“A solid notion!” Nathan stepped up to the riverbank, crouched down, and placed his hand into the running current.
Regata nodded, and then ran to the wall and stood up on her tiptoes to remove the reservoir of lit oil in the lantern. She brought it to her face and blew on the flame but it was too large to be extinguished with a mere breath. So then she spat on her fingertips then quickly pinched the wick.
The lantern smoked and then the cavern was plunged into absolute darkness . . . and again came the silence born of receding waters.
There were a few terrified squeals.
And then Nathan’s calm voice echoed. “Yes, just as I thought, no water once again. My hand is submerged but suddenly feels no liquid. This river is a marvel. It seems to dislike the darkness as much as it does excessive light.”
In the next second a small flame bloomed again as Nathan re-lit his own lantern. With it, the river came back into being, with its soft sound and running waters.
“What a clever river you are,” he said, addressing the swirling currents. “I wonder who fashioned you, what deity’s caprice? A river that lives only in twilight!”
“So, dearest Nathan,” Amaryllis said, looking out over the cavern’s expanse. “Shall we brave the current and see where it takes us?”
“The trick to traveling this river would be to keep the twilight alive . . .” he mused.
“In that case, we take a single lantern in the boat with us and keep it lit.” Amaryllis turned and looked directly at him with a challenge and a smile.
“Oh, Lordy, Lord!” Faeline said. “What if it goes out in the middle of the river, and everything goes dark? Won’t we and the boat plunge goodness knows how far down to our deaths?”
“Very likely,” said Nathan, looking back at Amaryllis with a smile of his own. “All the more reason not to let the lantern go out!” he added cheerfully.
“I dunno . . .” Catrine muttered, “sounds awful risky to me!”
“It sounds delightful!” Amaryllis exclaimed. “Oh, I was so deathly bored! And now, Heaven knows, I find a reason to live, at least for the next half hour. . . . Let’s go! This very moment!”
“Your wish is my command, sweet Amaryllis!” spoke the gentleman, adding: “Everyone, on board!”
Chapter 16
The day advanced into soft evening as the black knight and Percy rode along the snowed-over road past Duarden, steadily moving south.
There were more travelers on this portion of the road with them, pedestrian and wagon traffic in both directions, and the pristine thickness of snow was soon mashed and beaten down into brown slush, which made each pace slippery and dangerous.
Percy was unusually quie
t. Resting sideways against the now familiar solidity of the knight’s ebony breastplate, encircled by his metal-clad arms, she gazed ahead of her, hardly bothering to turn at the various sounds around them on the road—carts creaking, the squeaky turning of badly oiled wheels, the crunch and squish of crudely-booted peasant feet.
Beltain was mostly silent also, fixed in his imposing posture, and lightly guiding Jack’s reins.
A number of times, companies of fast riders passed them in the opposite direction, holding banners aloft. Among them were liveried Imperial Heralds, racing swiftly north and away from the Silver Court, bearing news and Proclamations into the depths of the Realm and the Kingdom of Lethe. At other times, the Heralds were Ducal, wearing the colors of the Duke Vitalio Goraque and not the Emperor, and they rode in the same direction as Beltain and Percy, south and into the Court.
“Make way!”
“Stand aside!”
The outcries came so often and had grown so familiar, that it made good sense to keep to the side of the road rather than get plowed over and splattered by slush from their horses’ hooves—though, the latter was unavoidable.
It was also fortunate that Lord Beltain Chidair wore his long black cloak to cover himself instead of the ice-blue Chidair surcoat that he’d removed and folded away in the travel bag. To sport Chidair colors at this point deep in Goraque territory would have been imprudent.
The closer they approached the heart of the Imperial Realm, the more traffic there was, and the thoroughfare eventually widened. Gone were the unrelenting snow-plain and fields, and instead wooden settlements revealed themselves on all sides of the road, alongside orchards and roadhouses and smithies. In the twilight of the coming evening, torches and lanterns came to life and burned orange-gold against the darkening sky. Vendors with supper stalls were common, and the noise and smell of bread, onion, charred sausage, and burning wood smoke rose up from many chimneys. It was as though they were moving through a center of a sparse but sprawling town.
Urchins ran about, their yells and breath rising in the chill air. Interspersed with the vivacious children were human shapes grown remarkably still, seated in pitiful lumps along the hedges or aimlessly moving along the road in the telltale manner of the dead. Upon occasion, some passerby stopped and divested the indifferent dead of their clothing, leaving their cold pale limbs exposed to the elements. Percy watched from the corner of her eye as three older boys surrounded a gaunt old man with a frosted beard and crystalline sheen of snow on his face, and stripped his jacket, britches and belt, leaving him in threadbare woolens. They guffawed and ran off with his belongings, and the dead man watched them helplessly with fixed marbles of eyes, turning his head slightly in their wake.
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