CHAPTER 8
A SECRET PASSAGE
‘Ropes, a crowbar and, and a mallet,’ announced Stanley Horse, as if he wasn’t out of breath.
Elizabeth was right behind, breathing hard. ‘Torches and shovels,’ she said, drawing alongside in the burned out husk of what was once the Museum of Ancient Antiquities.
Stanley had set a punishing pace, for which he felt a little guilty. But the weather was closing in and he was worried it would soon snow. An icy wind was coming in from the North. Reginald Elephant still stood in his ruined office where they had left him. While they were away, he had cleared the space in front of the wall.
‘Wonderful!’ said Reginald. ‘Just what we need.’
‘Don’t forget about me,’ said Cecil Sloth. He was hanging from Stanley’s neck.
‘Who’s there?’ asked Reginald, twisting to look back through the office door.
‘It’s Cecil, Cecil Sloth. I’ve come to help.’
‘Well, you are most welcome, Mr Sloth. And I am truly sorry to hear about your troubles this afternoon. I hear you put up quite a fight when the pirates took your little Elsie. And for the girl’s mother, your dear wife.’
‘And thank you for your part, Reginald,’ said Cecil, his voice tinged with sadness. ‘I hear you put up quite a fight too.’ He dropped to the ground and walked on all fours into Reginald’s office so the big elephant could see him. He was a brown, three-toed sloth with long curving claws.
‘Not good enough I’m afraid, my friend,’ said Reginald, looking down at the sloth. Shadows lay all around them and water dripped into dirty puddles at Reginald’s feet. ‘I had thought that when push came to shove, my gentle academic approach to life would give way to some deeper and more terrible fighting instinct. Alas, it just made me realise I am an aging academic with a wide girth and slow reflexes. All I could think about was trying not to injure the dogs too badly. The worst I managed was to get a few wet.’
‘Is it true that you threw one of the pirates clear over Thompsons Creek?’ asked Cecil.
‘I honestly can’t remember. It’s all a blur.’ He swayed as he turned. ‘But, yes I think I might have. It was small and had spots.’
‘More evidence that you need to eat and rest,’ said Elizabeth in a chiding, motherly tone. She had followed Cecil into the office and placed a new torch in the rusty iron ring by the door. With a practiced stroke, she struck a flint and lit the torch, which instantly banished the darkness and made her shadow dance brightly.
‘Ah, much better. Thank you, my dear,’ said Reginald, rumbling with good cheer. ‘You really know how to brighten things up!’
Stanley gazed adoringly at Elizabeth in the warm light. He wondered why a fabulous filly like her should show an interest in a dull farm horse like him. She was so competent and confident, not to mention beautiful.
Stanley had dropped out of school early and hadn’t really achieved anything since. One month he’d ploughed fields, another he’d hauled freight in a creaking wagon. He wasn’t academically gifted, didn’t really like reading or writing, had two left hooves when it came to the trades and discovered, embarrassingly late, that he sang out of tune. The only thing he could do was run. Boy could he run! He was fast and was great at turning, even with a rider. He loved the sense of flying that came from leaping a fence at a gallop. He loved a good race, he loved winning. He loved cutting through the air like an arrow, his tail streaming freely behind. He loved the sting of sleet and the sound his hooves made emptying puddles. He loved all of these things but was wise enough to know that running would never be good enough for horse like Elizabeth. She would need someone who could provide for her and any doe-eyed foals that came along. Her parents would discourage her from choosing any would-be partner that couldn’t keep a stable stocked with fresh oats and hay. She was meant for someone better than a simple farm horse with unreliable work and no real prospects. ‘Love may be grand but a steady job, oats in winter and a decent stable are grander still. Nothing less is good enough for our Elizabeth,’ they would say.
His mind turned to the day’s long list of failures. If only he had been faster, had been more persuasive in getting the townspeople to act, hadn’t discovered the Mayor’s dark secret, then things would have turned out differently. He had arrived with Elizabeth far too late to stop the pirates taking the Serendipity. He had failed them all: Reginald, Harry, Sally and now even baby Elsie. If only he was a better horse, a faster horse, a smarter horse, and something other than just a farm horse. Then, he might have a chance with Elizabeth.
‘Are you okay, Stanley?’ asked Elizabeth, her voice tender with concern. ‘You seem distant.’
He hadn’t realised he was staring at her. ‘Ah. I’m fine. Just thinking about how to get, to get through that wall,’ Stanley said, blushing. He manoeuvred into the ruined office, which required him to press against her. She affectionately pressed back.
The old elephant was in a poor state. One of his bandages had slipped off his ear revealing a grisly wound beneath. Blood and mud coated his side and his tail looked broken.
‘I think that part of the wall is false,’ Cecil said. He was sitting on a pile of fallen stone. ‘See how the stone blocks are slightly smaller. It’s as if it was built later.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ said Reginald. He stepped back to give the others a little more room to move. There was a crash as something behind him fell. ‘I never noticed that before. There were hundreds of scrolls covering this wall. They’re all ash now. To think of the hours I spent copying them.’ Reginald looked down forlornly.
‘Hey, and see how all those iron rods are pointing in the same direction towards the wall,’ said Cecil, pointing with a long, black, curving claw.
‘It’s a magnet field,’ said Stanley, not sure if he had pronounced it correctly.
Elizabeth smiled at him fondly.
‘Ah, I think you’re right, Stanley,’ Cecil said. He climbed down and picked up an iron scroll core. ‘But what could make such a strong magnetic field, do you think? I can feel it pulling.’ Cecil inspected the wall closely and ran a claw between the stones. ‘There’s no mortar between the stones down here.’
‘Perhaps it’s a secret door,’ said Elizabeth, excitement making her glow in the flickering torchlight.
‘The museum has been here for more than two hundred years,’ said Reginald. ‘It dates back to the time of the owls. Surely someone would have noticed a secret door in all that time.’ He reached out with his trunk and gave one of the smaller stones a gentle push.
‘I think it moved,’ said Elizabeth.
‘I think you’re right,’ said Cecil. ‘But so did the whole wall. There’s a crack running top to bottom. Don’t push too hard or you’ll bring the whole thing down.’ He came forward to inspect the crack Reginald had made. ‘Would you move a little to the left please, Stanley,’ he asked. ‘You’re blocking the light.’
Stanley moved. He was glad to have another excuse to press against Elizabeth.
‘Perfect. Look here,’ said Cecil, pointing. ‘See how the water is draining underneath.’
Reginald pushed the small stone again, but more gently this time. There was a click and a lowset stone panel slid back a little into a recess. Reginald stepped closer and pushed harder. The panel swung inward with a rusty squeak and the whir of gears. Stale and musty air spilled from the opening.
‘A secret passage!’ whinnied Elizabeth. ‘I knew it!’ She stamped one of her hooves, splashing Stanley. He didn’t mind in the least.
‘Can you light another of those torches you have in your saddle bag, Elizabeth,’ asked Cecil. ‘The short one would be easier for me to hold.’
‘Be careful,’ said Reginald. ‘The fire will have weakened the whole building structure. And last I checked sloths weren’t known for moving quickly.’
For the second time, Stanley admired how Elizabeth struck the flint and lit the torch in one graceful motion. She passed the torch to Cecil who then entered the passage.
Ice cold sleet began to fall from the night sky causing the torch beside Stanley to sizzle and flicker.
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