by Ellis Knox
The men were not chatty. Cosmas and Bessarion were as laconic as all their folk. Nik spoke to the dwarf when he spoke at all and in general gave the impression that while on the march what one did was march.
Henrik Queller was more talkative, but only if he had something to say, and when he had something to say it was more in the nature of a lecture than a conversation. I quickly learned not to speak to him unless I was prepared for a lengthy (and condescending) reply.
This gave me ample time to think, which means I was often bored. I filled that time in part by composing my thoughts for the day’s writing.
Lamprecht’s Cave has been famous for centuries as the place where the knight Lamprecht hid his fabulous treasure stolen from the Troll King. Or so the story had it. So many people went into that vast cavern and so few returned that it was eventually sealed up by the dwarves themselves for being too dangerous.
When Duke Otto of Bavaria had it opened, over a century ago, they said he did so in hopes of finding the treasure himself. Some said he was deluded; others said he was mad. Whether deluded or mad, Duke Otto did not return. His widow mourned and would not bear even to hear the word Lamprecht to be uttered in her presence. The cave was never again closed up. Since then, few have dared its depths, though a great many have wandered its upper reaches.
The evidence of this was everywhere. The entrance is littered with the remains of camps and campfires. Debris sits at the bottom of pools and in niches—a boot here, a pack there, wineskins, hammers, even a child’s doll. All the debris of thoughtless people engaged in petty amusement. It made me angry to look upon it.
We passed all this quickly enough, not without headshaking and reproving comments from Professor Queller. It was not an uplifting sight, but it reflects how people actually behave. I got the impression Queller would prefer if the whole world might be sealed off, opened only to allow in the occasional scientist to make observations.
Rumor of treasure never did fade away. I wondered about this to Niklot.
“Why did Fournier come into these caves?” I asked. “Was he after Lamprecht’s treasure, like the others?”
Niklot shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said. “The official word was ambiguous and vague, as official statements always are. Something about research and exploration and discoveries, all to go back to the crown of Burgundy, which financed him. Lucky devil.”
“Do you think that was only pretense, then?”
“That’s why I wish I knew. No one with any sense believes the treasure is real, so he wouldn’t have come after that. Fournier is no fool. He wouldn’t come into this cave system, which has killed more than a few explorers, unless he was sure he was onto something.”
“Something?”
“Please don’t make me say ‘I wish I knew’ a third time,” he said, softening the words with a smile.
“So, we aren’t just looking for the Fournier Expedition, we’re also hoping to find what he found.”
The smile broadened and he winked at me. I was going to have to ask him not to do that.
Our lamps illuminated well enough for walking. The ground showed clearly around our feet, so no one stumbled, but our shadows ran to and fro with the rhythm of our pace, making a strange dance on floor and wall. Behind and ahead, the world ended, for the light failed quickly, as if it had lost its breath, and the darkness beyond was absolute.
Perhaps some among my readers have been deep in a forest, under a blanket of winter clouds, on a moonless night. These readers may speak of darkness. The dark that lies beneath our feet is deeper—the darkness of nightmare, of the cellar closet, of the grave. Down there is a place that has never known light. We moved through it as invaders, our lanterns pushing away the blackness, only to have it close in again behind us. Darkness paced us, waiting for a chance to snuff us out again. I came to terms with this patient, relentless watcher, but I never became comfortable with it.
The whole cavern continued to slope downward. Imperceptibly, the boulders accumulated above us until we were working our way not through a tunnel exactly, but through a passage among and beneath rocks. There still seemed a hundred different ways to go, to squeeze between any two boulders, really, but the dwarf went forward as if he were following a forest path. Presently the passage opened again and we were in another cavern, smaller than the first, so that the light from our lanterns barely reached the far wall and the ceiling. Here Bessarion brought us to a halt. I was hoping it was to camp, for my stomach had declared it must be suppertime some ways back.
But the dwarf had something else in mind.
“Stand still. When I say, we all switch off our lamps. When we do, stand still more. When you cannot see, it is easy to fall and become injured. We leave the lamps switched off for two full minutes. You will remain silent until I speak. Remember we all stay still. I say this because it is important.”
This seemed overly dramatic and overly wordy, but I said nothing.
“Professor? Cosmas? Lamps off.”
They did not quite manage to be simultaneous; each followed the other by a second or so. This created the impression of shadow closing around us by leaps—not a pleasant impression at all. When the final lamp went out, darkness swallowed us in a gulp.
I felt it as a pressure on my eyes. Not in the darkest closet in the darkest night had I felt so utter an absence. I scarcely knew that I stood, still less where I stood. I was suspended in nothingness. A wave of vertigo washed over me, and I carefully widened my stance by sliding one foot, not daring to lift it. The stone against the soles of my boots was my only connection to the world. This was not death, it was hell—the awareness of the absence of everything.
My heart began to race. I concentrated on my breathing to slow my pulse and to keep my imagination from racing away in a panic. Even this proved difficult, for the more I focused on controlling my breath, the less attention I paid to the simple act of standing. I had to find a balance between breathing, standing, and thinking. I am aware of how absurd that sounds, but the human mind must have points of reference. It needs noise, no matter how much we might complain of it. Remove all stimuli, and it’s not long before brain and body alike lose their way, for how is one to find a way when all ways have vanished?
Gradually, I managed an equilibrium. My heart settled; my imagination ceased to dart and startle. This made the silence all the more oppressive. I wondered that Beso had not spoken. Surely it had been two minutes.
But no, I had lost all sense of time. My eyes should have nothing to do with knowing time, but there it was. Without sight and hearing, with touch all but gone, I had become vulnerable, almost helpless. This was no more than some perverse dwarfish prank, I decided, intended to show us all how dependent we were on Bessarion, what novices we were. Somewhere in the dark he was probably smiling. My mind drew up short: he wouldn’t leave us here, would he?
I pulled back my lurching thoughts once again, dismayed by how quickly they ran onto desperate ground. What if I were alone down here? Would I be able to manage?
I vowed I could and would, if events came to that.
Two minutes had surely lapsed. The dwarf was going from perverse to outright cruelty. But I would not be the first to speak. Not I. Stand here for an hour, if need be. I would meet every test, I thought angrily.
“You may speak.”
Beso’s voice cut through the silence like lightning. “Please to leave the lamps switched off a little longer. Let us hear without sight.”
“That was truly only two minutes?” Nik asked.
“Yes.”
It was gratifying to me that someone else sounded as disoriented as I was.
“Dwarves have an unerring internal clock,” Professor Queller said.
All the voices sounded near, yet directionless.
“It sure doesn’t match up with my internal clock,” Nik declared. He chuckled. “You still with us, Cosmas?”
“I am.”
“Well, say something.”
�
��I did.”
It was Queller’s turn to chuckle.
“And you, Miss Lauten?”
“I’m still here.” My own voice sounded strained. I tried to make it casual. “This is all a bit disconcerting, as I imagine Bessarion intended.”
“I intend that you see what it is not to see,” the dwarf replied, “and to hear silence.”
I grimaced. Once advantage of conversing in the dark is one does not have to hide one’s reaction to pompousness.
“I have to admit, there’s no way to describe this better than to experience it. Do you think we could turn the lights back on? The point is made, I think.”
“Rather,” Queller agreed.
“First,” Bessarion said, “I want each of you to point to a neighbor. Anyone will do. Please to point now.”
I pointed at Beso, since he’d spoken last.
“Lamps on.”
The light returned, blinding me for a moment. Blinking furiously, I saw I was pointing at no one at all.
“You’re not Beso.” Nik was pointing at me. “He’s much shorter.”
It was a stupid joke, but the utter darkness had so oppressed me, I laughed aloud at it.
“The dark is sacred,” Bessarion said. “It is the true earth. Most of the world is dark and still and silent. Light, motion, noise, these are transitory.”
“Like life itself,” said Professor Queller.
“The dark is no threat, but it can hide danger. Especially for the humans, for they are not accustomed to it. As you now know.”
We went only a little farther before stopping—through a crevasse whose floor was littered with rocks and pebbles, then into an open area that was very nearly pleasant. The ground was level, in parts was compacted earth rather than cold stone, and was not much larger than a comfortable salon.
I was eager for rest, for food, and for the chance to record my impressions of this first day.
Cosmas declared he would make a fire and produced firewood from his marvelous bag. The campfire sprang to life, and Nik had the lanterns extinguished. When I asked for light by which to write, the professor said we might light them again for a while after the meal. We gathered around the fire; I felt much like some ancient cave dweller, huddled before the first signpost of civilization. It was comforting and melancholy at the same time.
As we ate, Cosmas brought forth the entire contents of the trägersack, a quantity wonderful to behold. In addition to the personal rucksacks of various sizes there appeared bags and boxes of food, mainly dried meats and fruits, but with some fresher sorts—enough, Professor Queller said, “So long as there are no gluttons among us.” We all chuckled at this, for we were all fed, watered, and deliciously tired. I longed to sleep, but I took note of the rest of our inventory: ropes, spikes and hammers, the tools of the climber; two hatchets; three Alpenstocks, each clearly too long to fit in the bag yet there they were; six Ruhmkorff lanterns; a variety of instruments, only some of which I could identify; a box of pencils, two notebooks.
And eight large flasks. Niklot informed us that five of these held water—one for each of us—and three held brandy. Each flask would, if rationed, last for a week.
“Seven days!” I exclaimed. “That’s only three days down and three back, plus seemingly a day for drunkenness.”
“Not at all, Fräulein,” the professor said, “for we shall find water all along the way.”
“And by what divination do you know this?” I was angry. I’d been led into a desert with too little water.
“By reason,” he replied, “which you would do well to employ.”
This snide comment only made me angrier. “Reason, sir,” I said, “tells me only a fool brings food for five weeks but water for one.” I leaned back and folded my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
“That is an assumption, not a line of reasoning.” Professor Queller pointed a finger at me. “Consider the facts. We know others have entered these caverns, is that not so?”
I agreed it was so, but I said nothing, sensing a trap.
“We know also they stayed longer than two or three days. The report of Heiko Baak says a fortnight at least, and the Bolzano mage likely was here for months.”
I began to object, but he cut me off.
“You do not need to agree to my reading of that manuscript. The evidence from the other expeditions is sufficient to prove the hypothesis: there is water in abundance, and we are wise not to burden ourselves—or our träger—unnecessarily.”
Now he leaned back much as I had and folded his arms with an air of smugness. It was all I could do to keep my tongue behind my teeth. I knew he was wrong, I knew I couldn’t prove it, and knew further he would not listen to me otherwise. Here, exactly here, was my greatest handicap in being female. It lay not in physical inferiority nor mental inferiority—I would not yield on either point—but in credibility. A man will grant the benefit of a doubt to another man, even if they disagree. But no man would accept a contentious idea from me unless it were as obvious as a sunrise.
The inventory complete, Cosmas efficiently returned all to the wondrous filing of the trägersack. We burned the rest of the firewood, which was little enough, for there would be nothing to cook where we were going, and an open flame might well be dangerous once we were in the depths.
The meal being over, Professor Queller declared we might light the lanterns again. By their comforting glow, Queller accorded me a singular honor: he gave me a chronometer.
“Keep this,” he said, “somewhere on your person.”
I took the device, a handsome piece in a demi-hunter style so the time could be read without opening the case. The winding key was attached by a clever little chain.
“When I record measurements, Miss Lauten, I always record the time. You will write the measurements—ambient temperature, air pressure, distance and direction—in your notebook as well. But you record the time from your own timepiece. At the end of the day, we will check our watches with the one Cosmas carries and make any necessary adjustments. It is absolutely vital that we measure time accurately.”
“Of course,” I said. “I shall be diligent.”
I was flattered that Queller should entrust so important a task to “a mere woman,” but I found out later he did this out of necessity. He did not want Nik to carry a watch because he expected his nephew to incur more physical danger. He didn’t trust the dwarf, and the timepiece was too delicate for the ogre’s big hands. He might have carried both, but he wanted to distribute the risk of one being damaged.
He chose me only because he could choose no other. I did not learn this until much later. At the time, I was too pleased to question. I was becoming part of the expedition, a useful member rather than mere luggage that could talk.
The fire was burning low, and we prepared for our first night underground. Niklot gave me a bit of advice.
“Take note of where you are,” he said. “I suggest you bed down next to a wall or rock, to serve as a reference point. If you wake up in the night, it can be terribly disorienting, so be sure of your surroundings.”
I nodded, recalling my sensations during Bessarion’s little exercise earlier. I spread my sleeping mat on a bit of level ground with an embedded rock near my right hand. Professor Queller indulged me by setting a lantern nearby, and I scribbled notes. I had thought I must surely write pages and pages, but exhaustion was quickly overcoming me. I was reduced to doodles and sentence fragments when the professor announced he was done.
We wished one another a good night’s sleep. All but Bessarion extinguished their lamps. I rolled onto my side with my back to the dwarf and closed my eyes as a preparation against the utter black. Even so, I marked the exact instant Bessarion switched off his lamp. Dark became black. I blinked a few times with no perceptible difference. Light had fled.
I waited, but the disorientation and anxiety did not return. I later decided lying flat helped—the sensation of touch was greater than when standing, and even such small things
were a great comfort. With nothing to occupy my eyes, my other senses stepped forward. Sounds pressed close to my ears—every movement of Cosmas or Bessarion came to me close and muffled, compacted sounds that moved as beneath a heavy blanket of silence. The professor snored, the only one of the men who did so, but even his snorts and snuffles were folded beneath the weight of the soundless dark. Two miles of mountain hung not ten feet above me. I felt its weight compressing the darkness, squashing sounds, making them small.
Exhaustion dragged me toward sleep, but I’m rarely too tired to worry. The business about the water troubled me. Not so much the water supply itself as the professor’s attitude. He was unconcerned. Confident. Overly so, in my opinion. I wondered if he was confident because of knowledge or confident only from belief. Or delusion. I deeply hoped his confidence was justified and took some small comfort in knowing others were relying on him as well.
Or else, I was following an utter fool. And if that were true, what did that make me? A fool as well?
Or just a newspaper reporter?
Further thought was futile. My aching muscles slipped into lassitude and sleep came over me like a wave. In a few days we would either find water or we would be forced to turn back. I wasn’t sure which I wanted more. I opened my eyes, saw nothing at all, and closed them again. It was better to pretend I was causing the darkness.
Traps and Lures
When I opened my eyes, I saw Cosmas getting supplies from his bearer bag, working by the light of a single lantern set to dim. It was like waking up inside a closet. A bit removed, Bessarion crouched before a row of three candles. The professor was snoring gently and Niklot lay unmoving in his blanket. We humans had slept in.
I got up, unsure as to whether or not I should speak. Cosmas handed me a lantern, which let me understand I could use it to find some privacy for my own morning rituals. By the time I returned, Queller and Niklot were both up and were breaking their fast.