by Sean Russell
The hesitation was answer enough. “No. . . . I don’t think you should try it. No, we’d be better to take our chances with the falls.”
“How is Randall?”
“Injured. More than he is letting on, that is certain. He will need all the help we can provide. Fortunately much of it is crawling, which he seems more able to do. Are you coming now?”
“Yes. As soon as we’ve looked over our remaining gear to see if there is anything to bring. Stay where you are a moment and we will lower down our last tin of lamp oil and the few candles.”
Light, Erasmus knew, would be their greatest problem. Once the lamp oil ran dry they would be forced to use candles—and even if they could keep them lit in the wet passage Hayes described, there were only a handful. Kehler had done an estimate and thought they might have eight hours of light—no more. It was fortunate that Anna and Banks had not taken all they had.
Once the few things had been sent down, Kehler took his place on the edge of the shaft, and following Rose’s instruction, let himself down. Having the example of Hayes no doubt helped, for he went easily down without mishap, touching the bottom in no time.
Erasmus looked around for Rose and found the man carrying a large stone across the pool.
“I don’t know if it will work, Mr. Flattery, but if we can jam a stone tightly in the channel and set it upon small rocks so there is a space beneath it, then we can wrap the rope around it. It will be doubled then, and may not reach the bottom, but, with Farrelle’s help, we may be able to bring it down after us by hauling on one end. But first you go down as it is, and I will come after and try to bring the rope.”
“But if this stone does not lodge properly, Deacon, you might bring it down on top of you.”
Rose looked up sharply at Erasmus. “But will that not be the best of all possible worlds, Mr. Flattery? You’ll be rid of me, and have the rope as well. Do not concern yourself with my welfare, but get yourself down unharmed and quickly. We have light for a few hours only, and once that is gone, the chances of us finding our way out are . . . Well, only Farrelle can help us in that event. On with you, sir. Just as I’ve shown the others.”
Erasmus went down into the black well, lowering himself with the rope around his foot, water trickling down his neck as he went, running coldly down his back and chest. He hoped his ruined boot would stand up to the rope abrading it, for his chances of getting out of the cave barefoot would be slim. A broken foot or toe down here could mean disaster. Which made his concern for Clarendon all the greater.
For the first time in days Erasmus felt his hopes rise, even as he slipped down the shaft into the passage below. If only his strength would hold. Even using Rose’s method for descending, he felt completely spent when he finally struck bottom, stopping with a jar that sent hot pain shooting up his back.
“Erasmus?” It was Hayes. There was some light around his feet, he realized. Erasmus stood in the tiny well, for he could do nothing else, leaning his head against the wet stone, the pain in his back so severe that he did not dare move.
“Erasmus?”
“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You must come out feet first. It is a bit of a trick to get oneself into the passage and then turned over, but once done, it is no more than ten or twelve yards out into the larger passage. Light will do you no good, I’m afraid. Can you manage it? You’re not too fatigued?”
“I’ll manage,” Erasmus said, not certain that he would. The thought of getting down into another cramped little passage had little appeal to him, but standing here waiting for the dam to burst and water to flood down was even worse. If the pain would just stop. He waited a moment more, the pain slowly ebbing, though not disappearing entirely.
“Mr. Flattery?” Rose called down, his voice echoing loudly in the well. “Are you clear? May I come down?”
“A moment.”
Slowly Erasmus lowered himself, trying to slip his legs into the bending passage. For a moment he thought he was lodged and would have to try to pull himself up. Panic set in, and he cursed loudly. He was taller than Hayes and perhaps could not fit.
So frustrated and frightened was he that he felt tears sting his eyes, but then with a thrust he forced himself through, tearing the skin off his shins and knees. He slipped down into the passage that ran only slightly down, slopping about in the stream of water. He realized that if Rose released the dam now, in his weakened state he would certainly drown.
He will do no such thing, Erasmus told himself, but even the thought of it was almost unbearable. This was not the place he wanted to die.
Forcing himself to move, he began the painful crawl out, more difficult for it being feet first. He seemed to be inching along for hours, stopping to rest after every effort, each attempt carrying him a shorter distance, until he was resting every few inches. For some moments he actually fell asleep, one side of his face resting in the cold stream. Clarendon’s voice called him back and the horror of what he wakened to drove him on again. Finally he felt hands take hold of his ankles and they drew him slowly out.
The passage he emerged into was small—not a yard high and perhaps half again as wide, but it seemed enormous after what he’d been through. He found his friends, sprawled in the water, too exhausted even to try to keep dry. Kehler and Clarendon were shivering, which did not bode well. They looked frightened and despairing, as though they had not really escaped at all, but had come from a place well-lit and dry, to this. A passage that they all knew would likely flood if there was a rain storm above. After the enchanted light of the chamber, the lamplight was pitiful, Erasmus thought, and it seemed to exaggerate the haunted looks on the faces of the others.
The passage sloped at an angle of some twenty-five degrees, water tumbling down it into a series of pools, one of which they all sat in now. Below them the passage extended the few yards the lantern illuminated, looking much the same.
“So this is our salvation,” Erasmus said, but no one answered.
Erasmus leaned his head back into the dark tunnel and called up. “Deacon Rose? You must hurry. We are wet and cold and must go on quickly. Deacon Rose, can you hear?”
From far off a distorted, macabre voice echoed to him, the words incomprehensible. Erasmus thought he was hearing a voice from another world.
“How far to this falls, Hayes?” He did not really care but felt he had to bring some focus to this group, who looked more defeated than at any other time.
“Not far,” Hayes said softly. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Might I see your knee, Randall?”
Clarendon nodded, shifting slightly, which caused him to wince. The small man managed to prop himself up against the wall so that his knee came clear of the water. Hayes moved the lantern to give better light.
Clarendon’s breeches had been slit, and the knee was blue and already badly swollen.
“Can you put weight on it at all?” Erasmus asked, his tone solicitous.
“I don’t know, Mr. Flattery. Perhaps if I could get started on it and work past the pain. But don’t you worry, I will go on one leg and two hands if I must. Or on my belly if need be, but I will not stay here.”
“Well, a physician would recommend you bathe it in cold water and elevate it, but I think we can only manage one of those. But as for the rest of us, we should try to get up out of this water or it will sap away what little strength we have. Is there nowhere we might sit up on dry stone?”
“Down the passage,” Hayes said, gesturing.
“Then let us go there, and I will come back with the lantern for the priest. Come along. Except for Randall’s knee, we must try to get dry. We’ll huddle together for warmth. Up with you.” He took the lantern from Hayes, trying to hide the pain shooting up his back. Fortunately Hayes and Kehler helped Clarendon, for Erasmus was certain his back would not allow it, and they made their slow, painful way down the passage.
Erasmus had to rest for a moment before starting back, and when he got there Rose was calling, convinced he had been left behind in the dark. The truth was that Erasmus would have been tempted to do so, but with a little luck, the priest was bringing the rope, which they might well need. And the priest seemed to have retained more of his strength than the others, for he had spent none of it building the dam. He also possessed skills from his climbing outings that they might require. It was a sad irony that now they might need the man.
“Deacon Rose? Are you down?”
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Flattery. I thought you’d . . . all been swept away. Have I far to come?”
“Have you negotiated the corner? Then it is not too far. Did you manage to bring the rope?”
“I have it.”
“Well done!” Erasmus thought they might have to forgive the man if he managed another miracle like that one, though he suspected the others would not agree.
A few moments later the priest emerged, clutching the end of the rope. He quickly drew it out, coiling it in shaky hands, and dropping the coil over his shoulder. With a nod to Erasmus they set out, half-crawling, half-slithering from one pool to the next.
In a moment they found the others, huddled in the dark. Erasmus could not remember seeing a more sorry company. Filthy and shivering, their eyes sunken and haunted. He thought then that if the surface was not very near they would never make it. They had used the last of their reserves to get to this place—a worse grave than the one they’d escaped.
“Can you go on?” he asked, afraid the answer might be “no,” but they all nodded.
And so they went, slowly, taking turns to carry the lantern and bundle of candles, for they were so weak that any weight quickly became more than one could bear. Rose assisted Clarendon, whose condition was far worse than Erasmus had hoped, and Clarendon accepted the help, desperation having replaced pride. Every hundred feet they stopped to rest, Erasmus choosing a place where they could sprawl out of the water, though it hardly mattered, they were all so wet and cold that they shivered uncontrollably, barely able to master their limbs.
Erasmus did not speak his fear that this passage would continue down and down until it ended in a pool, and that would be their final resting place. As they went, he searched the walls for openings, hoping to find a passage that might lead them off in a more likely direction, but only one passage was found and it was filled with flowing water, which swelled the stream they waded through and made the going more difficult.
They came to the falls Kehler had mentioned and rigged the rope as a hand line. It was not really so steep, perhaps forty degrees, but more water seemed to be flowing here and they had so little strength.
They went down one at a time to save the rope, which Erasmus was beginning to distrust—it had been severely strained and wet now for days. Rot would have set in and weakened it.
Clarendon had to make his way down alone, clinging to the rope, sliding on his seat, buffeted by the current, gasping for breath. Twice his hands slipped on the slick line and he slid, crashing down on the rock, but both times he recovered before another could go to his aid. They all came down with only minor injuries, but were soaked again and had expended too much of their already reduced resources.
They rested, no one speaking, all hanging their heads, mouths agape, as though they had no strength to spare to keep them closed and no concern for appearances.
“On,” Rose said over the sounds of the running water. “We must go on.”
No one even nodded agreement, but Kehler pushed himself up, and staggered down into the next pool, Hayes following, and then the others. At least the passage had opened up so that they could walk upright, but Erasmus had examined the walls as they went and was sure, from the signs of scouring, that water ran at all heights here at different times of the year. Even a passage this size could be flooded. Spring rain, not an uncommon thing, could be their end.
The slope was less, now, allowing them easier passage, but even so, the stops were more frequent and longer. The lantern had been turned down to save fuel and the darkly orange flame cast the faintest light through the smoke-stained glass. Erasmus shook the lamp gently, and despaired to hear the tiny swish of oil within. It would not last the hour, he was certain.
Hayes looked up at him, and grimaced, as though telling Erasmus that he knew the truth. They would not find their way out—even if there was a passage they could hardly go another hundred yards. Both Kehler and Clarendon had begun to shiver with such violence that the others crowded around them and they held the lantern close to capture its almost inconsequential heat. They stayed like that for over an hour, turning occasionally to warm their exposed sides, no one speaking. The truth was there was little warmth in their frames to share, but eventually there was some small improvement. Food was what they needed, for they were traveling on nothing but willpower and desperation.
The lamp flickered suddenly, and Hayes produced a candle, lighting it from the shrinking flame. A moment they all watched, and then the thin little flame guttered inside the glass, brightened for an instant, wavered, and disappeared in a sigh of smoke.
More than one of them drew a quick breath, as though they had been holding their breath. There was silence, the small flame of the candle flickering, barely lighting the walls a few feet away.
The sounds of their rough breathing were like words—the language of despair and fear. The last flicker of their hope had gone, Erasmus realized. They would sit here until they died of exposure. Shivering out their last reserves in darkness.
“I think we will need to light a second candle,” Clarendon said, his voice thin and a bit shaky yet. “If that one goes out, we will never use a flint in these conditions.” The others nodded, though all knew this would mean they would have light for only half as long. Better light for a shorter time than none at all.
They still huddled around the lantern, drawing the last embers of heat from it, and then Erasmus took it and removed the glass chimney. With great care he cleaned this with his shirt, and then did the same to the bronze fitting where the wick emerged. Using a knife to bend the thin metal, he wedged a candle into this with difficulty, for his cleaning had not removed the residue of oil and wax did not stick so well. Lighting the candle, he replaced the glass and held this aloft, swinging it from side to side to see the effect. The flame wavered a little but held.
“Ah, Mr. Flattery,” Clarendon said. “That will brighten our future, and extend our hours of light.” He tried to make his voice steady, and push back the despondency in his tone.
They smothered the other candle and put it away, risking going on with one, knowing that if it went out, they would be consigned to darkness, which would much reduce their chances of escape. How easy it would be to be injured or to pass by openings in the dark.
With their candle lantern held aloft, they set out along the passage. Clarendon, bringing up the rear with Rose, spotted a small opening that the others had missed, which concerned Erasmus. How many others had they passed by? Kehler volunteered to explore it, and crawled in with the light, leaving the others to sit in the darkness, imagining an opening to the soft world above. Barely able to let themselves hope. A few moments later Kehler emerged, saying nothing, only shaking his head when he saw the others staring at him. Perhaps the hope on their faces stole his voice.
They let Kehler rest a moment and then went on, needing to pause within fifty feet. Then on again.
Suddenly Hayes, who was leading the way with the lantern stopped, bent over a pool. He reached out tentatively, and then drew his hand back.
“What . . . ?” But Erasmus saw what it was. “Banks?” he said, and Hayes nodded.
“Yes, though one would hardly know it. Look how battered he is.”
They all stood staring, no one even glancing at Rose, for they could not bear to see the satisfaction that was, no doubt, w
ritten on the man’s face. They body floated heavily in the pool, the skin white and swollen where it was not purple with wounds.
“He has been swept down here from much higher up,” Erasmus said. “That is why he is so battered.” He did look up at Rose then. “You should be proud, Deacon, no doubt your flood drowned him in the first tunnel. Likely we will find Miss Fielding not much farther on.”
Erasmus had barely thought of her since they had begun rebuilding the dam, but now he felt an odd sensation. Was she dead, too, lying facedown in a pool, her faded gold-red hair streaming in the current?
Hayes handed the lantern to Erasmus and bent to rummage through the body, hoping to find candles, or anything they might use, but he found nothing.
“There is no seed?” Rose asked.
Hayes shrugged. “Search him yourself, Deacon,” he said, and turned away, moving off a few steps.
The priest bent quickly over the man, searching him, and then he made a sign to Farrelle in the air, muttering some words that Erasmus was not sure were last rites.
They stumbled down the passage, a vision of death traveling with them. It was no mystery now. That is what they would become if they could not find a way out. It stunned them into silence, and both drove them forward and filled them with despair.
A second candle was wedged into the lantern as the first burnt down to a stub. Erasmus estimated that they had two hours and a little more from that candle—not very long—and they had only five more. A dozen hours of light, at most. And then they would be left wandering in the darkness—just as some myths of the netherworld described. But not wandering endlessly.
Down they went again, descending a small falls that left them all sprawled on the rock, gasping, their heads spinning from the effort. One more such obstacle and that would be the end of Clarendon, Erasmus was certain. The poor man had to expend so much more energy to move, and he was in constant agony now. It was written on his face. Even Hayes looked as though he would soon give up.
The passage had opened up considerably, until the ceiling was almost twenty feet over their heads and the walls almost as far apart. A torrent of water plunged down this in rapids, swirling into pools. Erasmus was not certain why the volume of water was so great. Either it rained in the world above and this had swollen the underground streams, or hidden passages added their water to the flow—he suspected it was the latter. Either way it made progress more difficult, and certainly more treacherous. But the increase in the passage size seemed a good sign to them and raised their spirits a little. At least they were not crawling through tiny holes more fit for rodents than men.