Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  "It's in here." She turned around in time to see him pointing at his head, a boyish grin on his face.

  "Well, why didn't you say so. Let's get up there." Owen's face was positively jubilant. Again, Cara had the feeling there was something false about it. She pushed the thought aside. Her adventures were making her cynical. This was Owen after all. Michael's Owen.

  "Hang on. Cara's not in any shape to go up there. We're better off waiting for Patrick."

  "But we don't know when he'll be here." Owen sounded petulant. He glanced over at Cara, looking quite apologetic. "Do forgive me, my dear, I wasn't thinking."

  She stacked the clean cups in front of Owen's rucksack. "It's all right. Besides, I'm fine. If you all want to go up there, I'm game." She paused, looking across the stream at the turning station. "As long as we take the ground route."

  Michael frowned at her, his eyes exploring her from head to toe. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "I'm fine, really. After everything we've been through, a little acrobatics over Shallow Creek is a drop in the bucket." She winced at her own bad pun.

  "Very funny."

  Owen stood up. "It's decided then. We head for the mine, using ground transportation, of course." He smiled over at Cara conspiratorially. "I never much cared for those ore buckets myself."

  They were well on their way over the mountain before Cara realized what it was that had been bothering her. At no time during their discussion of Amos and the silver had Owen asked about Michael's mother. Granted, it probably wasn't as big an issue for him as it was for her sons, but according to Michael, he'd been close to her.

  Surely, he should have at least asked about her. Didn't he want to know what had really happened to Rose?

  Cara's first thought was that it was amazingly dark. In her time, the historical society had worked overtime to try and make the mining museum in Silverthread accurate. To the point of countless arguments about the lighting. In the end, they'd settled on lighting so low it was sometimes impossible to see the exhibits clearly. Accuracy over practicality. She blinked against the dark. Compared to the Promise, the museum was brighter than a floodlit ballpark.

  They stood at the bottom of the mineshaft in the main tunnel of the first level. Cara looked at the candle in her hand. It barely illuminated her arm, let alone the cavernous dark. She shivered, remembering the cave-in at the other mine.

  The Promise was easily four or five times bigger than the little tunnel where'd she'd first met Michael. And a heck of a lot darker. Peering into blackness, she imagined she could see the light from the opening she knew was at the far end of the tunnel. The one leading to the tramway. Granted it wasn't much of an escape route—unless you counted the high-wire slalom—but it was better than being trapped in all this darkness.

  The candle-holder was interesting. A wrought iron affair, with a hook just below the candle, and a long pointed stake coming off of the hook. The stake allowed a miner to thrust the holder into the wall. The hook formed a handle for carrying or a convenient way to hang the candle from any protrusion. Efficient, if somewhat lacking in luminary capability.

  Michael was lighting candles in similar holders for himself and Owen. She looked back up the black hole they'd descended. The tail end of the rickety ladder was just visible. Again, she marveled at the courage and tenacity of nineteenth century miners.

  Owen and Michael had stopped a little way down the tunnel, conferring about something. She hurried to catch up.

  "…but without a level number, the directions could be for any one of six tunnels, and that's assuming Duncan got his directions right." Owen was saying, waving a hand in exasperation.

  "Calm down." Michael's voice was patient. "I'm pretty certain he was referring to this level. Most of the silver was found here and besides, it'd be quite a chore to lower all those bars down a shaft with a mucker's bucket."

  "Yes, but you're assuming Amos's hiding place was on this level." The Englishman's features looked sharper, almost sinister in the flickering light.

  "Well, basically, I'm assuming a hell of a lot. But all I know to do is start looking. Come on, Owen, have a little faith in my father." Michael patted the man on the back and turned to Cara. "How are you holding up?"

  She smiled at the concern in his voice. "Fine. I'm a little sore, but all in all, I'd say I'm up for a treasure hunt."

  He bent and pressed his lips lightly to hers. "That's my girl."

  It was absurd how such a simple phrase could bring so much joy. "Where do we start?"

  They'd been walking as they talked and now Michael came to a halt in front of a narrow fissure in the tunnel wall. "Here."

  "In there?" Cara was incredulous. "Nobody could squeeze through that."

  Owen held his candle closer to the opening. "The shadows make it look smaller than it is." Sure enough, the small crack enlarged as if by magic. It was still tiny by doorway standards, but it did look navigable—barely.

  "Are you sure this is the right tunnel?" She eyed the crack skeptically.

  "It's a drift actually, but I'm fairly certain this is the right one. Northwest tunnel three should be just up there." Michael motioned ahead with his candle.

  "How can you be sure?" Owen still sounded frustrated.

  "You forget that I helped to dig most of these tunnels. It's been awhile, but I still remember where most of them are."

  Owen nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Well, no time like the present, I always say." He started toward the fissure.

  "Wait." Owen stopped, turning back at the note of authority in Michael's voice. "I think it would be better if you let me go in there. It's a tight fit, but I'm used to it."

  "So you want us to just stand here and wait?" The idea obviously didn't excite Owen.

  It pleased Cara no end. She'd had about all the adventuring she could take. Frankly, she was beginning to think the silver wasn't worth all this effort.

  "Why don't you and Cara go on and check out the other tunnel? It's just up there." He met Cara's mutinous look and smiled. "It's a lot wider."

  "Right." Owen started off in the direction of the other tunnel, calling over his shoulder. "We'll meet back here."

  Cara held her ground. "If I have to go into one of these things, I'd rather go with you."

  Michael placed a hand on her shoulder. "This isn't an easy tunnel. It widens out pretty quickly, but the first fifty feet are narrow and low. If I remember right, there are places where you have to crawl."

  She shuddered, memories of the cave-in flashing in her head. "Well, if it's so tricky maybe you shouldn't go either."

  "I'm a prospector's brat, remember? I've been crawling around mines since I was a kid."

  "Well," she looked him up and down pointedly, "I'd say you're a little bigger now." He shot her an I'm-going-to-do-what-I-want-no-matter-what-you-say smile. So much for arguing. She blew out a breath. "All right. But I'm staying right here, in case you need me."

  He grinned, his mind already on the fissure. The man was actually enjoying himself. "I'll be back."

  "Yeah, you and Arnold Schwarzenegger," she mumbled. He looked at her blankly, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and disappeared into the crack. She stood for a minute waiting patiently. "Michael?" No answer. The rock seemed to absorb all sound. She turned back the way they had come. It was dark. Really dark. Looking the other way, she could just make out the light from Owen's candle.

  She glanced again at the fissure where Michael had disappeared, then turned her gaze up to the rocks above her. Several small stones broke free and clattered to the ground at her feet.

  She turned back toward the bobbing light heading down the tunnel, her mind made up.

  "Owen," she called. "Wait for me."

  "So how much farther back do you think this goes?" Cara peered into the darkness. Somehow, she'd wound up in the lead. Not exactly her first choice, but at least she wasn't alone.

  "I'm honestly not sure. I never spent much time at the mine. I was more the money man. Duncan w
as the spelunker. Mind your head. It gets low here."

  She ducked, wondering how he managed to warn her of the tunnel's obstacles when he'd just admitted he'd not spent much time here. She shrugged mentally, probably just amazing eyesight. "Do you think Michael's found anything?"

  "No, there hasn't been enough time. It's an incredibly narrow passageway. It will take him a while just to get into the wider part of the drift."

  Again, he seemed incredibly knowledgeable. She blew out a breath, her eyes searching for a glint of silver, even as her mind churned. She was over-reacting. She knew it. Amos Striker was dead. The worst was behind them. Still, she'd feel better when they'd found the damn stuff and were safely out of the mine.

  She'd never thought of herself as a claustrophobic, but she was beginning to change her mind. She stopped, holding her candle up. "I don't think this thing is ever going to end."

  "It's not much farther." His voice echoed out of the dark behind his candle.

  "I thought you'd never been here." Again, she felt the niggle of concern.

  "I haven't," he said quickly. "It's just that the tunnel is narrowing here."

  She looked up, holding her candle high. Sure enough, the rock walls were closer together and the ceiling was more rounded. Owen stabbed his candle-holder into a soft place in the wall, the glow illuminating a circle of stone. Cara tried to follow suit with hers, but had trouble pushing it into the rock.

  "Here, like this." Owen took it from her, and after examining the wall, shoved it into a muddy looking patch.

  The combined light almost made the cavern bearable. She thought she could just make out the back of the tunnel. "Now what?"

  Owen shrugged. "We search."

  Cara took a step towards the back wall, her eyes sweeping across the shadowy ground. "I'm not sure exactly what we're looking for."

  "A stack of silver bars. I imagine the crates have long since rotted away." His disembodied voice echoed across the emptiness as he stepped out of the light. "Each bar is marked with a rose."

  "That's right, I'd forgotten about the rose." She bent down to reach behind a fallen rock, her blood suddenly running cold. Only Rose and Duncan and Michael had known about the imprint. It had been a last minute addition. Owen hadn't known. Duncan had never told him.

  She slowly stood up, her heart pounding. "I'm not finding anything. Maybe it's not here."

  "We haven't searched all the way to the end of the tunnel. Let's keep looking." He was still out of range of the light, his voice echoing sinisterly. "Cara?"

  "I'm here, Owen, just not finding anything." She tried but couldn't keep the fear from her voice, the truth a blinding glimpse of the obvious. Owen Prescott wasn't a friend. He was the enemy.

  Michael struggled to move forward and keep his candle alight. It was slow going, but if he remembered correctly he was almost through the hard part. Of course he had to get out again, but he'd made it this far and he figured he could make it back. And with any luck at all, there'd be a pay-off at the end of the drift.

  He wasn't really a material man, but the thought of being able to provide a good life for Cara appealed to him. The silver would go a long way toward making Clune the kind of place she would be proud of. And maybe, if it was all it could be, she'd be content to stay here, in this time—with him.

  He pushed thoughts of Cara away and worked to inch a few feet farther along.

  "I'm afraid, my dear, we've run out of time."

  Owen seemed to materialize out of nothing, his voice trailing along the edge of Cara's ear, sending shivers up her spine. She jumped back holding a hand to her chest. "Owen, you startled me." He smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes. They reminded her of marbles, beautiful but lifeless. She took a step backwards. Something was very wrong.

  "I'm afraid I've made a serious blunder." He moved with a speed that amazed her, his hands closing around her throat. "I've let my secret slip, and you're entirely too clever to have missed it." She tried to struggle, but he was larger and his grip tightened, cutting off her oxygen. "I'm sorry, darling, it couldn't be avoided. She simply knows too much. Forgive me."

  Cara thought at first he was talking to her. But it came with sudden clarity that he wasn't. Her vision began to darken and she could no longer draw a breath. He was crazy, her beleaguered brain pounded out. Crazy. She reached inside for strength. Thinking of Michael, she twisted against the murderous hands, the movement allowing her a tiny breath.

  "Bitch." She had no idea who the word was meant for, and frankly she didn't care. Her time was running out. Her flailing arms hit something. Something cold, metallic. The candle-holder. Her fingers closed around it, even as bright points of light began to dance before her eyes. With a last burst of energy, she brought the iron stake down with all the force she could muster.

  Owen screamed, as the sharp metal glanced off of his cheek and dug into his shoulder. His grip loosened and she jerked free, thrusting the now-extinguished candle and holder in front of her, point out. It was deathly quiet. She stepped into the shadows, her eyes scanning the area for Owen. It was as if he had disappeared. She rocked from right foot to left foot, crouched in the dark, waiting.

  Suddenly a rock rattled in front of her.

  "Stay back." Her voice cracked as she spoke, coming out barely more than a whisper.

  "There's no escape, my dear. Michael can't hear you and I'm much stronger than you are. It may take time, but I'll find you. And when I do…" His voice trailed off, and she shivered at the implication of his words.

  She swallowed nervously, waiting. The other candle suddenly blew out and it was impenetrably dark. She had matches in her pocket, but any light now would only give away her position.

  She bit back a scream. Owen was right about one thing. Michael would never hear her. But Owen would. Owen would. She took another step, unsure now of whether she was going backward or forward. It was like the cave-in. Only this time, the cold darkness was embodied in flesh and blood. Owen. And he wanted to kill her.

  "Checkmate." A soft voice whispered in her ear just as a hand closed on her elbow. She swung blindly with the candle-holder and ran, maniacal laughter echoing after her. One minute she was on solid ground and the next she was falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole. She'd have closed her eyes, but it wouldn't have done any good.

  With a peculiar lurch, it almost seemed that her descent slowed, and then she crashed to the rocky floor wondering idly why a mine would smell like roses.

  31

  Michael squeezed the last few feet out of the fissure. He'd obviously been a lot smaller the last time he'd worked his way in there. He should have realized there'd be no way to easily get the silver in and out of that crack. Although, in a perverse kind of way, it's exactly what he would have expected his father to do.

  He wiped the dust from his hands on his jeans and looked around. The passage was dark. No sign of Cara and Owen. Maybe they'd had more luck. He set off in the direction they'd gone. If he remembered correctly, the north tunnel wasn't more than a few hundred feet ahead.

  He looked down at the length of iron in his hand. The candle was burning low. He stopped and reached into his pocket. Never one to take chances, he lit the new candle and pushed it onto the stub of the old one. The new wick flickered briefly in an unseen draft and then burned brightly, casting a cheerful glow on the cold damp walls as he passed. He wished it echoed his feelings, but he couldn't seem to shake the apprehension that settled over him like an icy blanket of snow.

  A scream broke the dark silence of the tunnel. A woman's scream.

  Cara.

  Michael willed his feet to run, to move, but his terrified brain refused to release the brakes. The sound died almost as quickly as it had begun. One minute sending shivers of dread down his spine, and the next gone, as if the dark had swallowed it. Despite the chill of the tunnel, sweat beaded out across his forehead. He wiped a hand across it, trying to make sense of what he'd heard.

  A light appeared in the tunnel, not fa
r from where he seemed to be permanently rooted to the spot. "Michael, is that you?" The light swung upward and he recognized the voice as Owen's.

  He tried to form a coherent sentence, but Cara's scream echoed over and over in his head. As the light began to move towards him, he finally found his voice. "Owen? What happened."

  "It's Cara," came the answering reply.

  His heart was beating so loudly it almost drowned out the words.

  "I'm afraid she's had a fall." Owen materialized out of the dark, sliding to a stop in front of him. Blood darkened a cut along the side of his face, and another darker stain spread across the shoulder of his shirt. More blood, Michael's brain assessed.

  "Is she…" He hesitated, afraid to finish the sentence.

  "I don't know. We were in northwest three and there was a bit of a cave-in. We fell backward and…" He paused, ineffectually dabbing at his blood stained face with his handkerchief. His eyes met Michael's and the look there made Michael's stomach contract in fear. "I'm sorry, my boy, I tried to grab her, but…" Owen's eyes were full of regret. Tragic regret.

  "Michael?"

  He spun around at the sound of his brother's voice. "Patrick? Is that you?" The light at the far end of the tunnel was faint, but his brother's voice carried through the tunnel as if he were only a few feet away.

  "Hang on, I'm coming. Is Owen with you?"

  The name came out with a strange emphasis and the hair on Michael's neck rose. "Yes, he's here." He glanced back at Owen, surprised to catch the tail end of a flinch. He tried to pull his brain into gear, but found that all he could think of was the sound of Cara's scream and the pain etched on Owen's face. He'd seen that look before, when Owen had come to tell them about his mother.

  "Michael?" Evidently the sound only carried one way. Patrick's light moved closer, bobbing up and down as though his brother was running.