The End of the Tunnel

by Paul Capon

  The litter gave a violent lurch in starting, but before it had gone many yards the movement became rhythmic, and the foursome began to enjoy themselves. The soldier walked at the side of the litter, and his round face shone with pride as his charges pointed out to one another the various sights of the valley into which they were descending.

  An unexpected sound distracted their attention. The air was throbbing with the noise of an engine, and the children looked up to see a helicopter come swooping over the hills. It chugged purposefully across the valley, hovered above a palatial building at the far end of the avenue of sphinxes and landed behind it.

  They were speechless with amazement, and Tom was the first to find his voice.

  “I give up!” he said. “Helicopters and donkey litters. Telephones. Swords. Typewriters. Shields. The whole thing’s crazy.”

  “Sure is,” agreed Boyd. “Still, there’s this about it — if we can persuade them to fly us back, we can be home a lot sooner that we thought. Why, we might even be at White Gates for tea!”

  Jane looked doubtful. “They can’t fly it up the tunnel, can they?”

  “I guess not, but we don’t know how long the tunnel is.” He paused to make a mental calculation, then went on, “The way I figure it, the tunnel can’t be less than fifty miles long or more than three hundred. And, if we have to do only fifty miles by train, we could be back at White Gates for tea.”

  His optimism infected the others, and they were all feeling lighthearted by the time they reached the foot of the path and set out to cross the valley.

  There were not many people about, but those who were differed greatly from any the four had seen. Evidently the valley was the preserve of the rich and leisured, and hardly anyone seemed to have anything to do except stroll and converse with their companions. Both men and women were colorfully dressed — the men wore almost as much jewelry as the women — but here and there were grave, official-looking men in plain, white robes that resembled togas. For the rest, the men wore embroidered kilts, silk shirts with full sleeves and lightweight cloaks; and the women, flowing garments rather like Indian saris; but there was too much variety for any generalization to be possible.

  “Oh, look,” said Ruth. “We’re turning into the sphinxes’ avenue. Do you think they’re taking us to that enormous palace?”

  “They must be,” said Jane. “I guess we’ll meet their president or king or whatever he is.”

  Now that they had a front view of the palace, they found it even more imposing than they had realized. Corinthian in style and rectangular in shape, it dominated the valley; its most striking features were its huge, columned portico and the wide flight of steps leading up to it.

  “That’s where we’re going all right,” said Boyd. “Tom, you can speak Latin. Ask the guide if that’s where their king lives.”

  Tom looked highly embarrassed, but he caught the soldier’s attention and pointed to the palace. ‘Rex?” he asked.

  The soldier understood perfectly and laughed. “Ni redz,” he said. “Im pahrt ed vekay impahrt.”

  “What does he say?” asked Jane eagerly.

  “Half a minute. I’m trying to work it out. Oh, I’ve got it. I asked him if that’s where the king lives, and he said, ‘No king. Emperor and vice-emperor.’ “

  “An emperor!” Jane gasped. “Just imagine meeting an emperor!”

  “We’re certainly going places,” said Ruth. “When we had our meeting in the summerhouse, it never occurred to us that all this would happen, did it?”

  “Now that’s a question that hardly needs answering,” remarked Tom, teasing her. “Hello! A chap’s just come out of the palace. Wearing a toga, too.”

  The man in the toga was young, but his expression was serious and his bearing, dignified. He walked slowly down the steps, judging his pace so that he reached the bottom just as the visitors arrived.

  He exchanged a few words with the soldier, then gazed at the foursome with a little disdain in his expression. This perhaps was not surprising. The group had washed their hands and faces at the frontier post, but even had their jeans and T-shirts been clean and tidy, which they were not, they would hardly have been properly dressed for an audience with an emperor.

  Ruth favored the young man with a grin. “How do you do?” she asked. She was astounded to have the young man ask her the same question in faultless English.

  “I gather that you’re from England,” he went on. “May I ask how you came to be here?”

  “By accident,” said Ruth. “We were exploring some caves near Orleigh when we found your little railway. We crawled into a gondola to keep warm, fell asleep, and, when we woke up, here we were! Now, please, we want to get home as quickly as we can.”

  The young man in the toga did not reply, but gestured to the soldier to help them out of the litter. As soon as they were on their feet, he told them brusquely to follow him and started up the steps at a good pace.

  “Oh, just a minute,” said Ruth. “We’ve got to get our rucksacks.”

  The young man stopped impatiently. “The soldier will take charge of them,” he said. “Now, do please hurry. You’re keeping a very important person waiting.”

  He started briskly up the steps again, and the foursome followed as slowly as they dared.

  “Don’t upset him any more,” Tom said to Ruth. “Remember, we want to borrow their helicopter.”

  “He’s so bossy!” Ruth complained. “I can’t stand bossy people. ‘Specially when they wear togas.”

  Her enemy was waiting on the top step, impatiently tapping a sandaled foot. His face was a study in controlled fury. He descended a few steps. “It may interest you to know,” he said through set teeth, “that you are about to meet the Vice-Emperor.”

  “Oh,” said Ruth flatly, trying to look unimpressed. “What’s he Vice-Emperor of?”

  “Of the whole land of Sutterranea!” snapped the young man. “Moreover, in succession to his father, he is guardian of our Roman ideals, our Roman virtues and our Roman way of life.”

  “His father’s the Emperor, is he?”

  “Exactly. Now will you please waste no more time.”

  He waited for them to overtake him, then shooed them into the great building as if they were a brood of unruly chicks. They found themselves in an immense hall, or atrium, open to the sky — or at least to the banks of white clouds that served Sutterranea for a sky.

  The hall was grandly proportioned with enough pillars to support a mountain, and on pedestals between the pillars were the busts of great Romans. These monuments were trivial compared to the one that stood in the center of the hall. It was a full-length statue of a grim-faced, hawk-nosed man, about three times life-size. Its black marble pedestal was inscribed with one gilded name: CORNELIUS. Fountains played about its base, spilling into an ornamental pool bright with goldfish.

  Boyd glanced at Tom. “Who was he?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I don’t know. There is a Cornelius mentioned in the Bible, but it can hardly be he.”

  As the little party approached the statue, the young man bowed deeply to it, then turned to his charges. “Wait here,” he commanded, “and try to behave. You tread very holy ground.”

  “What a stuffed shirt,” mumbled Ruth, making a face at his retreating figure. “If he hadn’t been so bossy, we wouldn’t have been any trouble.”

  “I hope the Vice-Emperor isn’t so fussy as he is,” remarked Jane.

  The foursome waited only a short while before the young man reappeared and beckoned to them. “His Imperial Majesty has graciously consented to see you right away,” he told them as they accompanied him along a spacious corridor. “It is customary to bow to him on greeting and leaving him, and you should avoid turning your backs to him. Of course, you will not speak except when you are spoken to.”

  “Does he speak English?” asked Boyd.

  “Extremely well.”

  “Do we have to call him ‘Your Imperial Majesty’ all the time?”
inquired Ruth. “It’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

  “I advise you either to say it, or to keep your mouth shut,” said their escort grimly. “In Sutterranea you do as the Romans do, or take the consequences!”

  They had arrived at imposing double doors guarded by two soldiers in resplendent uniforms, and the young man spoke briefly to the senior guard. At once the huge doors were opened, and the young man ushered the visitors into the room beyond. He left them, closing the doors behind him.

  The room was enormous. Standing by one of the windows and looking at them quizzically was a short, plump, pink-faced man wearing an ordinary gray suit. He looked like a businessman.

  Ruth was the first to recover the power of speech. “Excuse us,” she stammered, “b-but we’re supposed to meet the Vice-Emperor.”

  The pink-faced man, half smiling, advanced toward them. “Yes?” he said in a rather reedy voice. “I am the Vice-Emperor. And you, of course, are the four youngsters who — ”

  He stopped speaking as the explorers attempted to bow. It was a ragged effort, but the Vice-Emperor seemed satisfied with it as well as amused by their awkwardness.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, inclining his head slightly. “I was about to say, you must be the four youngsters who arrived in Sutterranea this morning by accident.”

  It suddenly occurred to Tom that he had seen the Vice-Emperor before — twice, in fact. The previous winter he had seen him watching the Ridgefield Steeplechase, and the summer before that he had seen him playing in the men’s singles at the Stowbridge Tennis Tournament. He had reached the third round, if Tom remembered correctly.

  The Vice-Emperor of Sutterranea was none other than Philip Cornel, eldest son of Squire Cornel of Ridgefield Manor.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Vice-Emperor did not seem nearly so formal or so formidable as the young man in the toga had implied he would be, and after telling the visitors to sit down and make themselves at home he asked if they would care for anything to drink.

  “Ginger beer?” he suggested. “Lemonade? Coca-cola?”

  “I’d like a Coke, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Boyd.

  “I would too, please, Your Imperial Majesty,” Jane told him.

  “If it’s all right with you, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Ruth, “my brother and I would rather have lemonade.”

  The Vice-Emperor put his head back and laughed loudly. “ ‘Your Imperial Majesty’ is quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”

  “That’s just what I said to the man in the toga,” Ruth informed him, “but he told me I had to say ‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ or not speak at all. You know, I think he’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud.”

  Still laughing, the Vice-Emperor picked up the telephone and ordered what they wished.

  “Now tell me about your adventure,” he said. “Exactly how did you find your way here?”

  It fell to Tom to explain the events of the last twenty-four hours. While he was talking, he noticed that the Vice-Emperor, alone of all the people they had met, wore a wrist watch. As befitted a vice-emperor, it was a very ornate watch, cased in gold and diamond studded, and Tom’s curiosity became more intense than ever.

  When in his narrative he came to Yoaf, he gave the little episode special emphasis. “What was so funny, sir,” he said, “was the effect our wrist watches had on Yoaf. He seemed to think they were magic or something.”

  Tom paused to give the Vice-Emperor a chance to comment, but he only nodded and said, “Go on.”

  The rest of the story was told in a few words, and by then the lemonade and Coca-Cola had arrived. While the footman handed the glasses round, the Vice-Emperor asked the four what they thought they should do next. “For instance, would you care to stay in Sutterranea for a while?” he asked.

  For a few minutes there was an embarrassed silence, then Ruth said, “We’d love to, but the trouble is, our parents must be worried sick by now. We’ve been wondering if perhaps you could . . . well, we thought perhaps you would lend us a helicopter so we could get home quickly.”

  “Ah, the helicopter,” murmured the Vice-Emperor with a pleased smile. “My latest toy. You saw it as you were coming into the valley, did you?”

  “Yes,” said Ruth. “If you lent it to us, we could be home practically by teatime, couldn’t we?”

  “Why, yes, I expect you could,” replied the Vice-Emperor thoughtfully, rubbing his plump little chin. “I must see what we can arrange. Look, while I’m organizing matters, would you care to take a flight over our country in the helicopter? Just for an hour or so?”

  “Swell idea!” said Boyd enthusiastically.

  The Vice-Emperor, smiling kindly, put his hand out for the telephone. However, it rang just then, and he took the call. The message was short, and, hanging up, he glanced at the children. “The Lady Marcia is going to look in,” he told them. “She wants to meet you, and I think you’ll like her.”

  As he lifted the telephone again to order the helicopter, the double doors swung open, and the most beautiful girl the four had ever seen came in. She had smooth blond hair, dark eyes and a lovely complexion. She was dressed simply in a pale-green palla — a long, flowing, tunic-like garment — which set off her beauty to perfection.

  The Vice-Emperor interrupted his telephone conversation to speak briefly to the Lady Marcia in dialect. He obviously mentioned the visitors, for the girl glanced at them. Tom fancied he saw a momentary look of anxiety in her eyes. Then she smiled, and he decided he was mistaken. Her smile was so warm and friendly it was impossible not to be reassured by it.

  “I’m Marcia,” she told them. “Tell me your names.”

  They did so, and she greeted them one by one, “Hello, Ruth . . . hello, Boyd . . . hello, Tom . . . and hello, Jane.” To Jane she said, “My what a pretty brooch. Is it gold?”

  “I think so,” said Jane blushing. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t really mine. I found it on the way here.”

  “It’s charming, isn’t it?” The Lady Marcia put her hand on Jane’s shoulder and glanced toward the window. “Let me see it in the light.”

  “I’ll take it off,” Jane offered hastily.

  “No, no, don’t. It looks so nice against the blue of your shirt.”

  Jane went shyly with her to the window, and together they admired the brooch. Then to Jane’s astonishment the Lady Marcia spoke to her in a whisper so low that no one else could hear her, “Listen, dear — whatever happens, don’t give up hope! Tell the others.”

  Jane swallowed hard. “I don’t understand.”

  Behind them they heard the Vice-Emperor hang up the telephone, and the Lady Marcia said loudly, “It really is most attractive, Jane. It will be a souvenir of your adventure, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” Jane replied weakly and managed a smile.

  The great double doors opened again, this time to admit the young man in the toga, who came in bowing deeply.

  “Here’s your escort, children,” said the Vice-Emperor. “He’ll take you to the helicopter. Enjoy yourselves and I’ll see you presently.”

  “Thanks very much, sir,” said Ruth, and, as the young man winced, she turned to him with a sweet smile. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “The Vice-Emperor told me I needn’t call him ‘Your Imperial Majesty.’ So there!”

  As they left the room, Jane glanced anxiously at Marcia, hoping for a further sign, but Marcia was chatting with the Vice-Emperor and did not notice. What had her urgent message meant? “Whatever happens, don’t give up hope! Tell the others.”

  None of the four had ever flown in a helicopter, and they were in a state of excitement as they followed the young man to the field where the helicopter had landed. Only Jane was somewhat preoccupied; for the time being she had to keep her problem to herself.

  The pilot of the helicopter had the face and build of a Roman centurion, but he had complicated his appearance with an absolutely enormous mustache. Clearly he was proud of the extraordinary mustache, and he caressed it lovi
ngly while the togaed young man introduced him to the visitors and explained what was required of him.

  “Good!” he said in reply. “A general survey of the local beauty spots and cultural monuments — that’s the route, is it? Jolly good show. All aboard, chicks, for Uncle Julius’ mystery tour of Sutterranea!”

  Julius was obviously a cheerful and lighthearted man. The foursome felt that he made a pleasant change from the togaed young man, who, it seemed, was not coming with them.

  The helicopter was a six-seater, and Jane’s hopes of sitting next to her brother to tell him of Marcia’s strange message were dashed when Tom said, “I think Boyd should sit next to the pilot. He’s mechanically minded.”

  “Swell!” exclaimed Boyd, and Jane found herself sitting with Ruth at the back with Tom in one of the two seats just in front of them.

  “Listen, Ruthie,” she whispered. “There’s something terribly important I . . .”

  Her voice was drowned by the roar of the helicopter’s engine, and then all hope of gaining Ruth’s attention vanished — Ruth was too excited, and Jane knew she would have to nurse her secret a little longer.

  The helicopter’s engine coughed a couple of times, then settled down to a steady, low-pitched drone. The machine trembled, then rose from the ground as gently as if it were a soap bubble rising on a puff of wind. Looking down, the children saw the man in the toga slide away at an angle, then the imperial palace came into view and dwindled rapidly, and a moment later they saw the whole valley spread beneath them like a jeweled and gaily colored fabric.

  The pilot spoke over the intercom. “I’ll take you up to see the roof first,” he told them. “I think you’ll find it a little bit impressive.”

  “The roof!” Jane gasped. “Gee, I’d almost forgot we were still underground. Why, yes — there must be a roof somewhere!”

  The pilot was telling Boyd that he, himself, had not seen the roof until recently. “We spend practically our whole lives under it, yet never see it. I would never have seen it except the V-E decided to get this handy little gadget.”