by Paul Capon
“Excuse my interrupting,” said Ruth, who always interrupted, “but why couldn’t you just pretend you were a Cornelian and go out through the frontier post?”
“Because not even a Cornelian may leave Sutterranea without either an invitation from the Emperor or permission from the Vice-Emperor,” said Charles. “Marcia is a great favorite of the Emperor and has a standing invitation to go to Ridgefield whenever she pleases. That’s been a great help to us in making our plans.”
“I see,” said Ruth. “So what happened?”
“I think you’ll have to wait awhile for the rest,” said Charles, paddling furiously. “This is getting a bit tricky.”
They had come to a series of bends in the river, and in each of them the current tended to carry them toward the bank.
“When I call ‘starboard,’ ” said Charles, “I want Tom and Jane to paddle for dear life, and when I call ‘port’ I want Boyd and Ruth to paddle. O.K.?”
It was exhausting work, but they managed it without once scraping the bank, and, when the river straightened out again, Charles told them all to rest. He also rested, and for a while they drifted with the current, Charles using his paddle just enough to keep the dinghies straight.
They were a long way from the crater now, and the twilight was closing in fast. What light there was had taken on a violet tinge, and presently Charles pointed up and said, “Look — the roof!”
Through the mist and semidarkness they could vaguely see stalactites hanging down. They had come to the end of the Sutterranean world. This was where the roof came down to meet the land. Tom glanced over his shoulder. The crater was now no more than a haze of light in the northern distance.
“Keep her straight,” said Charles. “I want to get the lanterns out.”
He opened one of the sacks and brought out two battery-powered lanterns. He had the girls pass one back to Boyd and Tom, and the other he clipped to the bow of the forward dinghy. Its beam cut through the misty darkness to reveal a wall of rock towering up to meet the roof. They could see the mouth of a tunnel — like a black, inverted V — with the river flowing into it.
“Shall we switch our lantern on, too?” asked Boyd.
“Not just now,” said Charles. “That’s for emergencies.”
The river widened as it approached the tunnel, diminishing the force of the current, and the dinghies floated smoothly into the darkness. Charles adjusted the lantern, and they could see the straight, wide tunnel extending endlessly ahead of them. The roof, massed with slender, gleaming stalactites that sparkled like icicles in the lantern’s beam, was about forty feet above them.
“No waterfalls?” asked Ruth apprehensively.
“None, according to my information,” Charles told her. “To the best of my knowledge, this part of the journey will be fairly unexciting. Incidentally, you can ship your paddles and take it easy. You’ve worked hard, bless you, and I don’t think there’s any chance of our being followed now.”
“Are you going to tell us the rest of the story?” asked Jane.
“Yes, but first look in that sack by your foot, quite near the top, and you’ll see a bar of soap. Break the soap open, and you’ll find a wrist watch in a little leather bag.”
After a minute or so Jane announced that she’d found the watch. “Shall I wind it?” she asked.
“Please. And set the hands at twelve o’clock.”
“Twelve? How do you know it’s twelve?”
“I don’t, dear, but we have to start somewhere.”
“Has this tunnel ever been explored?” asked Ruth when Charles had strapped the watch on his wrist.
“Yes,” he said, “and that’s what I’m going to tell you about. Rather less than a year ago I had an amazing stroke of luck just when I had finally decided I hadn’t a chance of getting away from Sutterranea. In one of the rooms of the University building there was a collection of documents and drawings relating to irrigation. I had known they were there, but they seemed so dreary and technical that I had postponed examining them. Still, I knew that sooner or later I would have to go through them if my history of Sutterranea was to be a complete one, and in the end I screwed up enough resolution to tackle them.
“Almost at once I discovered a little leather-bound notebook filled with cramped handwriting and bearing, on its first page, the name Dirk Witte. He was the Dutchman I mentioned to you earlier, a brilliant engineer, an expert on irrigation, drainage and land reclamation, and he was invited to England in the reign of Charles the First to give advice on the draining of the Fens.
“At that time, Sutterranea was rapidly falling into decay and no one had the energy or the will to do anything about it. In particular the irrigation system, which had been devised by the earliest emperors, was breaking down, and more than half the slave population was employed solely in carting water from the Great Lake to the farms and the valley. The rivers had silted up, the dikes were choked and most of the aqueducts and canals had collapsed. The Emperor was as mad as a hatter, and one day he killed himself.
“The Emperor who followed was no great improvement, but his son was Cornelius the Dreamer. He was no sooner in power than things started to hum. He realized that the most important thing was to get the irrigation system working again. He had heard of Dirk Witte, so he invited him to Ridgefield Manor and promptly had him kidnapped.
“Well, Dirk Witte spent the rest of his life in Sutterranea, and the present irrigation system is almost entirely his work. Most of the documents I examined at the University building were by him and were very technical, but his little notebook was something different.
“For one thing it was in code, but it was a simple code, and it did not take us long to learn to read it. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the thrill as we spelled out the first paragraph letter by letter.
“It was in Latin, and it went something like this: ‘I, Dirk Witte, late a citizen of Haarlem and now a prisoner in the godless land of Sutterranea, and like to die there, being of a great age and much enfeebled, leave these notes to help and succor any poor unfortunate who finds himself in similar plight. For herein is set out the method by which a man may escape from the darkness of this sinful and idolatrous land into the grace and light of the Christian world.’
“Well, when Marcia and I had finished decoding Dirk’s notes, we found he was as good as his word — they gave the details of the escape route we’re taking now. It seems that Cornelius the Dreamer had always been curious about this river, and he decided Dirk should find its source. So when the main work on the irrigation system was finished, he had ordered Dirk to fit out an expedition and explore the river. Dirk was then over sixty but not daunted, and he built a flotilla of rafts and set out along the river with about fifty slaves and a dozen soldiers. In all he made three expeditions and traveled hundreds of miles farther than we shall have to travel. What we’re interested in is a certain river that flows into this one, and Dirk was quite sure it has its source in France.”
“How shall we know when we come to it?” asked Ruth.
“Dirk made that easy for us,” Charles assured her. “Apparently the river we’re on now flows on for nearly a hundred miles, then it turns at almost a right angle to the southwest, and there the other river joins it. The first time Dirk saw that river it was a raging torrent, and a great deal of flotsam was coming down, among other things an empty wine cask with a French name on it. Naturally Dirk was greatly excited, but he realized that, even if he did manage to get away from Sutterranea, he would still be faced by the problem of how to get a raft up that torrential river.”
“Then how will we manage?” asked Ruth.
“We shall walk,” Charles told her, then paused to allow her to recover from her amazement. “The point is that the second time Dirk saw the river, it had disappeared. The raging torrent had shrunk to a mere trickle, and with a few soldiers and slaves he made his way on foot almost to its source. They reached a place where the river disappeared under a rock, and
there they turned back with Dirk reflecting privately that, if a wine cask was able to come in that way, a man could surely crawl out. Various tests he made convinced him that, although the river is a torrent during the winter months, it is practically dry during the summer. Since this is June, we should be all right.”
“But what if it isn’t dry?” asked Jane.
That was a possibility Charles preferred not to think about, so he went on to tell the group of the preparations Marcia and he had made for his escape.
“It was an anxious period,” he said, “and altogether Marcia made six visits to the outside world on my behalf. She smuggled in this dinghy, the watch, the lanterns and everything. To say nothing of a hundred thousand French francs.”
“But what about Marcia?” asked Ruth. “Will she get away?”
“Oh, yes. She’ll probably be at Ridgefield before it’s discovered that we’ve escaped, but, even if she isn’t, I don’t think anyone will suspect that she had anything to do with it. After all, she’s a Cornelian, and Cornelians are above suspicion.”
“Why did you change your mind about us?” asked Tom. “Earlier you told us we wouldn’t be able to come with you.”
“Why, it was the news that Marcia brought back from the palace,” said Charles. “You see, the Vice-Emperor had come to a decision concerning you four. Marcia did all she could to make him alter it, but she might as well have tried to make this river flow backward. The fact is, he had decided to have all four of you die — accidentally, of course, and in full sight of the slaves. He was going to wait until the Saturnalia was well under way, then stage an accident that would be both spectacular and convincing. He didn’t have the details worked out when Marcia left, but his thoughts on the subject were ranging from a possible fire at the University to a misunderstanding between you and one of the caged lions they keep under the arena.”
Ruth shuddered, but she was not one to worry over disasters that weren’t going to happen, and also she was still concerned about Marcia. “Where’s she going to meet us?” she asked.
“In Paris,” said Charles. “She has a suite at the Hotel Edouard Sept, and that’s where we’re going. Of course, I haven’t the slightest idea in what part of France we’ll find ourselves, but at least we have plenty of money and can hire a car.”
“The French will think we’re very odd, wearing these clothes,” said Ruth. “We’ll tell them we’ve been to a fancy-dress ball! Charles, will we be able to telephone Mummy and Daddy from Paris?”
“Well, I’m hoping they’ll be at the Edouard Sept with Marcia,” said Charles. “She’s going to call them as soon as she gets out of Sutterranea, and put their minds at rest. What’s more, she’s going to contact Jane and Boyd’s father as well. So it should be quite a reunion.”
“Swell!” cried Boyd. “Say, more paddling, anyone?” The others fell in with his suggestion, and for the next two hours they worked like galley slaves. The monotony of the tunnel was almost enough to send them into a trance, but they were spurred on by the thought of their parents waiting in Paris, and they never slacked for a moment nor wasted breath in conversation. Every mile of the tunnel was exactly like the mile before it, and, if the river hadn’t been straight, it would have been easy to think they were going around and around in a circle.
Twenty-six hours later the idea that they were making no progress had become an obsession with Charles. Sleepless, haggard and unshaven, he began to feel that he was going out of his senses and was haunted by a conviction that they had passed the all-important junction with the other river. It was possible. All four youngsters were asleep, and he supposed he could have dozed off long enough to have passed the place where the river turned to the southwest.
He stopped paddling and let the dinghies drift. He was too tired to think clearly. Come what may, he would have to get some sleep, and he decided that if the southwest turn did not appear the next half hour, he would moor the dinghies and sleep while the others kept watch.
He glanced around at them tucked snugly into their sleeping bags, and he reflected that they had stood up well to this prolonged ordeal. The thought of making this horrifying journey alone was enough to unnerve him, and he was more glad of their company than he could say.
He gazed, heavy-eyed, into the darkness ahead. The battery in the lantern was weak, and he groped in one of the sacks until he found a new one.
As he unclipped the lantern and switched it off, he heard Ruth stir behind him and yawn.
“What’s happening?” she asked sleepily.
“Nothing. I’m just putting a new battery in the lantern.”
“Gosh, isn’t it black! No sign of the turning yet?”
“None, but it can’t be far now.”
“No, of course it can’t,” agreed Ruth. “I’ll bet you’re tired, Charles.”
“Well, yes. I could do with some sleep.”
He refixed the lantern to the front of the dinghy and adjusted its beam to shine over the dark water. Then he caught sight of something that made his heart leap with hope and excitement.
“Did you see that, Ruth?”
“No. What?”
“Look into the distance, and I’ll see if I can make the beam hit it again.”
He raised the light slightly and waved it in the tunnel’s darkness.
“Yes!” cried Ruth, trembling with excitement. “There’s a wall of rock ahead and it sort of sparkles.”
They grabbed their paddles and with a good deal of splashing set to work to beat the speed record for dinghies.
“Wake up, Jane!” shouted Ruth. “Tom! Boyd! Wake up, everybody.”
From the second dinghy came Boyd’s voice. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“We think we’re there!” panted Ruth. “But don’t talk — paddle!”
Another minute and all five of them were paddling like demons. The wash from the dinghies slopped and splashed against the walls until the place roared with its echo. “Steady, kids!” shouted Charles above the din when they were within twenty yards of the wall. “Let’s slow up and see what we’re about.”
Without doubt they had arrived at the place described by Dirk Witte. The rock wall had a crystalline surface that sparkled like diamonds in the beams of the lanterns. At its foot the river made a sharp turn to the southwest, and to its left was a yawning cavern that Charles hoped was the other river.
He paddled cautiously. “Be ready to paddle like mad,” he told them. “The current may try to carry us around the corner.”
The crew carefully shifted their positions until all four could paddle on the starboard side, then sat poised, awaiting his order.
Presently they could see for certain that the cavern to the left was the place they were looking for. As the current started to carry them away from it, Charles yelled, “Now!” and all four plunged their paddles into the water, fighting the current while Charles steered into the cavern. There was a ledge of silt almost like a beach, and, as soon as the dinghies grounded, Charles leaped out and
dragged them farther ashore.
“Made it!” he cried, then helped the others out. He unclipped the lantern and explored the cavern with its beam. It contained the course of the second river all right, but now the river was no more than a swiftly running stream hardly a yard across. On both sides of it lay wide banks of silt, and it was here that the little party would have to walk.
Tom and Boyd were all for starting right away.
“Have a heart,” said Ruth. “Charles hasn’t had a moment’s sleep since we left Sutterranea.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jane. “All the time you two have been snoring like bullfrogs, he’s been paddling and keeping watch.”
Charles laughed and said, “I daresay I could cope without sleep, but according to Dirk Witte’s estimate, we have nearly a twenty-mile haul ahead of us, all uphill and probably soft and soggy underfoot. If we average two miles an hour, we’ll do well, so you can reckon on at least ten hours before we see daylight.”
“Then you are going to get some sleep first, aren’t you, Charles?” said Ruth.
“Yes, I am. And while I’m asleep, there are some things that you can be doing. You can unload the dinghies and pack a supply of crackers, chocolate and pop into five sacks, but, remember, we don’t want to carry an ounce more than we have to.” He took off his watch and handed it to Jane. “You take this, dear. Wake me, please, in two hours.”
The foursome, as they moved about in the light of the lantern, were in high spirits and told themselves over and over that in less than twelve hours they would be back in the world of people. They would see ordinary daylight, breathe ordinary air and best of all they would be reunited with their families.
Among the supplies they came across a pair of scissors, which Ruth grabbed with a whoop of joy. “Good!” she cried. “Now Jane and I can cut our ridiculous pallas to a sensible length. You boys just don’t know how lucky you are.
“Lucky?” exclaimed Tom. “Then you should be in my sandals. I think they were made for a horse. I got three blisters just walking from the University building to the mill.”
“Too big?” said Boyd. “Well, mine are so small they pinch. Let’s try swapping.”
They promptly exchanged sandals, then ran and jumped around to try them out. Each was sure he had benefited from the exchange. Now that they had finished unloading the dinghies, they decided to investigate the route they would be taking. Meanwhile the girls cut their dresses to a more suitable length. They had just finished when Charles stirred in his sleep and woke up.
“Oh, golly,” he mumbled. “We’re still in the tunnel. I’ve been dreaming we’d got out.”