by S. E. Grove
Calixta began shouting at once, and Burr added his voice to hers, hollering up to the distant edge of the pit. After a moment, Theo joined them, putting two fingers in his mouth to emit a piercing whistle.
“How fast is it rising?” Shadrack asked, his voice tight.
“I predict that it will arrive like an underground tidal wave,” Martin said. “Probably it will be over in minutes. The water will recede again, but not before it has flooded the pit.”
“Will the shards come loose?” Veressa asked anxiously, looking at the studded walls.
“The soil is only a few inches thick. It depends on whether the shards are lodged in the soil or in the rock beneath it.”
“You mean the shards might—”
“Burst out from the wall in a torrent of water,” Martin said grimly. “Yes.”
Suddenly the wall nearest to them grumbled, and with a brief clatter a knot of soil and stones and glass shards was spat out onto the ground. The flood rushed into the pit after it, and within seconds they were ankle-deep in cold water. For a moment they all stopped shouting and stared, aghast, at the rising water around them. Then Calixta took a deep breath and released a high-pitched scream that the others echoed, redoubling their efforts to alert the guards.
Martin observed the wall with trepidation. “Better this way. Releases the pressure. Might prevent a greater breach. This is good,” he said over the shouting, trying to make himself heard.
No guard had yet appeared, and the water had reached their knees. Shadrack noticed with alarm that some of the smaller glass shards had come loose from the walls and were swirling—harmlessly, as yet—through the rising water. He began to feel his throat growing hoarse.
“How can they not hear us?” Veressa asked, exasperated, her voice cracking.
“What if I wear the gauntlets to cover my hands,” Theo said raggedly “and climb up on the shards?”
Burr turned to him. “I already thought about that. I doubt you’d get cut, with your boots and the gauntlets. But the problem is the glass—no single piece is thick enough to hold your weight. You would fall before climbing three feet.”
“What if you get on Shadrack’s shoulders and I get on yours? And then I jump out?”
“It won’t work,” Shadrack said. “Think about it—by my estimate that would put your head just at the edge of the pit. Even if we can pull off an extraordinary balancing act, how would you get to the edge without crushing yourself against the shards?”
“Stop planning and shout, will you?” snapped Calixta. “Once the water is high enough—and that will be soon, since it’s already at my waist—then we’ll stick to the center and float to the top. Shark circle.”
“You’re right,” Burr said at once. Seeing Theo’s confusion, he explained: “Something we learned once after a nasty shark ate our rowboat. We make a circle, arms linked, tread water.”
“That’s our best chance,” Shadrack agreed. They all resumed shouting at the top of their lungs, but he knew the water would rise over their heads before anyone arrived.
Minutes later, Veressa, Calixta and Theo were forced to start treading water. “Okay, shark circle now,” Burr said, pulling them in. “Right arm over, left arm under.” He put his right arm under Martin’s shoulder and his left arm over Veressa’s. “Ow. Except for Veressa. Those thorns are very pretty but dashed sharp.” He tucked his left arm under Veressa. With Calixta, Theo, and Shadrack they formed a tight circle. “If we start drifting toward a wall, Calixta and I will kick us in the other direction.”
Martin and then Burr and finally Shadrack, who was tallest, began treading water. There was no more shouting. The pirates managed without difficulty, but the others, who had not spent years on the sea, were soon out of breath and weary.
“Cheer up, crew,” Burr said with a grin. “Could be much worse. There aren’t actually any sharks. And soon we’ll be out of this damn pit.”
“Thanks to the water,” Calixta said, grinning back. “Couldn’t have planned a better escape if we’d tried.”
The others smiled weakly. Minutes passed. Shadrack kept his eye on the wall and estimated the shortening distance to the pit’s edge. The water had risen halfway up the wall when Martin suddenly dropped his head. “I can’t kick any longer—this metal leg,” he gasped. “It’s like carrying an anchor.”
“All right then,” Burr said easily. “Shadrack and I have got you—take a rest. Bend your other knee and rest the metal leg on it.”
Martin did so and sighed with relief. “I’m sorry,” he managed.
Silently, the others went on treading water. “Won’t you sing us something, Calixta?” Burr asked. “It would help us pass the time.”
“If you’d done half as much shouting as I’d done,” Calixta retorted, “you wouldn’t have the breath to ask.”
As Shadrack felt his legs growing numb from the cold water and the repetitive kicking, he realized that they were only a few feet from the top of the pit. He raised his eyes. “They’re here,” he panted.
The three men were looking down into the pit with astonishment.
“Don’t just stand there,” Veressa said wearily. “Get us out.”
“I never thought I’d be so glad to see the Nochtland guard,” croaked Theo.
33
The Nighting Vine
1891, July 1: 3-Hour 12
The wails of pain and the gasping cries
Left me speechless, mindless, dumb.
After so many years of hearing her song
I grew hardened and strong and numb.
The sound I feared and the grief I fled
eclipsed my life’s whole meaning.
And now I want only to hear it again
To recall when I yet had feeling.
—“The Lachrima’s Lament,” Verse 2
WHEN THE GUARDS led Sophia back to the dungeon, she found to her surprise that the prisoners were no longer in the pit. They sat huddled around one of the clay-pot fires that dotted the floor. The men withdrew without a word, locking the heavy door. Only when Shadrack put his arms around her did Sophia realize that they were all soaking wet. Veressa and Martin sat shivering with cold. Theo stood near the fire trying to dry his cape. Calixta was wretchedly shaking out her hair.
“Are you all right?” Shadrack asked her anxiously.
“What happened?” she asked in reply.
“The pit we were in flooded. It was a long time before the guards heard us calling,” Shadrack said ruefully. “But that doesn’t matter. Are you all right? What did she want?”
Sophia seemed hardly to hear him. “So now they’ve left you here? We’re alone?”
“Did you see Blanca?” he pressed. “What did she ask of you?”
“She wanted me to persuade you,” she said, not looking at him but scanning the enormous chamber, “to change the carta mayor.”
“Sophia,” Shadrack said, taking her by the shoulders, “what is it? Your mind is elsewhere—what are you looking for?”
“The entryway. When we first came in earlier, I saw it—there was an opening on the other side of the room. If they left us here—”
“It is not an exit,” Veressa said wearily. “It leads to the labyrinth—a maze of ruined passages. They only left us here because they know we would never go in. Father and I have been in the entrance to take soil samples. No one has gone beyond that point since the last court cartologer”—and here she paused— “vanished attempting to map it.”
“I knew it!” Sophia cried, to everyone’s surprise. She ran to the nearest wall, where the pale vines that grew in the corridor and lined the dungeon were faintly luminous in the firelight. “It’s here, Shadrack!” she burst out, unable to contain her excitement. “I saw it through the glass map when Blanca held it up. Before—when she first took it from my pack.”
Shadrack shook his head uncomprehendingly. “What is here, Soph? What do you mean?”
“I saw them through the Tracing Glass,” she said impatiently
. “These vines—they’re not just vines—they’re a map.”
At this, the wet prisoners still sitting by the fire rose and joined her at the wall. Shadrack examined the vines with amazement. “Are you sure?” he said slowly.
“I’m sure. Martin,” she asked, “do you know what kind of plant this is?”
He shook his head. “It has a popular name—Nighting Vine—but I have never been able to identify its origins. The vine is exceedingly rare and only grows underground.”
Veressa, standing beside Shadrack, examined the pale leaves critically. “It has no inscription, no legend of any kind. It may be the beginnings of a map, not yet full grown.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Shadrack said. “Or, if it is a map, then it is beyond my ability to read.” He let the vine drop and shook his head regretfully. “I would have no idea how to—”
“But it is not on the leaves,” Sophia cut in. “It is the whole plant. Look! Do you see how here there is one vine growing out of the floor, and against the far wall there is another? There, by the doorway, is a third. And all of them are identical!”
“Identical how?” Veressa asked, as she compared the three.
“The pattern of how they grow on the wall—the vines spread out in the exact same way, with the same twists and turns. Like a map,” Sophia triumphantly finished.
As she spoke, her listeners stood transfixed. The pale creeper, so delicate in appearance and yet so hardy in its growth against the dank stone, fanned out across the wall in hundreds of thin tendrils. The pattern was dense, making it hardly possible to determine whether they were truly similar, and yet if one followed a single route along the vine it became evident that the plants were, in fact, identical. “How on earth did you notice?” Veressa exclaimed, running her hand admiringly across the wall. “They are incredibly complex.”
Shadrack laughed with astonished delight. “It’s your artist’s eye, Soph,” he cried, taking her by the shoulders. “Your artist’s eye!” She smiled as he released her. And Theo, winking, caught Sophia’s eye and snapped his fingers into a little handgun of approval.
“And you think this is a map to the labyrinth?” Veressa asked, deferring to Sophia.
“Couldn’t it be? I don’t know how or why, but I think the maps to the labyrinth grow from the labyrinth itself.”
“Marvelous—just marvelous,” Martin whispered, lovingly tracing his finger along the winding vine.
“But where is the exit?” Veressa continued. “The vine leads to nothing but itself.”
“I can’t be sure,” Sophia admitted, “but look—look at these,” she said, pointing to three white flowers with fragile petals. “They grow away from the wall—upward. Don’t you think these might be three ways out of the labyrinth?”
The others regarded the nighting vine in silence. “It’s impossible to know for certain,” Shadrack said pensively, running a hand through his hair.
Sophia hurriedly retrieved her notebook. “If we can draw it,” she said, “then we’ll have a map to the labyrinth.”
“It will be a great risk.”
“Assuredly,” Veressa agreed, “but I see no better option. We have no other means of escape, and I doubt we have much time—perhaps a day.”
“It is far more satisfying an option than waiting here,” Burr put in, and Calixta nodded.
Shadrack took a deep breath. “Then we must hurry.”
—4-Hour 02: Drawing the Nighting Vine—
ALMOST AN HOUR later, Sophia, Veressa, and Shadrack were still drawing the nighting vine, each creating a copy in the hope that having duplicates would correct any discrepancies. Sophia’s eyes ached from concentrating in the poor firelight as she penciled in the last few lines and began checking the map. “You know,” she said softly to Theo, “you’d be pleased. I lied to Blanca. It was easy.”
Theo lay on his stomach and he turned to face her. “What did I tell you?” He smiled. “Comes in handy, doesn’t it?”
“I told her I’d try to persuade Shadrack to help her.”
He shook his head in mock dismay. “Next you’ll be lying to me. I’ll have to watch out from now on.”
Sophia laughed. She had checked her map twice; Veressa and Shadrack were still working. Setting her paper down on her pack, she closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees. She was dressed once again in her own clothes and her comfortable boots, having changed while Calixta held up her cloak like a screen. Theo had followed suit. They were the only two in dry clothes.
“Hey,” Theo said, holding up his bandaged hand. “Do you still have that sewing box? This is falling off.”
“I did keep it,” Sophia said, opening her eyes, “but it’s not here anymore.” She had found their clothing, spare bandages, Shadrack’s atlas, her pencils, and her notebook when she opened the pack Blanca had returned to her. But the sewing box was gone. “And it was so beautiful, too.” There was nothing she could use. Then something occurred to her, and she reached into her pocket for the spool of silver thread that Mrs. Clay had given her.
“Perfect,” Theo said when he saw it, holding out his hand.
As Sophia wound the silver thread over the bandage to hold it in place, her thoughts traveled elsewhere. There was no way of knowing whether she might see Mrs. Clay again, just as there was no way of Mrs. Clay’s knowing, when she gave Sophia the silver thread, that it would someday serve such an unlikely purpose. Is this what I was meant to use it for? she asked the Fates. No one knew what the Fates had planned; the future was truly inscrutable. As she tied the thread securely around Theo’s wrist, the thought gave her an unexpected surge of hope. Nothing is set in stone. The glaciers aren’t here yet.
Shadrack and Veressa had finished, and as they hastily compared their maps, Burr made two torches from pieces of his torn shirt affixed to foot-long shards of glass from the pit. “We must hurry,” Martin said anxiously, “before the guards return.”
“We are hurrying, Father.” Veressa looked at Sophia’s drawing of the nighting vine. “But we can’t afford to get lost; we must be certain of the maps before we set out.”
Burr handed a torch to Calixta. “This is the best we can do. We may burn through every scrap of our clothing before we make our way out.”
“Burn your own clothes,” Calixta muttered. “You’re certainly not burning mine.”
—4-Hour 17: Entering the Labyrinth—
AS A GROUP they passed, with faintly echoing footsteps, across the floor of the underground chamber. The fires flickered ominously, and smoke spiraled upward toward the blackened ceiling. When they reached the dark entryway at the far end, the cold air of the labyrinth reached out for them. They stood silently for a moment. “May we soon see daylight,” Veressa said, taking a deep breath.
She walked in front with her map, illuminated by Calixta’s torch, followed by Theo, Martin, and Sophia; Shadrack and Burr, with map and torch, brought up the rear. The muddy floor led to a long, straight passageway cut directly into the stone. It was clear that it had not been used in some time. Martin had to walk carefully to avoid slipping, and after a few steps he placed his hand on Theo’s shoulder to steady himself.
They reached a set of steps that led deeper underground. “Here is the first turn,” Veressa said as they reached the base of the steps, “you agree with me that we go left, Shadrack? Sophia?”
They had traced the simplest route through the labyrinth, and if Sophia’s theory was correct, then they had only to follow it to find their way out. The tunnel Veressa led them into was much narrower than the first, and the heavy stones on either side were cold to the touch. An atmosphere of chilled humidity replaced the smoky air of the prison cavern.
“This one is so much smaller,” Sophia said to Martin
“It’s what makes the tunnels so confusing,” he replied with effort. “The few soil samples I did take confirmed that they were made in many different Ages. There are various networks, some of which were deliberately integrated by human hands, oth
ers of which appear to connect entirely by chance. So, you see, it is a maze across many Ages.”
“How many?”
“No one knows. Maybe four, maybe four hundred. I myself have never been past the entryway.”
Step after step, tunnel after tunnel, they wormed their way through the dark labyrinth. It was almost as if they were walking in place—so much so that Sophia found time slipping away from her. She began counting her paces in order to keep track, and as she did, she felt mounting disbelief at how far the maze extended. As she reached two hundred and seventy paces, the air suddenly grew warmer, and someone at the front of the line exclaimed in surprise. “What have you found?” asked Shadrack.
“A crypt of some kind,” Veressa replied, waiting for the others to join her.
They had reached a low room whose stone floor was covered with indecipherable chiseled writing. The niches in the walls looked like shelves, and as Burr and Calixta held their torches aloft, Sophia saw bundles of crumbling cloth. “Burr!” Calixta exclaimed. A heavy sword lay over one of the bundles. She took it up at once and made an experimental pass. “Heavy, but perfectly effective. Thank you, friend,” Calixta murmured to the cloth bundle. Sophia gripped the silver thread in her pocket, thanking the Fates.
“There must be more.” Burr held his torch up to the other niches.
As they searched the crypt, Sophia heard a faint sound, like the distant rumble of footsteps. “Did anyone hear that?”
“Might be left over from the flash flood,” Martin said. “There will be a fair amount of readjustment going on underground.” At that moment, Burr found another sword. He eagerly claimed it, and they left the low chamber.
Beyond the crypt was a circular room with five arched entryways. Veressa checked her drawing and followed the second tunnel on the right into a narrow passage with rotting wooden floorboards. Sophia recommenced counting her steps as she watched Martin’s shoes before her. At the one hundred mark, she noticed the botanist furtively take his hand from his pocket and drop something.
“What are you doing, Martin?” Sophia asked quietly.