A Fistful of Dust (15 page)

“You are making noise, and I’m not sure I would trust it in any circumstances.”

“It worked, though. They lowered our people down there on this.”

Down
there
was over the edge of a precipice. Only a few rocky outcrops could be seen on the other side. What sufficed for light here faded into nothingness a few feet down. The view was of a gaping maw.

“It took awhile for it to reach the base and for them to bring it back up.”

The captain pursed his lips. “I did not brain your guard sufficiently to keep him unconscious for long. When he comes to, as far as he will know you somehow slipped your bonds. They may not make too great an effort to locate a single man whom they believe may become lost in these caves. A rescue mission, however, would be a different thing. We need to move.”

“But…” How could they leave their people behind?

“We will return for them, I guarantee you.”

Chapter Eleven

“In Which Many Discover the Basis of Optimism”

1.

BY THE TIME Annabelle and Highmore stepped off the platform it was as witnesses to a tearful reunion.

Elizabeth seemed locked in an embrace that would never end. Every so often, she and a man would break free of the fierce hug to look into each other’s eyes. Tears of what Annabelle presumed were joy ran freely down Elizabeth’s face; her smile was a beam in the darkness.

A soft luminosity emanated from the walls, sufficient to see though not to dispel the gloom. The impression was of a rippling stone floor, with a jagged rock face on either side, leading in both directions into blackness.

As Henry at last took notice of the others, Highmore stepped up. They shook hands. The British. So formal. Annabelle thought of Arnaud’s reaction if this had been Nathaniel, and smiled.

“You came looking for me?” Henry looked from Joseph to Elizabeth and back again. “Both of you? But how… And who…?” He looked to Annabelle.

“Permit me to make introductions, and then you can tell us how you’ve endured.” Highmore’s glance up and down Henry’s frame did not go unnoticed. The man had no shoes. The edges of his clothes were frayed. Although Annabelle had never seen him before she guessed he had lost weight…and he had that same mad gleam in his eyes that she had enough sense to dislike.

“And what of Carstairs?” Elizabeth gasped out, clearly realising she had not enquired after the man.

“He’s alive. Hurt, but alive. And I can
show
you how we’ve survived.”

2.

“I’VE BEEN SUCH
an idiot,” Nathaniel said, echoing Folkard’s earlier words as the four men marched along, Notch scurrying at their heels. Now that there was no hope of immediately rescuing the others, and there was at least a good chance they were safe for now, Nathaniel had decided to take another look at the technology. Arnaud’s strongest desire was to rescue their comrades, and Folkard was far from convinced they would find the answers they needed at the base of the monolith.

He looked at the captain. “When you called me from my trance, it crossed my mind the edifice might have a defence mechanism.”

“One that interferes with our emotions? That might explain at least some of our reactions.”

“Yes, and I’m not prepared to dismiss that theory entirely, but I don’t think it’s the only possible cause.” Nathaniel flicked a glance at Whitlock who wasn’t privileged to all their knowledge. “You were the one to discover many of the secrets on Luna. You said you didn’t think there were coincidences. The Chaldrites and Drobates are depicted on the monolith and so is that other creature. The monolith has to be the font of knowledge for this place; it
has
to be. If we can understand it, maybe we can understand the purpose of the creatures that exist here. Maybe then we can find a way to…I don’t know, track it.”

“And be the bait? Even if we lure it, how will we communicate? How can it help us?” Folkard’s doubt was understandable.

They were going to think him mad. “If we cannot get to the others from above, we must tunnel through.”

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wish to enlist this…creature to tunnel through to the others for you?” Arnaud was looking at them as if they were out of their minds, and that was to say nothing of Whitlock’s expression.

“I know how it sounds.”

“
Non
, I do not think you do.”

“Yet it…feels right. Doctor Fontaine, Corporal Whitlock,” Folkard included the other man with a respectful nod. “I am aware Professor Stone has explained that on Luna I did some things I am not…proud of, but which I knew were right. I simply
knew
. I feel something like that is happening here, now, but to all of us. Why, I cannot say. Do any of you particularly disagree with Stone’s plan?” When neither man replied, either out of duty, politeness, or an inability to suggest anything better, Folkard said; “Stone, if we’re wrong…I don’t want you blaming yourself for the mistake. This is my decision. I’m the one responsible.”

“Thank you for that, Captain, but it’s my cross to bear.”

“
Non
.” Arnaud shook his head. “I agree with you, and the captain has taken our word. We three are all equally responsible.”

“I am in charge, and if I did not agree we would not be doing this. I have my doubts, but, Professor, I do not believe you would do anything to put Miss Annabelle in jeopardy, so either deep down you are sure, or you are being influenced. In neither case can I blame you. Still, I suggest we shelve the mutual condemnation party, sirs, until this fails.”

“It won’t fail,” Nathaniel said, facing ahead. “It mustn’t.”

3.

ALTHOUGH ANNABELLE FOUND
Henry Barnsdale-Stevens to be a thoroughly likeable chap, she had no reason to trust him. He had got himself into a bit of a scrap. So had she. So had they all. Nevertheless, she had not crossed the aether with nothing more than a gentleman’s gentleman for company to team up with a group of disreputable entrepreneurs. She could at last see what Joseph Highmore meant when he said Henry didn’t stop to think. Therefore, she found it quite difficult to put her faith in Henry as their guide when the gloom intensified and she found herself walking in darkness so pitch, it crossed her mind that this must be what it felt like to be buried alive. The cavern might be large but was essentially one vast coffin.

Refusing to panic, Annabelle soldiered on, wishing for George, or Nathaniel, even Arnaud or Folkard at her side. These people were all very well, but she wanted her dearest friends. The situation was too akin to a feeling she could recall of being a girl alone among savages. She had learned by experience how a tribe could be close knit, put the needs of their own group above the well-being of others, even to the point of ruthlessness.

She had thought herself above that, but now thinking of the others, wondering what had become of them, if she had to choose…

“How do you know where you are going?” Elizabeth’s voice cut through the sound of their breathing, the occasional cough, and the shuffle of their feet.

As well as Annabelle’s despondent thoughts.

She closed her eyes, her vision doing her little good anyway, and swallowed against the onset of tears. Phobos seemed to have given up tormenting her in one way and now appeared to want to assail her in others. She would not succumb. She would
not
.

“When you’ve been down here a long time, Elizabeth, your sight seems to adjust. Besides, I know the way.”

The way led out into a larger cavern where once again soft radiance issued from the walls.

“Carstairs, we have guests,” Henry called out to a man propped against one wall.

“Carstairs!” Elizabeth rushed to his side and knelt. Joseph approached more sedately.

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you, Miss. Sir.” Carstairs nodded to them in turn. His words were followed by a fit of coughing. “Or any of you; not down here. I’d rise if I could.” He shifted and winced. Highmore waved a hand.

“Do not your stress yourself. This place is hardly suited to the best of etiquette.”

Henry had already explained that Carstairs had broken an ankle, and while Miller had allowed one of his men to set it, they had abandoned both of them. Since then, Carstairs’ health had deteriorated. Annabelle didn’t like the sound of that cough; far too wet.

“Only decent thing that blighter has done,” Carstairs said, “giving me something for the pain. Of course, he caused the injury in the first place.”

“A guilty conscious, no doubt,” Elizabeth chimed in.

“Not sure the man has one,” Carstairs mumbled. “Probably his way of prolonging the inevitable. Begging your pardon, Miss; I think I would have given up long ago if it were not for my duty to Henry, and that it be against God.”

“Forgive my lapse. I will fetch some water and prepare…something of a meal.”

No one questioned Henry’s announcement of a water source. The men would hardly have been able to survive without it. “I’ll help.” Annabelle volunteered before she stopped to think. She bit at her lip and stared at Elizabeth, hoping her expression displayed her contrition. “That is…”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Let us both help.”

“I can fetch and carry,” Highmore offered.

“Let all four of us do so. My dear ladies, I would not presume to have you lugging water, but I would appreciate good company.”

4.

“THEY GAVE YOU
supplies?” Annabelle stared at the two buckets standing under the meagre flow of water that seemed to seep out of and run down the wall. The buckets collected the drips, but she could see it would take some time to fill each.

“They gave us buckets and blankets, a couple of cups. Not what I would call supplies, but it has served to keep us alive. We tried sleeping here at first.” Henry gestured to the surrounding area. “But the blankets grew sodden. At least the water seems clean. I was afraid we would grow sick on it, but having no choice…” He shrugged.

“You’ve done so well,” Elizabeth said, patently trying to buoy Henry’s optimism. Oddly, Annabelle had found a strange acceptance in the idea that she might expire; with it came a type of liberation. Whatever caused The Phobos Effect, Annabelle felt somewhat immune. She couldn’t see how their situation could worsen, and there was some freedom in that.

“I agree with Miss Elizabeth. Many a man would have succumbed by now.”

“Thank you, Joseph. It’s…difficult not to despair. When we heard the platform in use, we had hoped…” Henry laughed. “Foolish of us to think our captors would also choose to be our rescuers. Yet we cannot fathom why they have kept us alive if not for some purpose other than some cruel joke.”

Annabelle thought she had the answer. “I surmise they were uncertain, not much caring whether you lived or died, but open to the possibility that you might yet prove useful. And they may feel the same regarding our own incarceration.”

“Unfortunately, that makes sense, Annabelle,” Elizabeth said.

Annabelle nodded. “I propose we don’t give them the chance.”

“Escape, Miss Somerset?” Henry seemed aghast, as if she were leading Elizabeth astray.

“Indeed, and please, call me Annabelle.” She did her best not to look at Highmore as she made the offer.

Henry returned Annabelle’s smile. “It…does seem rather pointless to stand on ceremony down here. As for escape, do you think I’ve not tried to find a way out of this abyss?”

“I know you have. Begging your pardon, you’ve been one man hampered with an injured companion.”

“True. I’ve explored as far as I can, but I haven’t been able to leave Carstairs for more than a few hours. Carstairs is a royal pain in my seat, but he’s my pain, and I’d not leave him.”

“You’re no longer alone, Henry.” Smiling, Henry patted the hand Elizabeth placed on his arm.

“And we’ll work into getting everyone out of here,” Highmore declared.

Wishing she could feel as certain, Annabelle gave way to her tiredness, leaning back against the wall, starting with a gasp when something moved.

“Take no notice of those…Annabelle.” Henry was at once at her side. “They’re perfectly harmless. Reminds me of a sea spider, an arthropod often found in Mediterranean and Caribbean Seas, also the Antarctic or Arctic Oceans. None of the known species I’ve seen recorded look exactly like these, but they are decidedly similar. They’re plentiful here. Easy to catch. Taste pretty good, too.”

“Taste?” Annabelle stared at the creature now scuttling vertically up the wall. The shell was pink and white. Her mind flashed back to the meal the Chaldrites had provided.

“How do you cook them?” Elizabeth asked.

Henry looked at her. “I’m sorry, my dear. You don’t. They’re not bad. Tastes a little like chicken.”

Apparently, what Annabelle had already worked out made itself apparent to Elizabeth. Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped. Henry frowned.

“The Chaldrites gave us a meal of them.” Annabelle explained. “We didn’t realise we were eating them raw, although we should have worked out that the Chaldrites wouldn’t know how to cook.”

“Chaldrites?”

“The giant beetles.”

“Is that what they’re called? How did you…”

Clearly, Henry was eager to discover what else they had learned, but stopped when Highmore spoke.

“Try not to fret so, Elizabeth. They tasted quite good when we didn’t know.”

“I’ll well aware of that, Joseph. It just…came as a surprise.” Elizabeth placed a hand over her stomach.

“If you’re going to be ill…”

“I’m going to be no such thing. Brother, don’t fuss over me so. Please, carry one of these pails back to Carstairs. See if we can do anything more to make the poor man comfortable. We’ll follow with the other and…dinner.”

“As you wish.” Highmore, taking one of the buckets, walked away.

“He’s always fretted over me so.” Elizabeth complained. “Between him and Whitlock it can be stifling, and I’m unsure whether Whitlock isn’t even worse.”