Ross Lawhead (33 page)

Ecgbryt dipped his eyes and looked away. Swiðgar stroked his beard, and Freya moved a trembling hand across her hot face.

“We can still have it both ways, it's just that we can't know if this tunnel is right if we turn back now.”

Swiðgar gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he conceded, turning to the gnomes. “You are welcome to join us, but you are not bound.”

All of the tiny eyes stared, blinking. “Ah, yes,” said the chief nervously. “We would gladly join you, but if it's all the same . . . we won't. Still,” he said, trying to sound hearty. Raising his hands, he declared, “May your legs move merrily along your . . . what-you-may-call-it, and may your feet never want for . . . thingy. And all that. Right. Okay,” he said, turning. “Come along, lads.”

The gnomes turned quickly and bustled off back up the tunnel, carrying their lantern with them.

4

As the travelers resumed their journey in sullen silence, they soon noticed the texture of the walls change from a crumbly black surface to a soft, lumpy white one.

“It looks like chalk,” said Freya.

“Aye, so it is,” answered Swiðgar. This was the first exchange in some time, and it died in silence.

“What's happening up there?” Daniel asked. “Does the tunnel just end?”

“It might just be a turn or something,” Freya said.

Because of the white walls, the light cast by the lamps was brighter and went farther, but it still was only a few more steps until they saw that the tunnel did, in fact, come to a dead end.

“Well, that's that,” said Daniel under his breath. “Now we know.” He turned and tried to avoid Swiðgar's eye.

“Wait, look,” said Freya. “That edge up there. Look, there's something on the other side.”

“The girl's right,” Ecgbryt said, stepping towards what looked like a depression in the wall. Once his torch shone across it, however, it was revealed to be a hole large enough for him to put first his torch and then his head through it. Standing on his toes and pulling himself up with his free hand, he examined the opening for a moment before pulling himself out.

“It appears to lead to the floor of another chamber,” he reported. “I see a lot of walls and entrances. I think we should investigate it.”

Swiðgar said nothing but stood pulling at his beard doubtfully.

“Take a look for yourself at least,” Ecgbryt suggested.

Swiðgar stepped forward and examined the hole in the same way. “Very well,” he agreed reluctantly, “let one of us go first, and then the æðelingas.”

Ecgbryt was lofting his gear and weaponry through the hole before Swiðgar had even finished talking. With difficulty, and some widening of the chalk hole, Ecgbryt pushed through and was able to reach down to pull Daniel and Freya up as well.

Looking around, they saw that they were in the corner of what looked to be a grid-like construction of tunnels—or rather, one wide-open space that was supported by many thick columns of white rock.

“I believe this may be a mine. Much of the island is rich in good quality chalk such as this.”

Daniel considered. “A mine? But I thought that we were going through the Wild Caves—not anything made by men.”

Swiðgar nodded. “And so we have been until now. These caves were not made by Britons, though, but by the men of Rome, and possibly the Celts before them.”

“Still,” said Freya, “we can't be that far from the surface, can we?”

“We will have to see. But my fear is that we are straying from our true course.”

“So little faith have you, Swiðgar?” said Ecgbryt. “You must trust more to fortune—it has been on our side yet.”

Swiðgar's face went slightly dark and then cleared again.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “if you don't think it mocking fate, I would like to mark our exit.”

Ecgbryt shrugged and hoisted his pack. Using the butt of his spear to scrape into the soft stone, Swiðgar made large Xs on the walls above the hole. They gathered their things and started exploring the new tunnels.

They walked for some time but arrived nowhere. Each section of the tunnel was the same as the last, a short corridor leading to a perpendicular crossroads, always carved out of white, powdery rock. Eventually their path ended in a wall so they turned and walked along that for a while. When that ended after a short distance, so they went in another direction. Freya's eyes were starting to water from the dust clouding up from their steps and from the endless repetition.

Eventually they decided to stop at a crossroads and rest. The light from the torches did not reflect off any wall down either end, as far as they could see. Frustrated, they sat together, not saying a word or even looking at each other. Daniel finished massaging his feet and very carefully put his socks back on. He drank some water and lay back on the cold floor, willing his muscles to relax.

It was as he closed his eyes and let his mind drift that he felt something on the back of his head—a dull vibration that came from the ground: a kind of pounding and scraping.

He opened his eyes. None of the others were doing anything to create the strange sensation he was feeling. He strained his ears to listen, trying to separate sounds away from each other, then realised that he wasn't listening to one sound but to lots of the same sound. The feeling of dread swept over him.

“Everyone, quiet,” he whispered. “I think it's yfelgópes!”

All held their breath. Swiðgar and Ecgbryt stood, quietly drawing their weapons.

Soon they heard the sound of footsteps—many footsteps. A flickering light grew around them. Daniel stood up and took a few steps down the tunnel. He guessed what the source of the light was before he saw it—it was another lamp. In the deep blue glow they glimpsed a shape, which they quickly recognised.

More gnomes.

For a dizzy moment, Daniel thought that it might be the Gegan clan—whom they had somehow circled around to meet again. But the light of their own torches soon revealed a fatter, swarthier gnome with different clothes and hair. Daniel took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Hello,” he said and introduced himself.

“Halloo!”

“Hail, and well met!”

“Welcome!”

“Pleased ta meetcha.”

“Hello,” said the rotund figure at the head. “Our name is Ergan.”

“Greetings to you, friend gnome,” Swiðgar said, coming to stand beside Daniel.

The gnome gaped up at the knight—many times taller than he—and blinked rapidly.

“Are you—do you have two cousins?” asked Freya.

The gnome turned his eyes to her and seemed to ponder the question. There was a confused muttering behind him. “Yes, we believe we do. Gegan and Negan are kinsmen of mine. Have you met them?”

Ecgbryt snorted and nodded his head. “For all the good it's done us.”

“Yes,” said Freya, “we have.”

“They are silly folk,” said Ergan. “One of them won't go anywhere and the other tries to go everywhere at once. So they end up nowhere!”

“Yes!” said Daniel. “Exactly!”

“When really,” continued Ergan, obviously pleased at the reception he was getting, “it doesn't matter where you go, so long as you go
somewhere
.”

“Right,” said Daniel. “Exactly. Listen, we are searching for the entrance to the Slæpismere. Do you know where that is?”

“Oh . . . ,” said Ergan slowly. “I think we do. That is, we must do—we have walked these tunnels long enough! Let us see . . . Let us see . . . We shall consult the maps. Bring the maps!”

There was a chorus of “bring the maps!” and after some bustling, several bundles of scrolled-up parchment were produced.

The lamp was turned up to give enough light to read by, and the four travelers could see that they were now in the company of a much more sophisticated type of gnome. These seemed much more prepared than any of the others. Some of them were wearing metal helmets and had coils of rope across their shoulders. There was a call for more light and candles were produced.

“At last!” said Ecgbryt excitedly. “We can move onwards!”

“I thought that we
were
moving onwards, broðor,” Swiðgar jibed.

Ecgbryt glowered. “For lack of a leader,” he said, “we were simply moving—or drifting, rather. Rudderless, directionless.”

“So, you disregard my advice and claim that you had no direction?” Swiðgar charged, his voice rising.

Ecgbryt batted the question away with a flip of his hand. “Bah, he is starting to sound like Ealdstan,” he muttered to himself, bending over the maps that the gnomes were spreading out.

Swiðgar's teeth clenched. He folded his arms across his chest and turned away.

“Ah, here we are,” announced Ergan. “We haven't come across the Slæpismere yet, but we know several places where it
could
be.”

“Show us,” said Ecgbryt, bending over.

“Show him,” commanded Ergan with a signal. Instantly, four gnomes sprang forward and pointed fingers at different points on several of the scrolls that had been unrolled before them. “The lowest points of the tunnel we've found are here, here, and here,” he explained. “Found on maps 27-12, 18-39, and 111-3e7. However, none of those tunnels diverge and at no point are any of the tunnels crossed by any streams or tributaries.”

Ergan paused as Swiðgar and Freya joined them to look over the mapwork. “However,” the gnome chief continued, “however— ah, do you know in which direction this Slæpismere lies?”

Swiðgar shook his head.

“Pity,” said Ergan. “Because that would have helped us narrow it down. You see, there are, as yet, at least one hundred and thirty-four unexplored branches and divergences.” All of the rest of the gnomes reached into their satchels, pulled out unrolled maps, and waved them in the air.

Swiðgar sighed and removed his helmet. Daniel and Freya watched him run a hand several times across his head.

“This is what you do?” Swiðgar asked. “You search through the tunnels and make maps of them?”

All of the gnomes' heads began nodding furiously. “Yes,” said Ergan proudly. “That is what we do.”

“How long have you been doing this?” asked Freya.

Every shoulder of every gnome shrugged once; Ergan shrugged too. “Years and years. Maybe a hundred. Since I was this high.” He placed his hand at his waist, roughly twelve inches from the ground.

“And not once have you discovered the Slæpismere, or imagined where it might lie?”

Ergan shook his head. “No, we can't say that we have.”

“What have you discovered?”

“Tunnels!” squealed Ergan delightedly. Several gnomes behind him echoed the word in a happy fashion. “Lots and lots of glorious tunnels! Every one of them a marvel. Don't you find them simply fantastic? How many people have wandered these tunnels over the years? Who made them? What stories do they have to tell? Why, when we think of how much there still is to do, it makes our hearts ache. So much to look forward to, and so much that we may not live to see. Still, at least future generations will be able to enjoy the benefits of our work and go wherever they want, whenever they want. You—do you not think that grand?”

Ergan faltered when he realised that the look on the companions' harrowed faces was anger dangerously mixed with a little fear.

“What?” squeaked Ergan. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I think I understand,” said Ecgbryt calmly, drawing his axe.

“Hold by, gnome. I am a master axeman and this will be done quickly . . .” He took a couple steps towards the small figure.

“What are you going to do?” asked Freya.

“Since we cannot coax the direction we need from them, I am going to peel the chief's skin back and see if it lies inside of him.

And if not him, then I'll try the next. I'll unravel every last one of them, if I have to. Unpleasant work, certainly, but I am resolved to it.”

The gnomes' faces blanched in terror, their eyes staring from their round heads. There were many confused cries and shouts.

A dozen hands were placed on Ergan and with a chorus of voices yelling,
“Save the chief!”
they fled back down the tunnel. The light from their lantern bobbed in the darkness when they could be seen no longer, and then it too disappeared.

Ecgbryt was laughing as he sheathed his sword.

“That was mean,” said Freya.

“And pointless,” said Swiðgar.

“But hilarious!” exploded Daniel.

“Aye, the boy has me,” said Ecgbryt. “It was all for the look on their funny little faces.”

“But now we are worse off than before,” said Swiðgar gravely.

Ecgbryt shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“No, we aren't worse off,” said Daniel. “In fact, we're better. All those gnomes were just confusing us, and I think they were meant to. What if
this
is a trap of some kind? We're probably meant to wander around forever and become just as confused as those gnomes. We have to go back to the big cavern—I think there's something we've missed.”