This Dark Endeavour (with Bonus Material) (18 page)

“The horses can take care of themselves,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll hobble them, and they can graze. I saw a creek just over there where they can drink.”

“I think you should stay with the horses,” said Konrad.

I smiled to myself, knowing what was coming.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she said indignantly. “Victor knows how capable I am.”

“I’ll vouch for it a hundred times over,” I said.

“I didn’t say you weren’t—” Konrad began.

“Then please don’t insult me by suggesting I shouldn’t come.
You
stay with the horses if you like.”

“I will stay with them,” said Henry, eyeing the cave opening
with some horror. “There is the small matter of my claustrophobia.”

I looked at Henry. “I didn’t know you suffered from that affliction as well.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Quite badly. In combination with my fear of heights and my general excess of imagination, it creates a veritable typhoon of fear.”

“A very nice turn of phrase,” said Elizabeth, filling her pack.

“Thank you,” said Henry. “In any event you’ll want someone out here in case you get lost and need rescuing. I brought some books to read.”

“An excellent idea,” I said, thumping him on the shoulder. “Write some poetry too while you wait.”

“Indeed,” he said, inspecting his pocket watch. “It is now nine in the morning. In order to reach the chateau before sundown, you will need to be back here no later than six o’clock.”

“Nine hours,” I said. “More than enough time for a stroll and a bit of fishing, eh, Konrad?”

“Don’t be surprised if we’re back before lunch, Henry,” he said, shouldering his rucksack.

“Be careful,” said Henry, as I buckled on my scabbard. Just knowing my sabre was at my hip made me feel armoured, invincible.

“Konrad, you have your clock?” Henry asked.

“Of course,” he said, nodding at me. “We both do.”

We passed through the opening, and in that one step, summer evaporated. An ancient cold emanated from the stone. We’d done well in dressing warmly. The cave was large, and clearly no stranger to humans. Near the entrance the remnants of campfires were scattered about, and pictures and names
scratched on the stone walls. There was the whiff of urine and animal scat.

“Is your pack too heavy?” Konrad asked Elizabeth.

“I’ll manage,” she said.

Mine was certainly heavier than I would have liked. Outside, when Konrad and I had divided up the gear, we’d made sure that our two packs were the weightiest.

Elizabeth set hers down and, without preamble, pulled her skirt off over her boots. Beneath she wore a pair of pantaloons.

She caught me staring at her. “You didn’t think I was going to go caving in a dress, did you?”

“Of course not. Very sensible,” I said, hoping she couldn’t see the heat in my cheeks.

Konrad made to light the lanterns.

“Wait,” I said. “We may not need them.”

I’d been looking forward to this moment. From my rucksack I took a sealed glass container. Inside was neither oil nor wick, just a fist-size lump of dull white matter.

“What is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Behold,” I said, “the flameless fire!”

I opened a small vent in the side of the container, and at once the white matter began to glow green, dimly at first, but then with greater intensity, casting a ghostly light about the cave.

Elizabeth gasped, drawing closer. “How does it do that? It does not burn.”

“Nor give off heat. It needs only a bit of oxygen to glow.” I sealed off the vent, and still the lump gave off its green light.

“How did you make this?” she demanded. “It’s miraculous.”

“Polidori told me where I could find the recipe.”

“You are turning into an accomplished alchemist, Victor,” she said, but I wasn’t sure her remark was entirely complimentary. “Its glow is unsettling.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “It’s merely one of earth’s elements. Phosphorous.”

“Very impressive,” said Konrad. “But I think, for exploring, our lanterns are still better.”

On point of pride I was about to protest, but I could see he was right. The lantern flames would be much brighter.

“I never meant for us to use it the whole time,” I lied. “It is in case our lanterns run out—or get wet.” I carefully replaced the container in its protective case.

Our three lanterns lit, I led the way to the back of the cave, Temerlin’s map in my hand. There were three tunnels.

“This is ours,” I said, nodding at the middle one.

With white chalk Elizabeth clearly marked the corner, and we started down the gentle slope. I took a quick glance back, at the gash of daylight from the cave mouth, and then squinted ahead into the lantern’s glow.

We were lucky. The tunnels might have been mud, but they were stone, and high ceilinged, and we were able to walk all three of us abreast—for now, at least.

After ten minutes the passage opened out.

“Here’s the second cave.” The ceiling slanted lower here, and we stooped as we entered.

I glanced at the map.

The hole was exactly where it was supposed to be. It gaped in the middle of the floor, a misshapen smile.

We crouched near the edge. A mountaineering spike jutted from the ground.

“Temerlin’s?” Elizabeth said.

“Must be,” I said, gripping it and testing its strength. “Still solid.”

“You don’t think he died down here, do you?” she said.

I must confess, gooseflesh erupted across my neck. “Wouldn’t his rope still be here, then?” I said, which I thought was reasonable enough.

“He died elsewhere,” said Konrad calmly. “Or presumably we would not have his map.”

“Quite right,” said Elizabeth with relief.

From his rucksack Konrad pulled out a hammer and a fresh mountaineering spike. “Best to use our own, don’t you think?” he said to me.

“Of course.” I readied the rope—the same knotted line we’d used in the Sturmwald. According to Temerlin’s notes, the hole was a sixty-five-foot vertical drop, hardly more than what we’d undertaken in the vulture’s tree.

I allowed Konrad to drive his spike into the rock, and then I did a second one nearby for good measure. I had been reading up on mountaineering lore—Father’s library really did have a book on everything—and proceeded to feed the rope through both spikes and tie a knot that would only get tighter the more weight was put on it.

“Don’t you need to fold the bitter end over once more?” Konrad asked, watching me carefully.

I looked up in annoyance.

“You’re doing the Alpine bowline, yes?” he asked.

“Naturally,” I said. Obviously he’d read the same book. I was hardly surprised, but I was irritated now, for I’d lost my concentration and had to undo the knot and make it over.

“That’s it,” said Konrad.

“I know it is,” I said.

We tied a lantern to the end of the line and lowered it carefully. Hand over hand I counted out the length, and true to Temerlin’s word, the lantern touched down after sixty-five feet.

I went first, climbing down knot by knot, away from one lantern’s light toward the next. I paused to take a look about me. It was no narrow shaft but a huge cathedral of stone into which I descended. In the gloom I beheld great jagged walls of sparkling damp rock, sculpted into columns and deep niches like secret chapels. In places, green fungus shone like tarnished bronze.

When I touched down, I realized I was atop a tall pedestal of staggered stones, its giant steps leading to the cavern floor.

I cupped my hands round my mouth and called up, “Safe and sound!” Immediately my shout was amplified and echoed about by the strange walls into something unrecognizable and a bit frightening.

I untied the lantern, and Konrad drew the rope back up so that he could lower down our gear. After that, Elizabeth made her descent, and then my brother.

I took a last look at our rope, our one and only way out. And then we started down the giant steps. Each was a good four feet high, and, off balance with our heavy packs, we lowered ourselves carefully.

“It is a marvel of nature,” breathed Elizabeth, holding high her lantern and gazing about. I noticed that she shivered.

Before I could say anything, Konrad asked, “Are you warm enough?”

“I am, thank you,” she said.

The chill had certainly deepened. “Best to keep moving,” I said, and consulted the map once more. “That is our way, here.”

Elizabeth marked our route with chalk. This tunnel was narrower and we had to walk in single file now, heads bowed. At every intersection I paused to look at the map, and Elizabeth made sure to chalk our choice.

We proceeded slowly, for the floor was often uneven, and sometimes dropped suddenly by a foot or two. I was also worried about missing a turn. Mostly the intersections were obvious, but other times the new passages were little more than clefts in the stone, easily hidden in the shadows. Temerlin’s map lacked a good sense of scale, so I was often surprised by how quickly we reached certain intersections—or how long it took us to reach others.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Half past ten,” said Konrad, to my surprise.

An hour and a half already! We paused to drink from our flasks and swallow some food, but I can’t say I felt much hunger.

“How deep do you think we are?” Elizabeth asked.

“Impossible to say,” Konrad replied.

We continued on, always downward. I was starting to feel the weight of my pack, and regretted how much gear we’d brought. Konrad, however, had uttered no word of complaint, so neither would I. I kept my eyes fixed on the tunnel’s right wall, for our next turn would be there.

“Shall I navigate?” Konrad asked quietly.

“No, I have the knack of it now,” I said curtly.

My turn finally came, and with it the sound of flowing water.

“Excellent,” I said. “Temerlin mentions this. A rivulet flowing down one of the walls.”

With every step the sound of water grew—and it became more obvious this was no mere rivulet. Mist sparkled in the light of our lanterns. And then suddenly the tunnel widened, and down one side ran a cataract.

“It’s a proper waterfall!” said Konrad.

The sight of it made my heart glad—it was wonderful to see such vital energy in this dead rocky place. I was relieved, too, for it meant the map was true and I had not misled us.

“It must be summer meltwater from the glaciers,” remarked Elizabeth. “It has been unseasonably warm lately. But … how are we to get across?”

The waterfall itself did not block our way—but the chasm into which it plunged did. I edged closer and looked down. The lantern light did not penetrate far, and I wondered just how deep it was. From below came a dim roar. On the other side of this chasm, our tunnel continued.

I swallowed and muttered, “Temerlin said it was no more than a little jump.”

“This is more than a little jump,” Konrad said.

I found the place in the notebook. “‘A short
vigorous
jump.’”

“He must have been very vigorous,” said Elizabeth.

“It’s not such a great distance,” I said. “Five feet?”

“Six,” said Konrad.

“Don’t go so close,” Elizabeth said to him, clutching his arm as he peered over the edge. “The stone’s wet. It might be slippery.”

“I should have thought to bring a plank,” I muttered.

“You couldn’t have known from Temerlin’s notes,” said Elizabeth kindly.

“Still,” said my brother, “if you’d shared this with us, we might have been better prepared.”

We looked at each other a moment, saying nothing.

“We have a choice,” he said now. “We can turn back and get some kind of bridge—or we jump.”

We were all silent. I could tell no one liked the idea of turning back, me especially. We had already spent at least two hours underground. If we turned back, there could be no hope of completing our quest within the day.

“Let us jump!” said Elizabeth.

Konrad looked at her in surprise. “You’re sure?”

“I’m a good jumper,” she said.

It was true enough. She’d grown up with us and had chased and been chased in endless games.

“If she can bite a vulture, she can jump a crack,” I said.

“We have some lightweight line,” Konrad said. “We’ll hammer an anchor into the stone, and tether each jumper—just in case.”

We struck the spike deep into the tunnel floor and fastened to it a good length of rope. The other end we looped into a kind of harness that each of us would wear during our jump.

I would go first. I removed my pack, tightened the harness below my armpits, and backed up. I ran for it. I made sure to push off well before the edge, and sailed over the crevasse, blinking through the waterfall’s spray. I saw the tunnel floor coming and knew I had made it. I hit the other side, skidding a bit.

“Excellent!” called out Konrad.

“A good foot to spare,” I said as I removed the harness.

I coiled it and threw it back across. Konrad tossed me a lantern, which I relit so the next jumpers could better judge their landing site.

Elizabeth was ready now. She took a good long run. As she jumped, I caught my breath, for her arc seemed too low. Konrad, I saw, watched tensely, his hands encircling the line, prepared to grip. Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on me with fierce concentration. She touched down, just, on the rim of the tunnel.

“Ha! Made it!” she said with satisfaction.

And on the slick stone, her feet went right out beneath her.

“Elizabeth!” Konrad cried.

She toppled back toward the chasm. In a second I had both hands around her forearm, pulling her to me with all my strength. I crashed to the floor with her atop me. For a few moments she just lay there panting, her breath hot in my ear. I held her tighter. I did not want to let go.

“Thank you, Victor,” she said, sitting up and rubbing at her bloodied knees. She sounded more angry than grateful. “You’ve saved my life.”

“Perhaps you’ll forgive me, then,” I whispered.

“Are you all right?” Konrad called out.

“Yes, it was a close thing, though,” said Elizabeth.

Konrad threw across the rest of our gear before making his own jump. His landing went well.