The Swimmer

by David Haynes

  The first three steps were steep and deep, dropping about a foot each time. He reached for the fourth step in the same way; lowering and searching for the next foothold with his right foot while keeping his left foot on the step above.

  He crouched slightly as his right foot searched lower and lower until he could stretch no further. “I can’t feel the next step. Keep hold of me but crouch a bit lower.” His voice resonated against the surrounding rock. Immediately below him there were no more steps; instead a decrepit ladder was pinned to the rock face.

  “You’re not going to like this.”

  “You mean, less than I like this already?”

  Joe turned; behind May, a slim wedge of light indicated how far down they had already come. “Do you think we need to pull the cover back to hide our tracks?”

  May was indistinct in the darkness but he saw the motion of her head shaking. “No, I don’t think so. Unless someone’s stupid enough to come tomb hunting on a day like this, we’re safe.”

  “Right, this bit’s gonna to be tricky. The steps are all gone but we’ve got the bonus of an antique ladder to try. Sure you want to go on?”

  May looked over his shoulder and saw only darkness. “How far down is it?”

  “Now that’s something I don’t know. Tell you what, I’ll go down ten steps and if it’s any further I’ll just come straight back. Okay?”

  “Okay, just be careful.”

  Joe put the lighter in his pocket and lowered his feet onto the ladder. “Back in a mo.”

  May watched as the shape of his head disappeared below the ledge. She remained as still as she could manage. The absence of the little zippo flame had rendered her eyesight completely useless and any movement was likely to be dangerous.

  After what felt like an eternity, she was relieved to see a shadowy shape appear at the top of the ladder. “It’s ten rungs down and there’s something you’re going to want to see at the bottom.” Joe’s voice sounded excited.

  She lowered herself onto the ladder and started to descend. By the time she reached twelve rungs, she knew she’d been had. “I thought there were only ten?”

  She heard Joe’s voice below her. “Did I say ten? I meant twenty, silly me.”

  The ladder was wooden and although it felt damp and slippery under her hands it also felt secure. She felt the ladder judder slightly and heard the sound of Joe sparking up the zippo again. “You’re nearly there, just a couple more.”

  She felt his hands around her waist as he guided her down.

  “Now what do you make of that?”

  She followed his hand as he moved the lighter and illuminated a brick archway which curved over a tunnel.

  The smell of paraffin was strong in May’s nostrils again. “Can you smell that?”

  “Paraffin you mean?”

  “Exactly, is it the lighter?” she asked.

  Joe answered immediately. “No, it’s not the zippo making the smell.”

  “Well where’s it coming from then?”

  Joe put the flame between them. “I’d say someone came down here a short time ago; a very short time ago, and they had a paraffin lamp with them.”

  “The old lady. So this is where she went.”

  Joe walked towards the tunnel. “Maybe; it explains the latest vanishing act, but not how she got up the road so quickly in the first place. Have you seen enough, or shall we go on?”

  She followed him to the brink of the tunnel. “This is a bad combination you know?”

  “What is?”

  “A copper and a journalist. It’s just the sort of combination where someone ends up in a pickle.”

  Joe laughed. “Yes probably, or dead.” He lowered his head and entered the tunnel holding the dancing flame out in front of him like a beacon. May followed him in.

  The tunnel was lined with brick for the first few steps but these quickly ran out and were replaced by natural rock. In places, the tunnel was extremely roughly hewn, and stubborn lumps of rock jutted across their path.

  A steady, unrelenting plop, indicated the amount of rain which had fallen in the last few days and with each step May kicked water onto the back of Joe’s jeans. The tunnel stretched out in a never-ending shadow but at least it was level. It felt like the most forlorn and forgotten place she had ever been.

  Suddenly Joe stopped. The flame on the Zippo started to dance wildly. “There’s a breeze coming from somewhere.” His voice echoed in the confined space.

  He took a few more steps and then the Zippo blew out entirely. May couldn’t help but gasp at the complete and utter blackness.

  “It’s okay, the breeze is just stronger here.” He flicked the lighter into life again and illuminated a tunnel running at right angles to them. Instinctively Joe turned down the tunnel and started off.

  “Where are you going now?” She felt uneasy.

  “Down this one, can’t you feel the draught? It must mean we’re close to a way out.”

  May had stopped at the opening to the new tunnel. “I don’t know, Joe. We’ll get lost if we’re not careful and how long can that lighter keep going for anyway?

  Joe stopped and turned. “I don’t know, another ten minutes or so.” He looked over his shoulder, down the new tunnel. “You’re probably right, but that draught is pretty fresh. I reckon we’ll be out the other end in two minutes flat.”

  May shook her head. “We were just walking for about ten minutes and I can’t see any sign of light down there.” She nodded towards the offshoot tunnel. “We should go back Joe. Go and get a torch from your place, and come back.”

  A shadow danced across granite wall as the flame flickered. “Okay, but we’re coming straight back.”

  She laughed. “You only like it down here because there aren’t any humans.”

  The flame flickered again and went out leaving them in absolute pitch blackness. In the dark a voice resonated along the tunnel.

  “I wouldn’t say there weren’t any humans.”

  The primitive part of her brain took over and the flight response was immediate. May shrieked and jumped forward straight into Joe. She heard ‘humph’ as the wind was knocked out of him. It was followed by the sound of metal landing by her feet; the collision had made him drop the lighter. She clung to him, her head on his chest and closed her eyes. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was counting down to the moment when she knew she would be hit with something heavy on the back of her head.

  Joe took two gulps of breath before he was able to say anything. “Who’s there?” He knew his voice didn’t sound convincing, but without being able to see anyone or anything, he didn’t feel exactly confident.

  “I said who’s there?” He shuffled his feet, trying to locate the fallen lighter, but the ground was uneven, and with May on top of him it was impossible.

  “You won’t need that.” The same voice echoed again. From the pitch, Joe could tell straight way the voice was feminine. Not only that she sounded older, and most importantly, it contained no sign of malevolence.

  Joe saw the sulphuric sparks of a struck match fizz through the air. He watched as the match moved, attached to an unseen hand, and ignited the wick of a lamp. The brightness made him squint.

  “You two better follow me; it’s easy to get lost down here.” A warm, smiling face looked back at him and he relaxed his guard.

  He took May by the shoulders and turned her around. “I think we’ve found our lady.”

  12

  They followed her in single file along the tunnel. It was silent except for the continual drip of water and the tap of her umbrella on the tunnel floor. She moved with surprising speed but it seemed like an age until she finally stopped beside a set of ladders. They were exactly like the ones they had used earlier and equally well anchored to the rock with large rivets.

  “This is where we go up.” Without further comment she sprang up the ladder and scaled upwards with remarkable ease. Joe ushered May to go up next; she raised her eyebrows and started the climb
. Joe followed a few seconds later.

  On this occasion the ascent to the surface was by ladder only. There were no steps to break the climb, and by the time they reached the top, May was more than a little leg weary. The grey skies, although dismal, were bright enough to sting her eyes as she attempted to work out exactly where they were. To either side of her were trees, barren leafless trees, arranged in neat rows. Her feet slipped in something as she turned around trying to get her bearings. The smell of decaying apples was strong through the air and she quickly realised she was in an orchard.

  Joe appeared at her feet, pushing through the earth like an enormous mole. He squinted as he stood upright. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in my orchard.” The old lady said nothing more but proceeded to push a wooden cover over the hole and click the heavy-duty padlock to lock it in place. She turned and started to walk away from them. “You can come in for tea now, I’m sure you’d like some. Hot and sweet.”

  They looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously but said nothing. May was starting to see much clearer now. She was surprised at how quickly her eyesight had become used to the total darkness and how long it had taken for them to readjust to the daylight again. They followed her through the orchard in silence until they reached a small, but vividly whitewashed, cottage. She held the door open and ushered them both inside.

  They entered straight into a tiny kitchen and a stifling heat struck them immediately. Joe could see a small living room beyond the kitchen; he noticed the embers of a fading fire glowing orange in the grate.

  “Take a seat both of you. I’ll put some more coal on the fire to warm us up.” She led them into the lounge and carefully placed the spotted umbrella beside the fireplace.

  “Tea?” She scooped several lumps of coal and dropped them onto the fire which hissed with gratitude. There was no telling how old she was. When they’d first seen her on the slipway and the way she shuffled about indicated she was at least eighty. The way she’d marched along the tunnel and shot up the ladder he wasn’t so sure. She gave the impression of someone much younger. Her fine wispy hair flew out in all directions making her look like a mad scientist, and her clothing looked to have been made in the 1950s. She hurried out of the sitting room back into the kitchen where the sounds of water splashing into a kettle could be heard.

  The little room contained an ancient looking armchair and a small two-seater settee, with mahogany armrests, and flowery cushions. May sat on the sofa but Joe remained standing; he was looking at the old photographs which were plastered over all available space on the walls. The photographs were all black and white and as Joe quickly scanned them, the images of dour faced men stared back at him. Their clothes indicated they were from the Victorian era.

  “There’s some very interesting photos aren’t there?” The old lady reappeared from the kitchen door.

  “Err… yes very.” Joe quickly sat down next to May.

  “I won’t be two minutes and then I want to hear all about it.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen again.

  May turned and looked at Joe. “Hear all about what?”

  “I have no idea, but I’ve got more questions for her than she has for me. I guarantee you that.”

  “Just go easy on her, Joe. You’re not interviewing a suspect you know.”

  “Go easy on her? Did you see the way she shot up the ladder?”

  The tray full of crockery rattled and clinked as she put it on the table next to the armchair. “Shall I be mother?”

  They both took their tea, which was served in floral china teacups and matching saucers. Joe took a sip and his eyes nearly popped out. There must have been a tablespoon of sugar in it.

  “I love it sweet. It gives me a little kick up the pants.” She slurped her tea.

  May took a sip and showed no reaction at all. “I’m afraid my friend Joe here likes his drinks to taste like liquorice. The really bitter sort.”

  “Yes, he looks the bitter sort.” She tipped a wink at May. “Now, what on earth were you two doing scampering about in those tunnels? They’re no place for someone who doesn’t know their way around.”

  May put her cup and saucer down on the little coffee table. “Well, Mrs…” she paused.

  “Henrietta will do just fine.” She accepted the cue.

  “Well Henrietta, I nearly skittled you over about an hour ago. I was the one in the white car?”

  “Ah yes, sorry about that I lost my bearings for a minute or two; being underground tends to do that to you.”

  May continued. She didn’t want to raise the subject of throwing flowers into the sea just yet. “Then you rushed off across the field and down the hole. I just wanted to check you were okay; check I hadn’t injured you.”

  “Oh, I’m quite fine; as you can see I barely even noticed.” She laughed and slurped her tea. Her face grew stern again. “You I recognise.” She wriggled her finger at Joe. “Yes, I’m not sure at the moment but it’ll come to me, you can be sure of that.”

  Joe raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure we haven’t met before.”

  “No, we haven’t, you’re right. But I recognise you all the same.”

  May was itching to get some answers. Sitting only a couple of feet away was potentially the only person capable of identifying her mystery swimmer. She knew she had to play it slowly though; there was nothing to be gained by rushing in.

  “I’m curious, Henrietta.”

  “And I am too, about your names?”

  May smiled. “Sorry, I’m May and this is Joe.” Joe raised his hand.

  “Hmmmm, Joe. Joseph.”

  “As I was saying, Henrietta I’m curious about where those tunnels came from? I’ve lived here for most of my life and I’ve never seen them before today.”

  “Oh come on, May! Didn’t your daddy tell you bedtime stories about the smugglers? They came to Priest’s Cove by moonlight and vanished into their clandestine underground lairs.”

  “My dad wasn’t much of a one for stories.”

  Joe leaned forward. “No? Well mine certainly did. The ships tossed against the rocks, the skirmishes with the law, and the murderous adventures of Cruel Coppinger.” Joe turned excitedly back to May. “Now, he was a real bugger.”

  May shook her head. “That explains a lot.”

  Joe opened his mouth to ask her what she meant but was stopped in his tracks by Henrietta. “Well, if you combine some of that whimsy with the factual then you won’t be far off. The tunnels run in every direction under here; cutting through the granite and surfacing at tactical points. Like my orchard for example; close enough to the cove, yet far enough inland to allow the smugglers to distribute their plunder without detection.”

  “The factual?” He asked incredulously “I thought Cruel Copinger was all factual?”

  May sniggered. “You didn’t believe all the stories your dad told you, did you?”

  “Well he did exist and the smugglers certainly used the tunnels but they weren’t hewn by them.” Henrietta interrupted.

  He turned back to May. “Told you.” She stuck her tongue out.

  Henrietta smiled and slurped her remaining tea. “No, they were hewn by the picks and shovels of the miners.” She shook her head and grew glum. “The wretched men who’ve taken picks to the tin around here since…forever.” She slumped back in her seat.

  The conversation was flowing quite easily and May wanted to keep her talking. “The miners dug the tunnels for the smugglers?”

  Her furrowed brow showed displeasure. “Absolutely not. Although some may have been influenced at times. Those tunnels were lode tunnels. They followed the ore and that made them far richer than a barrel of brandy or a pouch of tobacco.”

  “Do you think Coppinger used the tunnels? What was his ship called? I can’t remember.” Joe was clearly excited.

  Henrietta laughed like a drain. “I should think so, he ran most of Cornwall at one time or another. His ship was the ‘Black Prince.’

 
Joe snapped his fingers. “That’s it! The Black Prince.” He slumped back and smiled. “My God, if I could remember half the stories my dad told me, I’d be a rich man.” He fixed his eyes on Henrietta. “You know a lot about Coppinger?” He asked hopefully.

  “Well my dad was a great believer in keeping the myths and legends alive, as was his pa before him. Dad used to tell me our family was related to Coppinger and that I was a pirate princess.” She smiled broadly. “But he’s gone now and so has nearly everyone else he knew.” She winked at Joe. “The tales of Cruel Coppinger and The Black Prince rest with you to pass on now Mr George.