by Sean Russell
When they pulled apart, she looked at him in surprise and wonder.
“Mr. Flattery, you forget yourself.”
“Yes,” he said, hardly able to catch his breath, and kissed her again.
Erasmus would have been convinced he was dreaming, if he had ever known a dream so fair, so overwhelming of the senses. He pulled a divan up before the fire, and here began a slow exploration. Each lace released was a revelation, each kiss more wondrous than the last. Erasmus felt that he had fallen into another world, a world of the senses, where one’s thoughts were driven out and replaced with wonder and pleasure. A world in which he was the stranger.
Twenty-Five
Hayes dropped his pack to the cave floor and stretched his back. “Not what I imagined,” he said to Kehler.
Kehler shed his own pack and dug out the cave survey, unfolding it near to their lamp.
In the poor light Hayes could just make out the Fairy Galleries above them. The formation of the room did give the impression of a gallery above, and here he could see elaborate decorations. Stalagmites like melting candles projecting up from the floor, a myriad of crystal straws hanging from the ceiling, shimmering even in the poor light. Hayes thought that if he sang the perfect tone, the entire ceiling would resonate in brittle harmony.
“We are in the right chamber,” Kehler said after a moment. “Disappointed?”
“Not at all. It is magnificent. Beautiful, really, but not what I expected. Where do we go from here?”
“Up.” Kehler pointed up into the gallery. “There is a good-sized passage there. But we should eat first, then I, for one, need at least a few hours’ sleep before we go on.” They were losing the rhythm of the sun, and sleeping when they felt the need, eating when hungry. Hayes still wound his watch and consulted it occasionally to see just how long they had been down here, but it no longer dictated their schedule.
Hayes had learned to put his battered jacket down for a seat and then lean against his pack, which insulated from the cold hard rock. They sat thus, their packs propped against a wall, the lantern between them, and ate their meal, unsure if it was supper, dinner, or even breakfast.
They ate quietly, then warmed more water over the flame to make their “netherworld tea.” Afterward, they put out the flame in order to preserve their precious supply of oil.
In the darkness, questions would not leave Hayes alone. He wondered why he had come. Yes, Kehler had promised him there was a discovery to be made that would pay them handsomely, and that reason was as valid now as it had been at the beginning. But even so, there were moments when the risks, or at least the fears, outweighed the possible gains. And the fears were real and tangible, while the rewards were yet to materialize, if they ever would.
Worry could not keep exhaustion at bay indefinitely, and finally Hayes slipped into an unsettled sleep.
Fleeting dreams haunted him, like images floating swiftly past—clouds borne on the wind. And then he settled into a single dream. A woman’s voice was calling him, echoing from far off, like someone whispering into a well. He crawled down a passage that was almost entirely dark. Again the voice called him, and he struggled on, pushing himself through places so tight that he knew he would never return.
* * *
* * *
“Hayes?”
He woke to the sounds of Kehler striking his flint. A moment later a piece of paper caught and he saw fingers pick it up and tease the lamp wick, reminding him of the squares of light on Paradise Street. An age ago that seemed.
The wick adopted the flame, and a sad light illuminated their chamber.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
“Only partly.”
“Time to go on,” Kehler said, though there was no excitement or anticipation in his voice, which was uncharacteristically subdued.
Hayes heard himself sigh. “I suppose.”
While Hayes packed by lamplight, Kehler retreated down a passage to fill their water bottle. When he returned he seemed to fuss unduly with his pack.
“I’m ready to have you reveal this great mystery,” Hayes said, forcing his tone to be light. “Lead on, my friend.”
“Yes. Let us hope . . .” Kehler muttered, shouldering his pack and setting off, an uncomfortable silence falling between them.
Climbing up to the gallery proved easier than they’d thought, and once there, as the survey showed, there was but one passage leading on. As Kehler went ahead, Hayes used a candle to mark a letter H in wax beside the entrance. Then, with a little trepidation, he followed his companion in. Thoughts of the death of a small boy haunted him. What kind of beast had this priest been to use children so?
The passage curved gradually to the right, and maintained a fairly constant angle down. To Hayes’ relief it also maintained its size, more or less, so that he only occasionally had to duck his head, something he was becoming adept at, having nearly rendered himself senseless several times early on.
When half of the hour had passed, they met a second passage and followed this. It ran along almost level toward the west.
“How far have we to go?” Hayes asked. Kehler always seemed to put the cave survey away before he had given Hayes a chance to examine it thoroughly—an annoying habit, Hayes found.
“Not far,” Kehler called back, though he did not seem terribly excited. An hour later they came to a small chamber, perhaps twenty feet long, but quite high and a dozen feet across.
“Where now?” Hayes asked, stretching his back and shoulders.
Kehler pointed down into a dark corner. “It goes there,” he said.
They dropped their packs, glad to be rid of them at last, at least for a while. Kehler busied himself with filling the lamp, giving Hayes the impression that there was something he was avoiding saying. Just as Hayes was about to ask what this might be, Kehler shook the oil tin.
“We haven’t long to find what we seek. If we’re here longer than half a day, I fear we shall have to find our way out by candlelight.”
“Then we should be about our business,” Hayes said, the moment passing.
The hole in the corner turned out to be about three feet around and they crawled in on bruised knees and blistered hands, Kehler ahead with the lantern, his shadow thrown back toward Hayes, and moving oddly on the floor and stone walls, like some lumbering beast of the underworld.
Hayes found this view of his friend disturbing, as though he had somehow found entrance to a world not meant for men. His knees were swollen and scraped, but he’d learned that if he could force himself beyond the initial torment, it would subside somewhat and become almost tolerable.
For a hundred yards he followed the shadow of the creature that led him, and then, to his relief, the passage opened up a little and they could actually stand if they were careful to duck their heads now and then. Not much farther on, the passage turned abruptly to the right and died in a small pool.
“What is this?” he said coming up beside Kehler.
“A pool,” Kehler said, stating the obvious.
“But where does the passage go?” Hayes slumped down on his pack, his gaze darting about the walls, searching.
Kehler was staring at the pool. “The survey ends here,” he mumbled.
“What? Ends? Are you telling me we’ve come all this way to find this?”
“No. We’ve come seeking something more, I’m just not quite sure where it is, though I have an idea.” He spread the now-tattered survey of the cave out on the floor. “If you look here, you’ll see what I mean.” He put his finger on the Fairy Galleries, and the passage leading away from it toward the west. It came to a pool and stopped—clearly where they were now.
“I thought you knew of another passage. Some secret way that Baumgere had found.”
“Well, there is one, I’m sure of it. ‘The way, by darkness, into light’ Baumgere wrote, and something el
se. In one of his several versions of the ‘Ballad of Tomas’ he had marked a passage with an exclamation point and the phrase ‘How could I have missed this?’” Kehler sat back and looked at him. “In the song Tomas was looking at his reflection in the Mirror Lake—or, in some versions, a pool—when he slipped and fell. Strong currents swept him away, and when he surfaced, he was in another world. Or at least in passages that led to that world.”
Hayes looked at him, stunned. “What are you telling me? That if we leap into this pool we will surface in some other place? Kehler, did you bring me all the way down here to play a cruel jest on me?”
Kehler shook his head. “No, I think Baumgere followed the instructions in the lyric and discovered another part of the cave. He passed through this pool.”
Hayes stared at the calm, impenetrable surface of the water and then back to Kehler as though the man had lost his mind. “You aren’t talking sense,” he said firmly.
Kehler began pulling off his boots and hose. “Perhaps not. But I have come this far, I will not go back out of fear of looking foolish.” Kehler stepped gingerly into the pool, and in six strides had reached the wall.
Hayes laughed. “Well, it does not seem to have worked, Kehler. You’re still very much here.” He could not help it; the entire situation was so absurd. They had put such effort into getting here, and for what?
Kehler bent down, his face near to the surface, staring intently into the dark water.
“Do you see your reflection?” Hayes asked, still laughing. “One mustn’t dive in unless one sees a reflection!”
Kehler came out of the pool scowling at his friend. “Well, I am willing to try it.”
“What? You’ll smash your rather addled brain on the bottom.”
“No, look. This is what I think.” He fetched pen and ink from his pack and turned the survey over, drawing quickly on the back. “Imagine that this pool is but a low spot in a passage—we’ve seen plenty of those—and water collects here.” He pointed up to the shimmering wall, which was clearly wet and dripping. “So a pool forms, but if one crawls through it, there is a passage on the other side.”
Hayes felt his jaw drop open. “You can’t be serious! Crawl through a passage filled with water? What if there isn’t another side? What if one becomes jammed? Farrelle’s blood, Kehler, you would be dead in a moment. A moment! This is too much of a risk. Think, man. Even if you’re right, the water level now might be quite different from the time of Baumgere. It could be a hundred feet to air. It could be a mile.”
Kehler looked from his drawing to the pool as though somehow gauging its capacity for treachery. “I’m willing to try it.”
“You are mad. Whatever might be down here, it can’t be worth dying over. Seriously, Kehler. Give it up. So we don’t find this great mystery and gain fame and wealth. I would rather have my life.”
Kehler stood and began to shuck his clothes. “Let us just do an experiment.”
“Kehler, I will not let you go into some water-filled passage. You’re clearly not rational enough to make sane decisions.” Hayes put himself between the pool and his friend.
“I promise, I will not go in. Let us just see if there is a passage, as I guess. That would prove something. If it is merely a wall of rock . . . I will give it up, and we can go back, or search elsewhere.”
“You give me your word that you will do nothing rash?”
“My solemn word. I have no more desire to drown than you. Be sure of that.”
“Then what exactly are you going to do?”
“I’m going to lie down in this absurdly cold water and see if I can sound the passage with my foot. I promise, I will keep my head above water the entire time. Now get out of my way, Hayes. I’m freezing here and would like to get this over with.”
Hayes moved reluctantly aside, and Kehler went resolutely into the water. He sat down near the wall, cursing the cold, and pushed his foot forward.
“You see! There is a hole—just as I said.” He almost lay in the water, now, only his head and shoulders showing, more than half his body disappearing under the stone wall.
“Is there another side?” Hayes asked, amazed. “Can you feel it?”
Kehler pushed himself in so that only his face was dry. “No. . . . No, I can’t feel anything. It does not seem to get too much tighter, though, which is something.” He pulled himself back out, shivering.
“Look, I’m in here freezing as it is. Let me just duck in for a moment. You come in and be prepared to drag me out by my feet. Come on, Hayes, I’m turning to ice.”
Hayes stripped off his boots and hose and went into the water, which was colder than he’d imagined.
Kehler took a number of deep breaths, then ducked himself under, flailing forward, his head and shoulders disappearing. In a second he was gone to the waist, then the knees, his absurdly white body being drawn into the dark waters.
Hayes reached down to take hold of a foot, but Kehler shook him off, pushing even farther in.
“Kehler!” Hayes called. “Don’t be a fool!”
But Kehler was gone. Hayes knelt down and reached in under the rock as far as he could, but there was no Kehler there to grab.
“Bloody blood and flames! Keh-ler!”
What to do? Had Kehler found the other side? Or was he starving for air, and pressing on foolishly, too far in to return?
“You bloody fool! What if it’s a hundred feet through! What if there’s no other side at all?” He forced himself to be still, listening. The water in the pool had gone calm suddenly, as though Kehler was no longer moving.
“Damn you!” Hayes said, and took three long breaths, but as he was about to duck under in search of his companion, a hand grabbed him about the ankle, and Kehler pushed past, shooting out of the water, gasping, spitting up water and coughing horribly.
“Farrelle’s balls, Kehler, you’ve scared me half out of my wits.” Hayes began to pound his friend on the back.
Kehler nodded, drawing in long breaths, unable to speak. His coughing subsided.
“It’s there,” he managed after a moment. “Not far. Ten, twelve feet.”
“You’ve gone right through?”
Kehler nodded.
“And there is a passage beyond? A passage with air?”
“Yes.” He looked up at Hayes. “I had only the poorest light filtering through the water from our lamp, but I could see. . . . There is a room, at least.”
“How tight is it?”
“A foot and the half, I think. Not bad. One takes a deep breath and then pulls oneself through. It is not as difficult as you might imagine. It just takes some nerve.”
“I should say so! Come get out of this water and dry.” He took Kehler’s arm and helped him out of the water. “Even if we can get through, we’ll be positively soaked. And what of our lantern and gear?”
Kehler pulled on his clothing, huddling close to the tiny flame of their lantern. “I’ve brought the oiled bags recommended by our guide. They’ll keep our clothing at least somewhat dry for the few seconds we will be underwater. We’ll extinguish the lantern and wrap it in our clothes. We’ve got candles as well.”
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Hayes said, imagining himself stuck in the small passage and dark waters.
“It is not really so difficult,” Kehler said. “If one does not let one’s imagination get the upper hand. You can hold your breath and crawl a dozen feet. That’s all this is. One just has to ignore the water.”
“And the possibility of getting stuck and drowning in a teacup.”
Kehler smiled. “As I said, one must not allow the imagination a free hand.”
Kehler took a candle out of his pack and lit it from the lamp. Dripping a little wax onto a ledge in the rock, he set the candle out of harm’s way, then blew out the lantern to let it cool.
By the lig
ht of a single candle they began packing their things into the oiled bags.
“It will take more than one trip to bring all this,” Hayes said.
“I will make all the crossings necessary, Hayes. You just get yourself through.”
Hayes felt fear taking hold of him. A vague panic that was more than just mental. His stomach and bowel complained audibly, and his motions had become stiff and vaguely disconnected, as though he watched but had only imperfect control over his limbs. The stress and strain of their two days in this strange place wore on him, and their lack of sleep did not help. “I don’t want to do this,” he said suddenly.
Kehler sat down and looked at him. “You don’t have to, Hayes. You have done much coming so far. I would hardly have dared it without you. Stay here, if you will. But I can’t come this far and abandon it.” He looked over at the pool. “Though I will say again that the danger is more imagined than real. I don’t think you could get stuck in so large a passage. But suit yourself. . . .” He smiled. “I will still share whatever profit might come of it.”
Hayes felt terribly craven, balking at this final test, but he did not swim, and the thought of dying without air—without air to breathe—frightened him more than anything he could name.
Kehler tested the lantern again, found it had cooled sufficiently, and in the confined passage began removing his clothes. He wrapped the lantern in these and put the bundle into an oiled cotton bag. This he sealed with a cord and then placed it inside a second bag.
“Wish me luck,” he said, shivering a little.
“You have a flint and paper to light the lantern?”
Kehler nodded.
“Then good luck.”
Kehler slipped into the water awkwardly, caught his breath and ducked under, propelling himself into the submerged passage. Hayes saw his feet kick and disappear, the water surging back and forth in the pool, and then after a moment it was still.
