Page 18

Going Under

“This is not what I expected,” I said, eyeing the black hole in the ground, ringed with mossy stones. “Anything could be down there.” I peered into the darkness with my lamp outstretched.

“What did you expect?” said Jory, breathless from carrying Sir Oswain. “Catch his head, Jack, I’m putting him down. Weighs more than that whopper of a buck I carried home that time.”

Sir Oswain was unceremoniously dropped, Jack catching him by the shoulders so that his head did not hit the ground.

There was a soft groan from Sir Oswain, and we watched closely, hoping for a sign of his awakening.

“Think he opened his eyes,” said Jack. “Shine the light, Miss Lily.”

I obliged him. Jack knelt to lean over Sir Oswain, saying, “Can you hear me, sir? Time to wake up! My brother can’t carry you all the way to wherever we’re going. ”

There was no response. Jack sat on his heels with a sigh.

“We’ll have to leave him here,” said Jory, stretching his shoulders up and down. “We don’t know what we’re going into or how long it will take. I hope your royal faerie wasn’t spinning a tricksy tale to send you down holes in the ground. Unbuckle his sword, Jack. We can use it.”

“Can’t steal his sword as well as his boots,” said Jack.

“It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing.”

Jack unbuckled the wide leather belt holding the sword and sheath. “Sorry to take this from you, sir,” he said as he leaned across the prostrate body. “I’m sure you’d agree to it if you was awake and able to say so.”

“If he were awake, he wouldn’t have to say so, would he?” said Jory. “Pass me the belt, numskull.”

I made one last attempt at rousing Sir Oswain, but I could not wake him. Jory was right—we could not carry a dead weight into dark tunnels, not knowing what we might meet with, or how steep or narrow the way might be.

“I am truly sorry,” I told Sir Oswain’s unconscious form. “But if you had not been so foolish, it would not have happened.”

I tugged his cloak loose from beneath him and folded it over his chest. The air was as mild as a summer evening, but the night could grow cold. There was nothing I could do about covering his stockinged feet, however.

“Is there food in that bag?” said Jory, as I arranged Sir Oswain’s provisions at his side. “He won’t need them in that state. Pass it over, Jack.”

“He will need them when he wakes up,” I said, putting a hand on the bag. “You cannot steal a man’s food and drink— and don’t say that it’s only borrowing, for there’s no way of putting it back again once it’s in your belly!”

“ I wouldn’t take a sleeping man’s victuals,” said Jack reproachfully.

“Ha!” snorted his brother. “You stole everything I owned on the way here!”

“Made it up to you now, haven’t I?” said Jack. “You said I saved your life.”

“And so you did,” said Jory. “But you pair won’t survive long in this world if you don’t look after yourselves first.”

“I don’t want to survive in a world that’s only filled with selfish people,” I argued.

“No more do I,” said Jack.

Jory muttered that we were both a pair of numskulls, but did not attempt to take Sir Oswain’s bag. “Pass the lamp, Miss Lily,” he said, squatting down to peer into the hole in the ground.

I was not going to let anyone else take hold of the lamp, lest they waste the last wish.

“ I will hold it,” I said firmly. I secured the lamp to me by threading its handle through the buckled strap of my bag so that it hung against my side.

“Can’t we just wish the lady Rose here?” said Jack, as we contemplated the black mouth of the tunnel.

The lamp showed nothing except that the walls were lined with smooth stone veined with something like pink quartz. The air rising from the gaping hole was cool with the smell of wet stone. I sensed cold magic and shivered.

“Not if she’s bound by a stronger magic than what is in this lamp,” I replied, recalling the queen’s warning of the strength of the sorceress’s power.

“If you won’t hand over the lamp,” said Jory, “you’ll have to go first to light the way. ”

This was very true. I stood on the edge of the hole, bracing myself to step into it, though everything in me was protesting that it was the utmost folly to step into a dark hole without knowing how deep the drop was or what might be down there.

I turned to Jack, saying, “When we find Rose, don’t speak to her of who she is. Let us get safely home, and then I shall tell her.”

“Who she is?” said Jory, puzzled.

“The lady Rose is Princess Rose,” said Jack eagerly. “No—” he frowned. “Not Princess Rose.”

“Elaine?” said Jory slowly. “Surely not the princess Elaine?”

“So it would seem,” I said, quelling a powerful surge of troubled thoughts and feelings. There was no time for any of that now.

I looked down again. The cold, unfriendly magic made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

My heart began to race and my head swam as all my senses protested in self-preservation.

A sudden recall of what I had seen on the map in the queen’s map room flashed into my mind.

I saw the marking of the tunnel, and beside it, I recalled another marking—that of a well.

My breath caught, and I began to say, “I’m not sure if—” and felt a shove on my back, and my words morphed into a squeal as I plummeted down.

It felt like flying. My body was weightless as it hurtled downwards, my stomach lurching.

I was ready to cry out a wish that it would stop when the free-falling ended, and a hard, slick surface touched the back of my legs.

I was now sliding rather than falling, but it was still at such a speed that I could see nothing but the blur of the lamplight streaking at my side .

The angle of my descent altered. It was less steep now, and I could see my feet ahead, instead of beneath me. Everything was slowing. I saw the glow of grey and pink-veined walls; I felt dampness beneath my legs, and cold drops fell on me from above.

I saw the shiny surface of something a little way below me— water —and a panicked thought struck me that I was in trouble—for I could not swim! I struggled to halt my descent, scrabbling with my feet, but the smooth surface beneath me ended and I fell, flailing, into the water.

It was a short fall, and I quickly surfaced, gasping, my mouth full of water, my limbs thrashing, and my ears filling with a horrible sound—an unearthly shriek that echoed over and over, as though there were a horde of shrieking creatures I could not see.

Shadows filled my vision, and the shriek grew louder—it was not a horde of creatures shrieking, but a reverberating echo from something dark now hurtling over my head to land with a splash beside me in the water.

“Miss Lily!” gasped a voice. “Are you hurt?”

“Jack!” I gasped back, flailing wildly and expecting to sink at any moment. “Can you swim?” I reached for him, instinctively seeking something to hold onto.

“No! Can you?” Jack reached likewise for me, and we succeeded in dragging one another under the water.

I fumbled for my lamp—it was time to wish us out of a watery end—but the impact of falling with my hands flailing in the air had dislodged my bag from me.

To my dismay, I knew, without touching my head, that my rose wreaths were gone.

I could hear Rose’s voice, chiding me for not weaving them securely into my hair.

Jack’s face was inches from mine, and I thought it horribly ironic that as we drowned together my last thoughts should be that he looked so funny with his unkempt hair fanning around his head like a cockerel fluffing out its neck feathers.

We clutched at one another as we sank. A shadow passed over us. Jack looked up, eyes widening, and with a jerk on my shoulder, he yanked me aside as a pair of leather-booted feet hurtled down through the water, narrowly missing us.

Water broke over me in a wave, and then I was rudely grasped under one armpit and dragged up to the surface.

There was a deal of spluttering and gasping as Jack and I struggled to empty our lungs of water and fill them with air all at the same time.

“You saved us!” gasped Jack. “Didn’t know you could swim!”

“Nor can I,” said Jory, giving us another shake. “What a pair of sapheads you are—this water’s as shallow as a puddle!”

He released us, and I saw that he was indeed standing on the floor of the lake. As my feet sank down, they touched a solid surface, but I had to stand on tiptoes and stretch my neck upwards to keep my nose from being submerged.

Jack, a few inches taller, could just lift his chin above the water.

“We’re not—” he gasped, “—as tall as you!”

I circled round on tiptoe, and spying a wreath of white roses bobbing a little way off, I lunged after it and snatched it up.

“I’ll get your red roses!” called Jack, and a deal of plashing ensued as he recovered my sister’s wreath.

“Can’t lose the lady Rose’s magical flowers,” said Jack, setting the wreath on my head and jamming it down to secure it so that my vision was obscured by petals.

By jumping a little, I could lift my mouth above the water and gasp out,

“Bag! Lamp!”

“I’ll find it!” Jack promised, turning round in an ungainly fashion that caused little waves to smack me in the face and flood my nose with water.

“I can see the lamp,” Jory called. “It’s under the water, there.” He ducked down.

Jack and I waited for him to reappear.

“Kick your feet, Miss Lily,” said Jack. “And flap your hands like this—it makes you float up a bit!”

I kicked and flapped, watching for Jory’s head to pop up like an otter.

“Where is he?” said Jack when no head appeared.

“Can you see the lamplight under the water?” I asked.

Jack turned to face me, and I spluttered as he made little ripples slap my face again.

“I’ll look—” said Jack, and then yelped with surprise as his head vanished under the water.

“Jack!” I called, spitting out water. “Jack!”

Something brushed against my legs. I kicked harder.

“Stop… fooling… about,” I gasped, trying to shake Jack’s hand from my foot, while searching the surface anxiously for Jory.

There was a yank on my leg—from a grasp too hard and sharp to be the hand of Jory or Jack.

I made a watery cry of alarm as I was dragged under the water for the final time.