“That’s it,” Caillen said dully, “we’ve been all the way around. Nothing.”
Emer wanted to burst out howling in despair.
Then Gawain said, “What about the floors? Why does it have to be a wall? What’s this here?”
Caillen and Emer nearly ran into each other in their rush to get to where Gawain was sitting on the floor, sweeping the dust away from a small ring embedded in the flagstones and prizing the edges up with his fingernails. They watched him with bated breath, the last of the light showing them the narrow outline of a portal in the floor.
Gawain took the now bloodied half a kerchief out of his pocket and looped it through the ring. He pulled hard, but he did not need to – the flagstone popped up like the lid on a pot of mead. Underneath was the trapdoor proper, made of wood and compact enough to make a well-fed man think twice before squeezing himself through it. But for Caillen, Emer, and Gawain, it would be an easy fit.
“I’ll go first,” Gawain said.
He lifted the trapdoor lid. It was black as pitch down there. He cocked his ear to listen for the sound of water, rising water in particular, but all Gawain could sense was a blast of musty, dampness. He shifted his hips to the side of the hole and jumped.
If they had expected Gawain to disappear into the blackness, they need not have worried. After Gawain jumped and landed, they could still see the top of his head and even lean down and touch it if they had wanted to.
“It’s dry, walls seem to be packed with soil and stone, with the occasional tree root and lintel to prop it up – I can feel it with me hands,” Gawain said. He did not need to shout because Emer and Caillen were lying on the ground, peering down the hole too.
“Move down the tunnel so we can get in behind ye,” Caillen said, “and let Emer ken if there are stones on the tunnel floor. She does nae have the best footing, an’ it’s as black as the Earl o’ Hell’s waistcoat down there!”
Emer felt tempted to say she did not need anyone’s advice on how to walk carefully down a pitch-black tunnel but bit her tongue when she remembered all the accidents she’d had in the past.
She clambered through the trapdoor and stood behind Gawain. With his hands out in front of him and Emer’s hand on his shoulder to guide herself, they shuffled forward slowly down the tunnel. Emer heard a thump behind her after a few minutes.
“What took yer time?” Gawain asked.
“I was covering our tracks, so to speak. I left the trapdoor open – we need as much light as possible, poor as it may be – but I made a pile of crates to block it from sight.”
No one replied. The thought of Flora or one of her fanatical guards dropping in and coming after them was too awful to contemplate.
Carefully and quietly, they inched their way forward. The ground underneath their feet was smooth, and the walls were made of compressed soil and rough stones. There were no sconce brackets in the walls, and Emer judged this to mean their progress would not be inhibited by falls or steps. If the men who made this underground passage had needed light to see the way, they would have constructed something at each entrance to hold a torch or lantern.
Emer did not know about the other two men, but her heart gave a little jump when the grey light behind them was swallowed up by the darkness. The tunnel was stifling, and the further they progressed down it, the more acute their hearing became. She was sure she heard the scuttling of small animals in the deep blackness.
Gawain gave a startled intake of breath.
“What!” Emer said, gripping his shoulder harder.
“What is it?” Caillen asked at the same time.
“ ‘Tis naught,” Gawain said in a reassuring tone, “a spider’s web caught in my face.”
Emer repressed a shudder and hoped with all her heart what was left of the spider’s web was stuck to Gawain.
She estimated they should have reached the chapel by now, and her judgment was not far off.
“The way is starting to go up, “Gawain whispered. This was the dangerous time – when they had no idea of what waited for them on the other side or even if they could get out at all.
As her fingertips brushed the walls, she felt the surface change from rough earth to stone and then, as the passage took them higher, to brick. They were under the foundations of the chapel.
Caillen whispered behind her, “We should be at the outlet by now – indeed, I wish we were because the roof has become so low, I might have to crawl from here.”
His words came slightly before Gawain said softly, “I can feel a wooden plank above me head – we’re there.”
They stopped in their tracks, and quiet fell over the small group. When there was no longer the sound of shuffling feet and heavy breathing to be heard, the density of the silence became almost palpable.
But the silence was not in vain. It was put to use as they listened for any noises above them.
After several minutes, Caillen said in hushed tones, “It seems to me auld Donal would be the kind of Laird who insists all his staff attend chapel services and then chooses to give them a miss himself.”
