Page 102 of A Figure of Love

Gareth had been mistaken when he’d believed the shaft was his worst nightmare.

This was his worst nightmare.

The ceiling had already been coming down when he entered the biggest of the two corridors that led off the shaft, but the low, keening moan had convinced him he was heading in the correct direction. He stepped gingerly, as if that might keep the roof over his head. But he knew that was foolish conceit.

Fine dust obscured the tunnel ahead of him and worked its way into his nostrils and throat, until he had to pull his shirt up over his nose and hold it there in order to breathe.

He walked for less than a minute when he came to the source of the dust. A section of wall and ceiling had come down and closed off all but a small sliver of cave. A human hand lay beneath a large rock, the fingers not moving.

“Hello? Is somebody there?” a terrified, boyish voice called.

A wave of relief hit him so hard it left him woozy. “Oliver,” he said softly. “It is Mr. Lockheart.”

He heard a choked sob and his eyes followed the direction it seemed to be emanating from—above the slide of rock. He needed to keep the boy calm.

“Are you hurt, Oliver?”

Several loud sniffs and then, “A rock landed on my arm, but I don’t think it’s broken. But Mr. Bardot got caught beneath it. I told him we should go back when we saw the broken timber but he wouldn’t listen. He became quite angry and shoved me over the rubble and before he could climb over it himself it came down on him. I tried to dig him out, but more of the wall kept—”

A sickening crack and then an oddly hushed roar cut off whatever he’d been about to say. Gareth jammed himself tighter against the cavern wall, as if that would save him as the ceiling came down with all the force of a huge foot, covering the place where Gareth had just been standing.

“Mr. Lockheart!” The boy’s choked scream cut through the dust.

Gareth’s throat was too filled with pulverized rock or chalk to speak but he lifted the light higher, scrambling up the rocks to get closer to the hole while he cleared his nose and mouth.

“Get away from the collapse, Oliver,” he ordered hoarsely just as another section of ceiling and wall fell.

Something heavy and sharp landed on his right boot and he gave a muffled grunt of pain. It took a great deal of effort to free his foot from the detritus that poured in between the bigger rocks, much like the sand in an hourglass eventually filled the gap.

His eyes burned with grit, tearing and weeping as he blinked and tried to see. Not that he needed to make any difficult decisions, there was only one, get through the gap to the other side without bringing it all down on the boy.

“Oliver?” he croaked.

“I’m here.”

Gareth closed his eyes at the sheer force of his relief. He cleared his throat several times, the lamplight illuminating the still shifting rocks and pebbles as they tumbled down the most recent slide.

“Don’t touch the wall anymore or try to shift the rocks, Oliver, do you understand?” Gareth spoke as calmly as ever, not wanting to alarm the boy, but the words themselves sent a grim message.

“You think more will collapse, don’t you, sir?”

Gareth ignored the question. “I’m going to pass the lantern up through the crack. I want you to take it.” Gareth’s teeth had begun chattering the moment the thought of parting with the lantern even entered his mind and he had to use every ounce of strength to force the words out. “You should be able to take it by the metal frame without burning yourself. When you have it, I want you to very carefully examine the rest of the corridor. I’ve noticed old square beams—look to see if any are fallen before you go forward. If so, stop and go no further. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I will not go forward if I see any signs of instability.”

Gareth smiled to himself. “Very good. I will wait here.” In the pitch dark. He shifted as carefully as he could, but any movement seemed to send more rocks cascading. When he got as close to the top as he dared, he lifted the lamp and waited until he felt a light tug and then he released it, plunging himself into darkness as the light receded.

He swallowed and prepared himself for whatever came next, forcing down the taunting voice that accompanied the darkness. He concentrated on regulated his breathing, trying not to move or touch anything that might bring the rest of the ceiling down on his head. The blackness became blacker, solidifying into something cold, clammy, and alive. He fought the compulsion to make himself smaller, to disappear, to hide.

Oliver and Serena. He mined the words from beneath the fear and repeated them in his head, Oliver and Serena. The cold receded and he pictured their faces; he was here because of them. Because he loved them.

The thought was like an ember at first, glowing brighter as he held the image. He pictured what Serena had looked like when she said she loved him, or what Oliver looked like when he glanced up from some piece of work he’d done particularly well, seeking Gareth’s approval, his eyes trusting.

A hundred years passed before Oliver’s voice floated through the crack.

“The tunnel branches some distance ahead. One corridor is level but the other looks like it leads to a shaft.”

The boy’s voice woke him from his reverie and Gareth realized one thing immediately: he was no longer shaking.