“If we can find Rosemary before what happened to Rex happens to her, then she’ll tell us what happened. Until then, I suggest we keep as quiet as possible.”
“Didn’t Rex say that Rosemary had gone into the caves ahead of him?” Lamont asked as he followed Captain Carter down the narrow corridor that sloped beneath the mountain. They were on a ramp that was rough-hewn but clearly designed. Every half-yard, its surface was raised in a rounded ridge, placed at slight, alternating diagonals. The men found that the easiest method of passage was to half-slide, half-crab walk with their backs to the slope, letting their heels and palms catch the ridges.
“That’s right,” Carter agreed.
“So Rex is outside the cave and Rosemary is inside. Rex sees—somebody. Gets shot with that arrow. Rosemary hears what happens and pulls Rex into the cave to help him?” Lamont’s voice reverberated tinnily down the narrow passage. To either side of it and above them were rough, flat surfaces of a mottled, flaking metallic substance. If he were to sit upright in relation to the ramp, his head would just barely clear the ceiling; Carter’s would probably scrape it.
“Could be,” The captain said in a noncommittal tone.
“And then, what? Whoever shot Rex comes inside the cave, menaces Rosemary and forces her down here?” Lamont suggested.
“Makes sense,” Carter said.
“I’m not sure it does,” The newspaperman reflected.
The captain, who was two yards and about a dozen steps ahead of Lamont, turned and looked up at him. His brow was furrowed with anxiety. “Look,” He said. “If we can find Rosemary before what happened to Rex happens to her, then she’ll tell us what happened. Until then, I suggest we keep as quiet as possible. We don’t know what we’re getting into.”
That, Lamont was beginning to think, should be embroidered on their arm patches.
For another minute or two, the only sound was the shuffling of their awkward movements and their labored breathing. The low whistle of the wind was beginning to fade into inaudibility above them. Craning his neck uncomfortably, Lamont tried to estimate how far they had come, but it was impossible to estimate in the darkness.
Finally, Carter’s voice echoed up to him. “I think I see the bottom.”
A moment later, the captain disappeared from view beyond the lip of the ceiling, the light from his lamp suddenly absent.
“Francis!” Lamont called, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “Is it safe?”
No answer. Lamont inhaled deeply and followed. Soon, the beam of his lamp caught level ground. The heels of his boots met it soon after, and Lamont’s head cleared the ceiling as it leveled out horizontally to meet that of a larger chamber. He found the captain standing nearby, shining the beam of his lamp this way and that.
“Blimey,” The newspaperman whispered.
Next: A Voice from the Depths