“Oh, all right: but I could drink the sea dry!”
The children relaxed their aching limbs and talked in whispers. But first they switched off the lamps; there was no point in adding to their troubles by hastening the moment when the batteries would be exhausted.
“Listen,” said Colin, “the main thing right now is to find a way out of here without being caught. I don’t think there’s much doubt about where we are; it must be the copper mines. And if that’s so, then there are several ways out. But how do we find them?”
They thought for some time in silence: there seemed to be no answer to this problem.
“There must be some … wait a minute!” said Susan. “Yes! Look: if we’re in the mines the way out must be above us, mustn’t it? Nearly all the entrances are on top of the Edge.”
“Yes …”
“Well, if we follow only the tunnels that lead upwards, we’re bound to be moving in the right direction, aren’t we? I know it’s not much of an idea, but it’s better than wandering aimlessly until Grimnir and Selina Place find us.”
“It’s not only those two I’m worried about,” said Colin. “Have you noticed how the sand is churned up everywhere? It’s too soft to give clear impressions, but it shows that these mines aren’t as empty as they look. And remember what Cadellin said about avoiding them at all costs because of the svarts.”
Susan had not thought of that. But the added danger could not alter the situation, and although they talked for some time, they could think of no better plan. Still, it took courage to switch on their lamps and leave their safe retreat for the perils of the open tunnel.
So they journeyed into despair. For no way led upwards for long. Sooner or later the floor would level and begin to drop, and after an hour of this heartbreak Colin and Susan had less than no idea of their whereabouts. Then, imperceptibly, they began to feel that they were gaining ground. They had wormed along the crest of a sand-bank that rested on the edge of a cliff, high under the roof of a boulder-strewn cave. Sand rolled continually from under them and slid into the emptiness below: the whole bank seemed to be on the move. At the end of the ridge was a tunnel mouth, and the rock beneath their feet, when finally they made contact with it, was almost as welcome as green fields and the open sky. This tunnel was different: it was longer than most, and less tortuous.
“Colin, this time I think we’re on the right track!” said Susan, who was in the lead.
“I think perhaps we are!”
“Oh!”
“What’s the matter? Is it a dead-end?”
“No, but it’s …”
Colin peered over his sister’s shoulder. “Oh.”
The widest shaft they had yet come upon lay before them, and stretched across its gaping mouth was a narrow plank. This was wet, and partly rotten, and no more than three inches rested on the lip of the shaft at either end.
“We’ll have to go back,” said Colin.
“No: we must cross. The tunnel leads somewhere, or the plank wouldn’t be here.”
And Susan stepped on to the plank.
Colin watched his sister walk over the pit: he had never known her to be like this before. She had always been content to follow his lead, seldom inclined to take a risk, no matter how slight. Yet now, for the third time in one day, she was deliberately facing great danger, and with a composure that claimed his respect even while it nettled his pride.
Susan was two-thirds of the way across when the plank tilted sideways an inch. Colin felt the sweat cold on his spine: but Susan merely paused to correct her balance, and then she was across.
“There! It’s easy – a bit rocky near the middle, but it’s quite safe. Walk normally, and don’t look down.”
“All right! I know how to do it as well as you!”
Colin started out. It was not too bad: the plank was firm, and he was prepared for a slight movement just over halfway. But even so, when it came it caught him unawares. He felt the plank shift: he teetered sideways, his arms flailing. Two swift shambling steps, the plank seemed to swing away from him, the lamplight whirled in an arch, he saw that his next step would miss the plank, the shaft yawned beneath him, and he leapt for his life.
“Are you hurt?”
Colin pulled himself into a sitting position, and rubbed his head.
“No. Thanks, Sue.”
He felt sick. For a second, which had seemed an age, he had crouched on one foot, poised over the drop, with his other leg hanging straight down the shaft, unable to produce the momentum to roll forward. And Susan had reached out and grabbed him by the hair, and brought him pitching on to his face in the tunnel.
“Do you mind if we have a rest?”
“We may as well, before we go back over the plank.”
“What?”
“Look for yourself.”
Colin shone his lamp along the tunnel and groaned. From where they were sitting, the floor plunged down, and, for as far as they could see, there was no change in its course.
“Down, down, always down!” cried Susan bitterly. “Are we never going to see daylight again?”
“Let’s carry on, now that we’re here,” said Colin. “You never know, this may be the way out.” He did not want to face the plank again, if it could possibly be avoided.
The passage dropped at an alarming rate. The floor was of smooth, red clay and once, Susan, going too fast, lost control and slid for several yards before she could stop herself. They learnt the lesson and went cautiously from then on.
Down, down, down, further than they had ever been before. And then the tunnel veered to the left, zigzagged violently, and came to an end on a ledge overlooking a great void. Colin lay on his stomach and peered over the edge.
“Well, we tried.”
Seven or eight feet below was a lake of chocolate-coloured water, capped with scuds of yellow foam. Some yards away a bar of sand showed above the surface, but beyond that there was nothing.
“Oh, let’s go back to the plank!” said Colin.
All the way up he was wondering how he could bring himself to cross the plank; and there it was before him, and Susan was saying, “Do you think you can manage?”
“’Course I can!”
Colin willed himself forward. His ears sang, his legs were rubber, his breath hissed through his teeth, his heart pounded, there was rock under him.
“Nothing to it!”
He shone the light on the plank for Susan to cross.
“Yes, it is easier. It slopes up coming this way.” Susan was in the middle now. “I wonder how deep the shaft is.” She stopped.
“No, Sue! Don’t look down, it’ll make you giddy! Come across: don’t stop!”
“I’m all right! I want to see how far down it goes.”
And she turned the beam of her lamp into the shaft.
She saw the wet rock, ribbed and gleaming like a gigantic windpipe, fall away beneath her and vanish into darkness far below, and … Susan screamed. The lamp dropped from her hand and crashed from wall to wall into the shaft’s throat. It was a terrible depth. She swayed, and fell forward, clutching the plank so violently that it began to quiver and grate against its anchorage. Susan knelt, staring into the hole, and whimpering with fear.
“Sue! Sue, get up! What’s the matter? Sue!”
“Eyes! Eyes looking at me! Down there