I spent a little too long thinking about whether I could put the chupacapra in here so I could describe it and the markings on its fur, but overall I think it would kill three men in a confined and treacherous space like this. So I'll save it for the return journey ;-)
Markings We walked the length of the gallery sticking to the back of it mostly as the spray from the river was quite violent and quickly damped clothes and spirits. Even at the back of the gallery the air was noticeably moist and a thin film of cool water quickly condensed on our skin. All of us kept wiping our hands on our shirts, trying to feel less clammy. At the end, the gallery turned off to the right and a flight of stairs, looking as old and carven as the ones we'd ascended to get here, led down. "Right or down?" asked Jimmy, who was still leading the way. "Right," I said. "Down will take us back to the river and no-one would carve steps all the way up here if they could have walked alongside it. There's a reason for being up here." "We can walk along here a few minutes and see where it goes," said Ben. "Shouldn't be that hard to come back and go down again instead if it seems like we'd be going the wrong way." Jimmy started down the right-hand passage and I swatted Ben lightly with my free hand. "What kind of support is that? ‘If we find we're going wrong we can always come back’?" Ben laughed. "You're never wrong, Red," he said. "Sometimes misguided, but never wrong." I squirmed just a touch. "Sometimes you keep important information from me," I said. "That doesn't make you wrong, it just makes life more exciting!" "Are you guys coming or what?" yelled Jimmy. "Coming," called Ben, and started after him. He kicked something on the floor that rolled, rather than scraped or bounced, and we both looked at each other, then bent down to find out what it was. "Gold," said Ben, holding up a bauble the size of his thumbnail, the kind of thing rich folks liked to hang on their Christmas trees. He rubbed it, cleaning it of dirt, and it glittered just a little in the flickering, smokey torchlight, revealing incised markings. "That's a good sign," I said. "Seems like there's enough gold around here than no-one keeps track of it that carefully." "Must be nice," said Ben, thoughtfully. He rubbed his thumb over the engraved symbols thoughtfully but then put the gold bauble in the pocket next to his cigars, and we walked swiftly to catch up with Jimmy. After a couple of minutes, when I was starting to wonder if Ben would suggest going back and trying the other route, we walked out onto another gallery and saw the river below us again. It was still flowing fast through a deep and narrow chasm and although from up here it undoubtedly looked worse than it was, I was very glad I wasn't trying to navigate a raft or even a small boat along it. Any mistake, from what I could see, would smash you against the rocky sides and probably break up a boat in minutes. No-one said anything, but Jimmy looked relieved and some of the tension went out of Ben's shoulders. The tension gradually came back though as we walked, walked and walked for what felt like hours through the damp, twisting rocky tunnel, sometimes departing from the river but always returning to it.
2 comments:
I spent a little too long thinking about whether I could put the chupacapra in here so I could describe it and the markings on its fur, but overall I think it would kill three men in a confined and treacherous space like this. So I'll save it for the return journey ;-)
Markings
We walked the length of the gallery sticking to the back of it mostly as the spray from the river was quite violent and quickly damped clothes and spirits. Even at the back of the gallery the air was noticeably moist and a thin film of cool water quickly condensed on our skin. All of us kept wiping our hands on our shirts, trying to feel less clammy. At the end, the gallery turned off to the right and a flight of stairs, looking as old and carven as the ones we'd ascended to get here, led down.
"Right or down?" asked Jimmy, who was still leading the way.
"Right," I said. "Down will take us back to the river and no-one would carve steps all the way up here if they could have walked alongside it. There's a reason for being up here."
"We can walk along here a few minutes and see where it goes," said Ben. "Shouldn't be that hard to come back and go down again instead if it seems like we'd be going the wrong way."
Jimmy started down the right-hand passage and I swatted Ben lightly with my free hand. "What kind of support is that? ‘If we find we're going wrong we can always come back’?"
Ben laughed. "You're never wrong, Red," he said. "Sometimes misguided, but never wrong."
I squirmed just a touch. "Sometimes you keep important information from me," I said.
"That doesn't make you wrong, it just makes life more exciting!"
"Are you guys coming or what?" yelled Jimmy.
"Coming," called Ben, and started after him. He kicked something on the floor that rolled, rather than scraped or bounced, and we both looked at each other, then bent down to find out what it was.
"Gold," said Ben, holding up a bauble the size of his thumbnail, the kind of thing rich folks liked to hang on their Christmas trees. He rubbed it, cleaning it of dirt, and it glittered just a little in the flickering, smokey torchlight, revealing incised markings.
"That's a good sign," I said. "Seems like there's enough gold around here than no-one keeps track of it that carefully."
"Must be nice," said Ben, thoughtfully. He rubbed his thumb over the engraved symbols thoughtfully but then put the gold bauble in the pocket next to his cigars, and we walked swiftly to catch up with Jimmy.
After a couple of minutes, when I was starting to wonder if Ben would suggest going back and trying the other route, we walked out onto another gallery and saw the river below us again. It was still flowing fast through a deep and narrow chasm and although from up here it undoubtedly looked worse than it was, I was very glad I wasn't trying to navigate a raft or even a small boat along it. Any mistake, from what I could see, would smash you against the rocky sides and probably break up a boat in minutes. No-one said anything, but Jimmy looked relieved and some of the tension went out of Ben's shoulders. The tension gradually came back though as we walked, walked and walked for what felt like hours through the damp, twisting rocky tunnel, sometimes departing from the river but always returning to it.
Greg - how... thoughtful? of you.
You've got a bit of a Lord of the Rings, Mines of Moria vibe going on here. And I like it :)
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