“This room used to be the fort’s ammunition store,” Cameron said, reading from a small plaque by the door.
“What if we can’t get below from anywhere?” Rose said, her voice shaky. “What if this castle construction has blocked off anything that was here previously?”
Crowley frowned, shook his head. “It’s possible, but I don’t buy it. This place was built for defense, so wouldn’t you want an avenue of escape when under siege? Otherwise, your enemies could starve you out.”
“He’s right,” Cameron said. “Remember the only external access is the door we came through at the top of the path? No way is that the only way in and out. There must be others.”
Voices sounded from a short distance away and the three of them froze. They were male voices, the words unclear but the lilt of a Scandinavian language unmistakable.
“We’ll be trapped in here!” Rose whispered, eyes wide.
Cameron looked left and right. Some large brass plates were mounted on one wall, heavy-looking. He pointed. “We could hide on either side of the door and jump them. Brain them with those. But it’s three men with guns versus two with knives and brass dinnerware. Not great odds.”
Crowley couldn’t help but agree. This was a bad place to be cornered, not much room to move around, only a table and chairs, a few armchairs, nothing to afford real cover from flying bullets. He looked to the fireplace, thinking to arm himself with a stout iron poker or other implement. He frowned, looked closer.
One stone in the back of the hearth looked out of place, darker and coarser than the others. It made him think of volcanic stone. Heart racing, hoping for a break, just one small piece of luck, he gave the stone a shove with his fist. It shifted a little, but not much.
“They’re coming closer!” Rose’s whisper had an edge of panic to it.
Refusing to be beaten, certain there was something up with this brick, and losing all other patience besides, Crowley slammed his booted heel into the dark square of stone with all his might.
A muted clack echoed behind the hearth and the stone gave way. The sound reminded Crowley of a tumbler in a lock sliding into place. With a scrape of stone, the back of the fireplace slowly slid sideways, revealing a low, dark tunnel. He turned a grin back to the others and saw them both staring with mouths hanging open.
“Come on then!” he said. “No time to stand around gawping!”
The three fell to their hands and knees and crawled inside. Crowley, bringing up the rear, heard the voices as though they were almost on top of them. Shadows moved in the corridor outside the door to the ship room, voices urgent and talking over one another in frustration. Crowley spotted a small metal lever to one side of the gap. Hoping desperately it would work, he pulled it. The false back of the fireplace slid closed, plunging them into utter darkness.
“That,” Crowley said with relief, “ought to buy us some time. Now, let’s see what’s down here. And quickly, in case they figure out what I did.”
Chapter 52
Crowley, Rose and Cameron all flicked on the flashlight apps on their phones. The small space behind the fireplace was cramped, but the passage led away from them, descending at a shallow decline. Crowley took the lead, on his knees and one hand, holding his light up with the other. They knew instinctively not to talk, not drag their shoes or make any other noise. If Landvik did discover the secret entrance, which Crowley assumed he would eventually, they didn’t want him to do so just yet by giving themselves away with noise.
As he traveled further, Rose behind him and Cameron coming last, the ceiling began to rise as the slope continued down. After about twenty meters he was able to stand, albeit hunched over so as not to bang his head on the rough rock.
He eventually came out into a small, low-ceilinged cave, hewn roughly from the rock. One side, low down, was smooth like maybe that had been natural, with the rest mined out by human hands. As Rose and Cameron arrived beside him, adding their lights to his, he saw several other passages leading away. The space was like a rocky hand, the tunnel they had crawled down being the wrist, with five dark fingers leading away, spread almost evenly apart. On the far right, the tunnel was only about a meter in diameter and their lights showed that it quickly narrowed to something even a small child would have trouble navigating. The other four passages were all big enough for a grown adult, though a couple would require crawling once more.
“We should split up,” Rose said. “There’s no telling how much time we have. If Landvik finds the secret door, we’re in trouble. At least if we find the hammer, we’ve got a bargaining chip.”
Crowley opened his mouth to reply when Rose gasped and staggered. He ran to her side, grabbed her arm. “You okay?”
She made a noise of anger, almost a feral growl, and hauled herself upright. “I’m fine. Honestly, thank you. These memory flashes are disorienting, but I won’t let them weaken me.”
Crowley grinned, impressed again with her strength. “So can your memories tell us which tunnel to take?”
She shook her head. “That’s what I just tried to do, to remember where Aella had been, but it’s too dizzying. We’ll just have to check, I think. Quickly. Separately.”
“Yes, okay then,” Crowley reluctantly agreed. He pointed to his left. “I’ll take to the one on this side. Rose, you want to take the other side?”
“Sure.”
Cameron held out a shining bowie knife. “Take this. Don’t be squeamish about using it if you have to.”
“I won’t. Thank you.” She hurried over to the passage beside the one too small for access, then paused. She flicked a look back over her shoulder and grinned. “Good luck!”
“You too. Scream if you need us!”
She nodded once and vanished into the tunnel’s dark mouth.
Crowley pointed to the remaining two passages in the center. “Take your pick.”
“I’ll take the left one first,” Cameron said. “Whoever’s out first can check the last one if necessary.”
Crowley grabbed his friend’s forearm, squeezed. “Good job. See you soon.”
Cameron returned the pressure on Crowley’s arm, then ducked away into the darkness. Crowley dropped to his hands and knees and scooted as quickly as he could along his tunnel. At intervals, it rose high enough that he could crouch and crab-walk along, but was otherwise narrow and featureless. His light quickly shone back to him from a dead end of rock.
“Nothing,” he muttered, shining his light around to be certain, then spotted an iron ring set in the ceiling. Surrounding the ring was a circle of stone, maybe a little over half a meter in diameter. He frowned. An old-fashioned kind of manhole? He put his phone on the floor, light shining up so he could see, and worked at the ring, trying to work the stone loose. He pulled out his knife, ran the blade point around the circular edge, then shook and pushed and pulled at the ring again, hoping he wasn’t about to bring the round slab of stone down on his head.
After some muscle and grunt, the stone shifted, turning in its seat and raining grit and dust down onto his face. Crowley blinked and coughed, but pushed upwards with all his strength. The stone tipped up and he put both hands beneath it and slid it sideways as cold, damp air rushed in.
He grabbed the edges and hauled himself up, his head rising inside a gloomy building. Watery daylight shone in through stone arches that looked out onto broad swathes of green, the cold ocean not a stone’s throw away.