Right from the start the seam had climbed at a constant gradient of thirty degrees. The lack of headroom meant there was no choice but to go up the incline on all fours. The underlying substrate was smooth and ran with copious amounts of water as it drained down the slope and into the sea below. As they climbed, the water was replaced by warm mud. With the consistency of crude oil, it was incredibly slippery and made the going that much more difficult.
A little farther up they came to a stretch where the rock became quite hot to the touch, and Will could see little pools of the mud bubbling. Then they passed through an area in which small jets of steam puffed around them like miniature geysers — clearly these were the source of the ever-present mist.
It wasn't dissimilar from being in a sauna turned up to its full setting — it was intolerably hot and humid. Will was breathing quickly and pulling at the collar of his shirt in a futile attempt to cool himself down. And every so often, the stench of raw sulfur permeated the air, so much so that Will felt quite dizzy and wondered how the others were dealing with it.
Elliott had allowed them to have their lanterns on full beam, saying that the light was unlikely to be detected within the confines of the seam, especially since the mist masked everything. Will was grateful for this; it would have been horribly claustrophobic without any illumination to show the way.
On a couple of occasions, Will heard his brother's voice up ahead. From his curses, he sounded distinctly unhappy. Indeed, all three boys were giving vent to their frustration, interspersing their grumbling and groaning with some pretty choice language. Chester was the most vociferous, letting rip and swearing like a sailor. Only Elliott was her usual taciturn self, remaining silent as they went.
With a yank on the rope from Chester, Will realized he'd almost fallen asleep, and he quickly started off again. In no time at all, he had to stop and, as he wiped the mud from his eyes, he observed a nearby mud pool in which bubbles formed and popped with a noise that was best described as a steady glop glop.
Yet another unnecessarily savage tug of the rope came.
"Gee, thanks, friend!" he yelled up the slope at Chester.
The frequent tugs were a constant reminder of who Will was roped to. With nothing but the grueling climb to occupy him, he began to dwell on what Chester had said.
Words are cheap, especially yours!"
"I'm sick of the sight of you!"
The sentence rang loud and clear in Will's mind.
How dare Chester say those things?
Will hadn't intended for any of this to happen. He'd never in a million years dreamed they'd end up in such danger when he and Chester had set out to discover what had become of Will's missing father. And months ago, as they had walked together along the railway track on the approach to the Miners' Station, Will had apologized to Chester from the bottom of his heart. Chester had given every indication then that he had accepted Will's apology without reservation.
"Words are cheap, especially yours!"
Chester had thrown it all back in his face, and what could Will possibly do to make amends?
Nothing.
It was an impossible situation. It started Will thinking about what would happen when he was reunited with his father. It was clear that Chester had formed a strong allegiance to Elliott — maybe partly to spite Will. But whatever his motivation, the two seemed very close, and Will was soundly excluded.
But if his father appeared on the scene, how would Elliott react to him joining up with them? And how would his dad react to her? Would they all stay together: he, his father, Chester, Cal, and Elliott? Will couldn't imagine them somehow all getting along — Dr. Burrows would be far too cerebral and absentminded for Elliott. In fact, Will couldn't think of two more different people — worlds apart.
So, if they split up, then what about Chester? The lines had been drawn and Chester definitely wasn't in Will's camp any longer. Will admitted to himself that things had gotten so bad between them that he really wouldn't mind if Chester went off with Elliott. But it wasn't as easy as that: Will and his father would need Elliott, too, especially with the Styx after him.
His thoughts ground to an abrupt halt as the rope snapped taut again, and Chester's guttural, grumpy voice urged him to hurry up.
They continued to climb, and Will noticed that the air seemed to be clearing of mist and steam. A faint breath of cold air percolated around them. This didn't help matters any; they were all plastered with thick mud, and as it began to dry it caused their stiff clothing to chafe against their skin.
The breeze grew into a strong wind and, with a final tug of the rope, Will found that they had reached the top. At last he was able to stand up and stretch the kinks from his back. He rubbed the mud from around his eyes and saw that the others were already on their feet and were doing the same as him, easing the fatigue in their cramped limbs. All of them except Cal, who had found a rock to perch on and was massaging his leg with an expression of pure agony. Will peered down at himself and then at the others. The foursome looked like mud people, so thick was the dried crust on them.
As Will stepped into the center of the space, the wind blew with such steady force that it whisked the breath from his mouth. He cleaned his lens of mud and turned on his headset to discover that they were in a large tunnel with a roof that was probably fifty feet high. At its edges multiple smaller tunnels led off — so many that their dark openings immediately made him uneasy, as he imagined Styx lurking inside.
"You don't need the rope now!" Elliott shouted to Will. He tried his best to undo it, but the knot was so stiff with mud that she had to help him. Once the rope was untied, Elliott coiled it up again, and then she beckoned them all over. Will noticed that Chester still wouldn't make eye contact with him as he joined the group.
"You go that way," she said, pointing down the large tunnel. Her voice was snatched away by the wind, making it difficult for the boys to hear her.
"Sorry?" Will asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.
"I said, you go that way!" she yelled, already backing toward a side tunnel. Apparently she wasn't going with them.
The boys looked at her questioningly, their faces anxious.
Sarah was close — so close she could almost smell them herself, despite the jets of sulfurous steam.
The Hunter was well and truly in his element — this was what he'd been bred for. The scent was so fresh here that he was in a crazed rush to get to his quarry. Strings of milky saliva hung from his muzzle, and his ears twitched as he kept his head to the ground. His body was a blur of scrabbling legs, which slewed mud in their wake as he raced up the seam. He was literally pulling Sarah behind him, and it was all she could do to keep hold of the cat. As he paused to clear his nostrils of mud with rapid piglike snorts, she called out to him.
"Bartleby, where's your master?"
Although he didn't need the slightest encouragement, she called to him once more, goading him on in a crooning voice.
"Where's Cal, then? Where's Cal?"
With a flying start, he shot off again at full tilt, taking her by surprise. She slithered along on her stomach and shouted at him to ease off for a full fifty feet before he finally slowed long enough for her to get up on all fours again
"When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?" she mumbled, blinking through her mud mask.
After she'd seen the flying lizards on the wing, knowing full well what had disturbed them, she and Bartleby had sped along the remaining stretch of beach to the cavern wall. Then, on the rocks, he'd soon picked up the trail that led to the seam, raising his head and loosing a victorious, deep-pitched meow.