“Mr. Olderglough referenced it, as did the Baroness.”
Upon hearing that the Baroness had returned, Mr. Broom’s eyes darted away. He was silent for a long while before asking, “When did she come back?”
“Some weeks ago.”
“And how does she seem to you?”
“I had the impression she was relieved to have come home. At least at the beginning, this was the sense I had.”
“Do you mean to say that something has changed since then?”
“There has been a change.”
“And what is the change?”
Lucy was unsure how to describe it. “It seems to me that she is weakening.”
“She is ill?”
“Not physically ill, no.”
“How is she ill?”
Lucy said, “There is an increasing dearth of sensibility in regard to her actions.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She keeps unsavory acquaintances and engages in unnatural social acts.”
“Speak plainly.”
“I dare not.”
“Tell me all you know.”
“I shall not. All that I’ll say is that I believe there is an unwellness rampant in the castle.”
“What manner of unwellness?”
“A pervasive unpleasantness.”
“What is unpleasant?”
“It’s something which I can’t put into words other than to say I suspect all who live there are affected in time. Did you not feel imperiled at any point during your stay?”
“No.”
“Fixed in the clutches of something larger than yourself?”
“No.”
“And yet you chased death into the Very Large Hole, where you now find yourself living in rags and eating away at the belly of a raw fish and calling it supper, or breakfast, for that matter.”
Mr. Broom could not deny that he had suffered a degeneration. “But,” he said, “that might have happened regardless of my location. For love is the culprit, and love grows wherever it wishes.” He pointed. “Look at our friend Tomas, here. He finds himself in the same position as I, and yet he’s never so much as set foot in the castle.”
True enough, and yet Lucy couldn’t shake the notion that there was some malicious anathema afoot in the castle. He was visited by the image of the Baron, his bare body smeared with rodent’s blood, a memory which invoked a shudder. As though reading Lucy’s mind, Mr. Broom asked,
“And what of the Baron? Is he faring so poorly as his wife?”
Lucy said, “Much like she, there is evidence of decline, and it is my opinion that this decline will become dire.”
“And what is the nature of their partnership at present?”
“How do you mean?”
“Are they functionally married?”
“How do you mean?”
“Possibly you already know what I mean.”
“Possibly I do.”
“And are they?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve witnessed it.”
“I see. You’ll excuse me, please.” Mr. Broom stood and walked into the water, swimming away and vanishing in the darkness of the far cavern. Tomas gave Lucy a look of mild reproach.
“But what else could I have done?” Lucy asked.
“Lied,” said Tomas simply. And here Lucy slapped his knee, as in this one instance the thought to do so hadn’t occurred to him.
3
These two fell silent, and the passage of time grew leaden for Lucy. If only there were a fire, he might gaze wistfully into its heart and ponder the sinister mysteries of life; or if he were tired, he could drift into slumber and dream of Klara stepping through boundless fields of undulating grasses. But there was nothing to do other than speak, and there was no one to speak with other than Tomas, and Lucy felt they had exhausted all topics of conversation save for one. In the interest of creating an event, then, he decided to broach it: “Memel says you were quite close, the two of you.”
Had Tomas been expecting this? He didn’t seem surprised by it, and his tone was not unfriendly. “We were, at that,” he said. “Is it safe to assume he told you how it was that I came to be here?”
“It’s safe.”
“And he believes me dead?”
“Yes.”
“Has he forgiven me, I wonder?”
“He didn’t say if he had or hadn’t. I believe he felt his actions were justified. Anyway, he expressed no regrets. And yet, he remembers you fondly.”
Tomas shrugged, as though he didn’t quite believe Lucy. In a self-consciously casual tone, he asked, “And how is Alida?”
Somehow Lucy hadn’t anticipated the question, and now he regretted having brought up Memel at all. Sensing his regret, Tomas spoke:
“Something hasn’t happened to her, I hope?”
Lucy said, “In fact, she’s died, Tomas.”
Tomas’s face hardened, a rictus of disbelief. “Died.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry to say it.”
“Died,” Tomas repeated. “But how?”
“In childbirth.”
Tomas was staring at Lucy. “When?” he said.
“Some months after your disappearance.”
“How many months?”
“Nine.”
Here Tomas performed an anomalous gesture, casting his hand sharply across his face, as though drawing a veil over his features, or catching some unspeakable word. Lucy knew that he was watching a man’s heart break before him.
“Did the child also die?” asked Tomas.
“The child is alive,” said Lucy. “Mewe, is his name. He lives just next to Memel and Klara.”
There was nothing but the sound of the river for a time; and to Lucy it seemed the volume of it was increasing. Tomas began digging a small hole in the sand. “Will you tell me about him?” he said. “What does he do? Possibly he’s a gambler too, eh?”
“No, he works with Memel on the trains.”
“He is a thief?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have any talent for it?”
“He has a great talent for it.”
Tomas filled in the hole and smoothed it over. “So many days with nothing whatever passing,” he said. “And now this.”
“He is a happy boy, Tomas. He is happy and well liked.”
Tomas nodded. “How is Klara?” he asked. “She would be a young lady by now, I should think.”
“She is a young lady,” Lucy agreed. There must have been some familiar tone of injury in the way he said it, because now Tomas was watching him with an expression of recognition.
“She wouldn’t have anything to do with your being here, would she?”
Lucy said, “Roundaboutly, and yes, she does.”
Tomas laughed scornfully. “Well, we’re quite the group, aren’t we? You and I and Mr. Broom?”
“I would say we are.”
“Been led down the garden path, eh?”
“Perhaps we have been.”
“Cupid is well armed, it would seem.”
“And so must we be,” Lucy said, and now the two smiled at each other, sharing a contented moment which did not last long, interrupted as it was by Mr. Broom’s return. Trudging up the bank, he said, “We are, the three of us, going to wake up tomorrow, and we’re going to strike out, and either we’ll escape this place and reclaim our lives aboveground, or else perish in our attempt to do so.” As though exhausted by the words, he dropped to his knees, whispering, “We may well perish, in fact.” He was studying his hands, now, in wonder at their abilities, perhaps.
Lucy and Tomas looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. “Our friend has been invigorated by his swim,” said Tomas.
4
Due to the danger inherent in attempting escape, and because of his age and general decrepitude, Tomas was not enthusiastic about this idea at first glance. He became sullen in the afternoon, and it seemed that a rift was afoot, but by the time evenin
g rolled around he had found some deeper reserve of spirit and proclaimed, more loudly than was necessary, that he would join the expedition.
Surely there was a connection between his change of heart and news of Mewe, just as Mr. Broom’s decision to leave was informed by the knowledge that the Baroness had returned to the castle. Lucy, for his part, had made up his mind to leave before Mr. Broom had brought it up, even; and he would have gone on his own if need be, for his thoughts were of Klara alone, and his desire to win her back superseded all other concerns. Regarding preparations, there were none to speak of, other than for the men to come to an agreement about the specifics of the method of departure and escape. This was discussed at length, and resulted in disagreement but thankfully not division.
Mr. Broom was for action. He wished to lead the three, for he was, he said, the strongest of the group, a truth which neither Tomas nor Lucy could dispute, though they were the both of them left wondering just what Mr. Broom’s strength would avail anyone other than Broom himself. Beyond his physical capabilities Mr. Broom claimed, with an amount of humility or reluctance, to be in possession of second sight. He often felt its influence, he said, and believed that if he were to focus intently and utilize this gift to its utmost, then he would guide the group to freedom.
Tomas sat awhile, blinking. “This is news to me, my friend.”
“It’s not something one goes about boasting of.”
“And why not? Here we’ve been discussing topics such as our favorite numerals.” Tomas closed his eyes. “Tell me, please: what am I thinking about now?”
Mr. Broom shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Tomas stuck a hand behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
“I believe I can find the way out of here,” Mr. Broom said.
“And yet you didn’t on any of our prior expeditions. And why not? Sheer modesty, I wouldn’t wonder.”
Mr. Broom had gone red in the face. “Perhaps you have a plan of your own.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“Do you or don’t you?”
Tomas drew himself up. “If anyone is to lead the expedition,” he said, “I believe that should be me.”
“Oh?” said Mr. Broom. “And why is that, can you tell me?”
“Because I am the eldest, and so I have the wisdom of time on my side.”
“The wisdom of time?” said Mr. Broom. Apparently he found the phrase humorous.
“That’s what I said,” Tomas answered sternly.
“Does one always accompany the other?”
“In my case I believe it does. Beyond that, and this is inarguable, I have journeyed upriver far more often than you have, and so am more familiar with the terrain.”
“That’s one way to put it. Another way might be to say that you are more familiar with failing to surpass the terrain.”
Tomas leveled a finger at Broom. “I saw the sun set thousands of times before you drew your first breath.”
“And so?”
“I was entering women when you were still soiling your short pants.”
“And so?”
“I slit a man’s throat before you could milk a cow.”
“I still can’t milk a cow. But I think your plan is pure foolishness.”
“It’s no more foolish than yours.”
“Yes, but my plan is mine, and so I prefer it.”
“And just as naturally, I do mine.”
Arriving thus at stalemate, the pair lured Lucy into the fray, asking which plan he himself thought best. Believing each one to be equally poor, Lucy admitted to having no preference at all, a statement which effectively offended both men, who together began to chastise him, for here they were busily concocting schemes while he sat by, marking time, contributing nothing whatsoever.
All this to say there was strife among them, and confidence was ebbing with each passing minute. In the end, Lucy did come up with a plan of his own, and as it happened, this was the idea they could all three of them agree on.
The Specifics of the Method of Departure and Escape from the Very Large Hole
5
Lucy hadn’t eaten in nearly three days by this point. Tomas and Mr. Broom found this alarming in that it had potential to upset their escape, and so they brought him another fish and sat before him; and whereas earlier they were disinterested in whether or not he chose to eat, now they were all the more keen, so that Lucy felt a pressure to please them. His hunger was startlingly vivid; it stabbed and pinwheeled in his stomach and seemed at times to possess the attributes of color. And yet he felt he simply could not perform the action of severing the metallic scales with his teeth, and he told his comrades he wouldn’t do it.
“It will give you pluck, and so you must,” said Tomas.
“If we’re leaving in the morning, as Mr. Broom says, then I can do without.”
Mr. Broom shook his head. “We’ll be days in the darkness, and it will take our every bit of strength to see this through, if it’s even possible to see it through. I’m sorry, Lucy, but we really must insist that you eat.”
Lucy glared at the fish, knowing that he would consume the thing but hating it, and unsure just how to start. Tomas touched the tip of his finger to the fish’s belly. “Here,” he said. “Just shred it away.” At last Lucy drew the fish to his face and bit into its flesh; and at the same moment he did this, the fish fairly exploded, shooting out a clammy glut of roe, for it was a female, and had been on its way to the spawning ground when captured in the stone corral. Lucy was incredulous, and he sat very still, roe clinging to his cheek and chin. When Mr. Broom and Tomas ceased laughing, they took the fish away and fetched him another, a male. Lucy did not dawdle with this, but consumed it with a certain violence or anger. Soon the fish was but a head, tail, and skeleton; and as Lucy felt his body accepting the much-needed nourishment, then did his mood lighten. He lay back on the sand, watching the distant purple circle which was the shading sky framed by the mouth of the Very Large Hole. His stomach squirmed loudly, relentlessly; he was listening to this with dispassionate amusement when a consequential thought, like a bird flown through an open window, came into his mind and perched there. He sat up alertly, looking across at Tomas and Mr. Broom, both of whom had also eaten and were ruminating upon their own concerns.
“The fish head upriver when they spawn, do they not?” said Lucy.
“They do,” said Tomas.
“How far upriver do they travel?”
“I don’t rightly know. Do you, Mr. Broom?”
“A good long while, anyway,” Mr. Broom answered. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well,” said Lucy, “if we were to follow one, mightn’t she lead us to freedom?”
When he said this, Mr. Broom, too, sat up. Tomas wore a skeptical expression; and yet there was a stiffness or seriousness to him as well. He asked, “And how might one do such a thing, even if we weren’t making the journey in total darkness?”
Lucy was staring at the woman’s boot, situated once again in the center of their circle. He believed he knew the answer to Tomas’s question but he didn’t respond right away, forcing himself to act with calm. He took the boot up and poured out the water. Removing the lace, he laid this in a straight line before him, watching it awhile before unlacing his own boots, and tying each of these to the first, tripling its length. Mr. Broom drew his fingers to his mouth in a gesture of surprise and recognition; now he also began unlacing his boots. Tomas didn’t understand what was happening, and had to be enlightened; once this was done, he still didn’t want to give up his laces. But Lucy and Mr. Broom entreated him, and though Tomas thought it far-fetched, neither did he want to spoil their fun, and so he handed over his laces as well, and these were tied to the rest, so that there was now a single lace of goodly length laid out between them. They studied this for a long while, and with reverence, representative as it was of thei
r last chance for escape. Later, and the men slept, dreaming their dreams of vainglory, the tongues of their boots lolling in the sand as if exhausted.
6
The idea, of course, was to tie the string of laces to the tail of a fish on its way to the spawning ground and, as one walking a dog on a lead, follow the fish to the river’s wellspring. It was, Lucy thought, not just a good idea, but the only idea—the only logical method other than blind luck or brute force which might see them home again. He was prouder, perhaps, than he’d ever been in his life, and it was difficult not to discuss and rediscuss the idea’s inception and canny brilliance with the others, neither of whom was, Lucy felt, appropriately enthusiastic or complimentary about it. Mr. Broom seemed to think it almost a shared notion, or one which was so obvious that he would have come to it himself in the blue-skied by and by.
They selected the fish from the corrals, a moderately sized female who had been caught only the morning prior, and so, they hoped, had not had time to become idle. Tomas held her still while Lucy attached the bootlace to her tail. While this was happening she was full of fight, but once transferred to the river she merely floated in place, and the three men stood and stared, waiting. Lucy gave a tug on the bootlace but nothing happened. He gave a second tug, less gentle this time—still nothing. He hadn’t considered the possibility of failure, somehow; and in the face of it, he felt a gross despair gathering about his heart. But now, and with no small amount of relief, he saw the bootlace was growing taut, and that the fish was pulling toward the mouth of the cave. She had been temporarily demoralized by her capture and imprisonment, or else was flummoxed by the fact of her tail being fettered and had needed a moment to gather her wits, but the spawning instinct had returned, and she would see the impulse through to its natural conclusion.
Lucy, Mr. Broom, and Tomas, led by the increasingly impatient fish, stepped headlong into the roar of the cavern.
7
There is darkness and there is darkness, thought Lucy. This is darkness.