Eighteen

Kehler held aloft the lantern, illuminating the opening.

“I think we should go in tonight, at least some way, in case we’re pursued.”

“Do you think it’s wise to go on in darkness?” Hayes asked.

“It’s always night in the underworld, Samual.”

Hayes could hear his companion’s smile in the words. “Yes, of course, but . . .” He let the protest die. “All right, if you think it’s best.”

They climbed back up the path among the firs and found their guide unloading the horses. “We can make a camp here,” the man said.

“We thought we’d go in tonight,” Kehler said, not at all self-conscious.

The man stopped what he was doing. “Tonight? You might be better rested in the morning.” He paused and looked at each of the gentlemen. “But suit yourselves.” He set one of their bags on the ground. “I would caution you to be most careful in your explorations, gentlemen. You cannot imagine the difficulties of carrying a man back to the surface again. There are some tight places in the cave, and getting an injured man through such can be near to impossible. I have had to do it myself and never want to be so employed again. I urge you, be mindful as you go.”

Kehler and Hayes divided their effects into sturdy canvas packs of the type used by foot soldiers.

“It seems an enormous amount of gear,” Hayes said hefting his pack.

“We must have it, though. A spare lantern is a necessity, and lamp oil, and ropes. We must have food and a change of clothing, a compass, candles, and the survey. I have left everything out that I felt we could possibly do without. Feel fortunate that we do not have to carry water, for there is water enough in the cave.” Kehler took a last look at their bags. “We will leave some food and a few other things just inside the cave to await our return, but the rest I’m afraid we must shoulder. Let me just fill the lantern, and we shall be ready.”

A moment later Kehler resealed the fuel tin and hoisted his pack to his back. “Into the netherworld, my friend.” He went to thank their guide, but the man was rolled in a blanket and already snoring.

They descended along the path to the cave mouth. At this elevation and among such massive trees the underwood was very sparse, and the earth was often carpeted in mosses. Hayes felt as though they were leaving a soft, green world for one hard, gray, and lifeless, for very little lived out of sight of the sun. He could not help feeling that the darkness emanated from this opening into the earth, exhaled like a dark breath each night. He didn’t really want to go on, and hesitated at the very lip of the cave.

Kehler looked over at him. “It will be the discovery of a lifetime,” he said simply. “And we shall write an account of it that will be seen by every reading man, woman, and child in all the nations around the Entide Sea. You will not want for money ever again, Hayes, I can assure you.”

“It would come down to money,” Hayes said peevishly. “Lead on, Kehler, I’m dreadfully tired of hiding from my creditors.”

Kehler gave him a hint of a concerned smile, and went resolutely into the mouth of the cave. The lantern illuminated a floor of dried mud, caked and flaking, and convoluted walls worn by years of water erosion, now broken here and there and not so smooth as they were.

“You’re sure this cave is . . . solid,” Hayes said, his voice echoing in the small entrance chamber.

“There are some areas of breakdown marked on the survey, but for the most part the cave is utterly solid and not to be worried about. I can’t believe you didn’t read the pamphlet, Hayes.”

“You read most of it to me,” he reminded his friend.

Some enterprising individual in Castlebough had published a small pamphlet on the cave, and though its aim was to draw visitors out to see this natural wonder, there was some useful information as well. But even so, Hayes was not convinced that a survey and the information contained in some hack’s pamphlet could really be considered adequate preparation for their expedition. But Kehler absolutely refused to take a local guide other than the man who brought them to the entrance. Whatever it was he hoped to find, Kehler was to be certain that he shared it with no one but Hayes—and Hayes was not sure that he would have been included if Kehler had felt he could have undertaken the matter alone. But apparently even the driven Kehler was not willing to go into the bowels of the earth on his own.

“You promised to tell me what you had learned once we were underground,” Hayes said as they made their way into a narrowing passage.

“When we stop to rest,” Kehler said. “You will not be disappointed, Samual.”

No, but I will likely be too far along to turn back if I am.

The passage was high, disappearing from the lamplight at a dozen feet and varied in width as they went from three yards to places where the two could not walk abreast. The walls were uneven, appearing almost fluted in places, as though over the great expanse of geological time water had run here at different levels, and slowly eaten away at the softer whitestone so that the surfaces were uneven. The cave twisted unexpectedly, and then began to descend so that they were soon climbing down drops of four and five feet, like erratic stairs.

They went on like this for an hour or more, Kehler leading the way and holding the lantern for Hayes. They were young and hale, and even Hayes soon forgot his fears and began to enjoy meeting the challenge. They heard no sound but their own breathing and the scrape of their feet over stone, the sound of the packs rubbing against the walls of the cave as they squeezed through some narrower part. And then Kehler stopped, holding up his hand, obviously listening.

“Do you hear water running?”

Hayes listened. “There is something. . . . It must be water. Does your survey show it?”

“Yes, but I did not think to come upon it so soon. We are making better time than I guessed.”

Heartened by this, they pushed on, hurrying where the cave would allow it. At one point the passage narrowed at its bottom, forcing them to climb higher, bridging their arms and legs to either side and picking their footholds with care. An hour later they were able to take to the floor again, but they had been slowed appreciably by this section.

The air changed, becoming suddenly damp and a bit refreshing, for they had been working hard and were both hot and sweating. In another twenty minutes they came to the lip of a drop, and there at the bottom lay a pool of water fed by a small falls. The water swirled in a swift whirlpool and then plunged down into the cave, sounding unnaturally loud in the hard world of stone.

Kehler handed the lamp to Hayes and peeled off his pack, setting it down with a theatrical groan. “I think we can easily climb down, but we should lower the lantern and the packs separately.” He dug out one of their ropes, flaking it down onto the rock, and formed a loop at its midpoint. “When I get down, throw me the end, then tie the lantern to the loop. Feed it out to me, and I will endeavor to keep it clear of the rocks.”

Carefully, but apparently without trepidation, Kehler climbed the thirteen or fourteen feet down to the edge of the pool.

“All right,” he said, and Hayes threw him the other end.

The lantern was lowered down without mishap, and then the packs, one at a time. Hayes followed his friend, though with less confidence. Kehler held the lantern high and gave his friend instructions as to the best footholds. In a moment they were both standing beside the small pool, their relieved laughter echoing with the water sounds.

“Where does this go?” Hayes asked, waving a hand at the passage from which the water flowed.

“It goes a few hundred yards, and then chokes off, I think. Only a hole big enough for the stream.”

They both drank and then sat for a moment. The chamber they were in was almost perfectly circular, rising fairly evenly to a dome overhead.

“It is remarkable, isn’t it?” Hayes said, surprised by his reaction to the place.

Kehler agreed. “But we haven’t come anywhere near the true wonders of the cave. There are chambers decorated with stalactites and curtains and flowing moonstone. There is a falls almost a hundred feet high and even a small lake, or so the survey shows.”

“How far have we descended?”

“I don’t think we’ve gone down a hundred feet yet, which leaves quite a lot of cave below us, for we started about three thousand feet above Blue Hawk Lake, which lies at the cave’s bottom. Unfortunately we will have to climb up again, for the entrances at the lake are under water until the dry summer months.”

They sat quietly, watching the water swirl into the pool, a bit awed by what nature had carved around them.

Kehler filled the lamp again, checking his watch. “We may have to kill the flame when we stop to sleep,” he said. “I’m not sure we have enough fuel to keep it alive for the entire time otherwise.”

“But we have candles,” Hayes said.

“Yes, though I hope we’ll not need them. A lamp is so much more convenient and casts much more light. Imagine trying to keep a candle alight and make good time in here?”

There was a moment’s silence, and perhaps sensing that Hayes was again about to ask the purpose of their expedition, Kehler jumped up and hefted his pack into place.

“Take the lantern and the lead, Hayes. I will follow blindly for a while.”

They followed the course of the water, which ran swiftly down, its voice echoing in the dark tunnel. Where the passage narrowed, and there was no dry footing, they at first tried to keep their boots dry, climbing up and bridging again, but soon enough they had both slipped in one place or another and after that they simply plunged into the water, accepting the ruination of their footwear.

In half an hour they came to a short drop where the water course deviated into a fissure in the floor which left only a little room on one side where they might pass. They went carefully by this opening, afraid to slip into it, both imagining being swept down into a dark, water-filled tunnel devoid of both light and air.

“I did not care much for that!” Hayes said, slumping up against the cave wall once they were past.

“Nor did I. Fortunately we have clear sailing now for a while.” Kehler filled their single water bottle here, and then they set off again.

“In a little over an hour we should reach a splitting of the way,” Kehler said. “We can go either left or right, for both ways join again. After that, I think we will be an hour from the great junction where four passages meet. Can you go on till then? Are you game?”

Hayes thought he was. Kehler took the lead now, pushing on as though driven to complete their journey that very night, though it looked more likely that they would require two days or even a bit more. It all depended on their ease of going. The passage was presently running along quite evenly, and they were making excellent time though that could quickly change. The next time they stopped, Hayes wanted to have a look at the survey. His memory of it was getting muddled already.

Hayes was not quite certain how he had gotten drawn into this, aside from the obvious reasons: money and bloody curiosity. He felt like he had betrayed Erasmus, slipping away without a word, but Kehler had insisted.

“It will be the discovery of our lifetime,” Kehler had said, his eyes almost shining with his excitement. “And your name will be attached to it forever.” Kehler realized how much his pride had been damaged by his fall in society. Erasmus will never forgive me, he thought. I do not know exactly what Kehler expects to find, but with the similarities between his interests and Erasmus’, I have little doubt that Erasmus will wish he were with us. And there was also Erasmus’ stated concern: that Kehler was pursuing matters that could be dangerous to him—matters that Hayes was pursuing as well.

The roof of the passage had begun to dip, forcing Hayes and Kehler to crouch as they went. But soon their packs were dragging on the rock, and they were forced to their knees. Packs were shed with some difficulty, and they proceeded, pushing the packs ahead as they went. The ceiling continued to drop until they were slithering along on their bellies, though the width of their tunnel remained six or seven feet.

“I hope it is not all like this,” Hayes said, “or we shall be in here forever.”

Ahead of him Kehler cursed. “Yes, I would say our pace has slowed to the proverbial crawl. Flames! I shall have no knees left at this rate!”

Hayes laughed, the sound echoing oddly in the darkness. They crawled on, saving their breath for their effort, though that did not stop an occasional curse. Hayes began to think of the tons of rock above him, and the tunnel seemed to press down, as though the roof of the cave were bending under the immeasurable weight. He struggled with a growing panic. What if the tunnel became smaller yet? What if they became trapped, unable to move? The thought caused him such anguish that he pushed it from his mind.

Concentrate on moving forward, he encouraged himself. He fought to lift his pack over an edge that snagged it, shoved it on in frustration, and then crawled after. He was not getting much light from the lantern, and Kehler, who could see perfectly, no doubt, was getting farther and farther ahead. At this rate Hayes thought he would soon be in complete darkness. To make matters worse, he was certain the tunnel was narrowing. And he had to struggle with his panic again.

He did not know how long they proceeded in this fashion, but it seemed hours. Hayes felt that his existence was shrinking as the tunnel became smaller. He was reduced to a crawling beast, fighting his fears, pushing his pack a foot, then dragging himself forward, pushing his pack . . . again and again.

And then the light appeared to grow; he thrust his pack through a hole into an open area and light flooded in. Hayes squeezed through and lay catching his breath. Kehler was sitting with his back against the rock wall, and he tried to smile.

“Do you know the hour? I have managed to smash my timepiece.”

Hayes fished in a pocket and found his own watch unscathed, though he made note to place it securely in his pack.

“Two minutes beyond midnight.”

Kehler nodded. “Six hours we have been at it. Three perhaps in this last section. Our progress is less than I expected.”

“Perhaps this walking upright has its drawbacks after all. I’m sure our distant relatives, the ape men, would have managed much better than we.”

Kehler produced the water bottle, and they both drank deeply. The survey was spread out in the lamplight, and the two bent over it.

“I would venture that we have just passed through the section known as the ‘Slug’s Race Course,’ and I no longer wonder why it was so named. I wonder how far it is to this splitting of the ways?” He tapped the drawing. “Shall we go on, or call it a night?”

Hayes took a look around. He was feeling decidedly tired, but he was not certain that he could sleep. The claustrophobia of the last hours still touched him.

“I think we should go on. We have almost emptied the water bottle, and it would be good to be nearer water in the morning.”

Kehler nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go to the place where the four ways meet. From there it can’t be more than two hours to the resurgence.”

They clambered on, relieved by the size of the passage, which was ten feet high and roughly round, though it quickly began to vary, and twist as it went. Their spirits rose, as often happens after an ordeal, and they talked as they went, buoyed by a sense of adventure.

In the world above, people slumbered, secure in their homes and the routine of their lives, while here, far beneath the surface, Hayes and Kehler went seeking secrets long hidden. Hayes thought that he felt more alive at that moment than he had in several years.

Sooner than expected, they found the Y in the tunnel and, for no particular reason, elected to take the left passage. In twenty minutes the passages joined again and they pressed on. A series of short drops, none more than ten feet, slowed them only a little, and an hour more brought them to the place where the four ways joined. Here they found a small alcove off the side of one passage and, calling it the “sleeping chamber,” threw down their packs.

Hayes impressed Kehler by using the lantern as a stove. He removed the glass chimney and, using one of their tin cups and the lamp’s handle, managed if not to boil water at least to heat it. Taking a small package from his pack, he brewed something resembling tea and this they shared quietly by the lamplight.

Kehler produced the survey again and hunched over it, examining it minutely. “If we take the southern passage, we will be forced to use ropes to negotiate some rather large drops, but there are no significant squeezes on this route. The northern way has a long crawl, perhaps longer than the one we have just survived.”

“Let us go by the south, then, Kehler. I fear heights less than the tight spots.”

Kehler looked over at him, his gaze resting on his friend with some concern. “I will tell you honestly, Hayes, that we have not really entered a tight passage yet. Some tunnels we might meet are just large enough to let a determined man pass and no more.” Perhaps he saw the distress this caused, and he quickly added. “But I am smaller than you and will do most of the real exploration. Your job will be to pull me out by my ankles should I get stuck.”

Hayes took the tea from his friend and sipped it. “You said you would tell me the story once we stopped.”

Kehler laid his head back against the rock and closed his eyes. Hayes thought he would claim exhaustion and put the moment off again, but without opening his eyes Kehler began.

“In my time at Wooton I managed to gain the trust of a number of the priests who worked in the archives, although I will confess that I planned to abuse that trust right from the beginning. Like many historians in Farrland, I was of the belief that the church hid much of our history in their records. If they had so cheated us, I was prepared to do the same to them. I make no more excuse than that.

“The archives at Wooton house what is, perhaps, the most important collection in all Farrland. There are some documents there of astonishing age! Many of the priests who do their scholarly work there maintain exhausting hours, appearing to need no more than a few hours’ sleep each day. This is part of the surrender of their will to the church, I think. I came to see it as a form of self-abasement, really. But it meant that the archives were open at all hours. I began to work long hours myself and gained the trust of a number of the priests this way, for I think they were impressed by my monk-like capacity for work. I was not one of them, but I was, at least, like them in habits.

“I soon learned that there were rooms in the buildings that were not open to any but the most senior priests or scholars, and then only with consent from on high. The keys for most of the rooms were in the possession of the senior archivist, an ancient and kindly priest. I gained his trust by offering my services to him, for he did not get around as he once did. Through this action, I managed to gain occasional access to his keys. The poor man, he trusted me far too much, and I do regret this one betrayal, for I’m sure he has been retired in shame for what happened.

“I traced his keys one at a time, and then filed duplicates out of brass. It was a laborious process, I can tell you, and it did not always produce results, but eventually I had keys for most of the locked chambers. The first I entered documented the struggle of the church to influence government, and was astonishing enough, I’m sure, but it was not what interested me. I was a while finding what I looked for and, in fact, began to despair of ever discovering what I sought.

“And then fortune found me. I could only gain access to the rooms at certain times of the night, when those few priests who were in the archives were engaged elsewhere, and during vespers. I was expected to attend though occasionally I did not and was seldom missed, but everyone else attended, leaving the archives protected only by their ancient locks.

Kehler opened his eyes and fixed them on his friend. “I will tell you truthfully, Hayes, there is an archive at Wooton that deals almost exclusively with the Farrellite Church’s struggle against the mages. It is an astonishing history! I hadn’t time to read it all, of course, or even a hundredth part of it, but even so—the things I found! It was Althons, the mage King, who preserved the vestiges of the Farrellite Church after the war between the church and the mages. And the church leaders did not know why! It was as though the mages had some use for the church, perhaps far in the future, but would say nothing of it. The church fathers suspected that augury had led to this decision. The mages had seen something in one of their visions that had led them to spare the church, and the priests had no idea what it might be.

“But the information I sought was more elusive and took me months of subterfuge to find. All the while I expected discovery and expulsion—at the very least! And then one day I found a letter from Baumgere himself—a letter to the senior bishop of the Farrellite Church, no less. Although it was written with all apparent deference, and was clearly a response to a letter from the senior bishop, it contained a threat that was only very slightly veiled. ‘I should not want to contemplate the reaction of the mages,’ Baumgere wrote, ‘were they to learn that you concealed their enemy all these years.’”

Kehler leaned forward and blew out the flame, plunging the chamber into a darkness such as Hayes had never known. There was not a trace of light. No shadow or area darker than another. Uniform blackness, and then odd visions, shades of color, seemed to appear before his eyes, though they were not light but only the eye’s reaction to its absence. He heard his own breath indrawn. And then Kehler’s voice came out of the blackness.

“I had learned about Teller by then, though at first I didn’t make the connection. It was not until I found a record of an inquisition within the church carried out with utter secrecy that I began to realize what had happened. A hundred and sixty years ago the Farrellites found that the society the mages believed they had destroyed was still alive, and living like a parasite within the bosom of the church! The society of Teller had somehow survived. And where better to take refuge than within the defeated church? The church that no longer posed a threat to the mages; that did not dare to pose a threat! A priest speaking out from the pulpit against the mages would have been summarily excommunicated for endangering the church. And this was almost without question what Baumgere was referring to. He must have learned of it in his studies.

“Of course, by Baumgere’s time, the society of Teller had been rooted out, though I was not able to learn what their fate had been. But still, the mages were not known to be just, and the fathers of the church were, with good reason, terrified that the mages might one day learn the truth. What if this had been their sole function, the reason the mages had allowed the church to survive? To destroy the vestiges of Teller’s society? Would the mages have no more use for them if they were to find out? And Baumgere blackmailed them with this information—blackmailed his own church, though for what gain was unclear. No wonder he was denied absolution!

“So hearing Erasmus and Clarendon speak of Teller did not surprise me.” Kehler paused a moment. “The priest came to the Caledon Hills seeking something, and he was clearly not doing so at the behest of his church. People would see him out roaming the hills with his deaf-mute servant, silent, as always, about his business. In any number of places there were excavations attributed to Baumgere. Then, when I had begun to lose hope, I found some of Baumgere’s papers. Nothing like I’d hoped—no journal containing all the answers to my questions—but a few odd things that were likely deemed of no importance by whomever had filed Baumgere’s papers away in this forgotten room. A deed to his home. A map of the vicinity to the west of Blue Hawk Lake marked here and there with intriguing circles and lines. A meticulous catalogue of everything he read. In a crate, I even found some of Baumgere’s books—all of which were entered in the catalogue. And something that seemed very odd at the time—a number of cave surveys, all annotated in his wispy hand. It seemed from what he wrote that he had been engaged in carefully eliminating every section of each cave, though by what criteria could not be ascertained. On each survey there was a date and a brief entry; usually something like, ‘nothing here’ or ‘not this one’, but this cave—the Cavern of the Mirror Lake—this one he did not complete his work in. Something stopped him. Stopped him just when his hopes were rising, for on one section of the cave were written the words: ‘Here, the way by darkness into light.’”

“And that means something to you?” Hayes said, surprised at the weight Kehler seemed to attribute to the inscription.

“I confess, at the time it meant nothing. But as I studied Baumgere’s effects, these few scraps that proved the man had passed through this world, I was provided an answer. Among the books that Baumgere owned, I found that several contained the same lyric, and each was much underlined and written over, which was very anomalous, for he had not written in his books in any other place. It was an old lyric called the ‘Ballad of Tomas’ that interested him. You’ve likely heard it sung. . . .” Kehler then proceeded to sing, off-key, a line or two.

“Remarkably, I actually do recognize it, which is saying a great deal as you entirely missed the tune, like a blind carpenter after a nail.”

“Well, I make no claims as a singer. But the line, ‘the way, by darkness, into light,’ is from the ballad.”

“I’m waiting for you to enlighten me,” Hayes said.

“Well, clearly Baumgere had a romantic or poetical nature and a particular affection for that lyric. The way by darkness into light was the tunnel that Tomas used to reach Faery. The one tunnel in a vast cave. So you see, he used this line to mark the spot where he believed lay whatever it was he looked for. It is also a metaphor, obviously. Perhaps, given his religion, he would have interpreted it to mean the way to eternal life through death. Or the way to knowledge through struggle.”

“Well,” Hayes said, “I’m glad we have come down here on such concrete evidence. ‘The way by darkness into light.’ Why didn’t you just say so earlier? No more explanation would have been necessary. I would have plunged into darkness ready to do battle with all the creatures of the underworld, both real and metaphorical. Farrelle’s flames, Kehler! Is that why we’re crawling along on our bellies through utter darkness? Because Baumgere wrote that particularly edifying line on a cave survey?”

“There is more, Hayes, if you’ll just bear with me.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, but just for your information, I’m fixing you with a devastatingly skeptical look at this moment.”

“I can actually feel it.” Kehler paused only to draw breath. “I kept searching and began to take greater risks, going to the rooms when it was not really safe to do so. But by this time I was obsessed. I felt I was so close to such astonishing secrets. I kept digging, just as Baumgere had.

“And then I heard from Skye, a rather cryptic note, for he was concerned that my correspondence might be monitored. I gathered, though, that he had found the Peliers, which was news indeed. I assumed they were in the possession of the church. I spoke to one of the monks who was a resident expert on art and, fortunately, a man without a trace of suspicion in his rather narrow character. To my surprise I learned that there were Peliers in Wooton, stored away with a great deal of other art that is not on daily display.

“I managed to get access to these storage rooms as well, and was more than surprised by what I found, for there, carefully covered and leaning against a wall in a stack of other art, I found one of the Peliers that Skye described, and two other paintings as well.”

“But if Skye had it, how could it have been found in Wooton as well?”

“An interesting question. I assume one or the other is a copy. Be that as it may, I found the painting of the crypt that you saw above Castlebough, the same painting that was owned by Baumgere, and a second painting of a man in priestly robes standing in a grape arbor. But his hair was too long, and he held a book that at first I thought was scripture, but upon closer examination turned out to be a book of the arcane, for it had upon it strange symbols and writing that I could not read—a book of the arts.

“Flames, Kehler! Pelier knew that Teller’s people hid within the church?!” Hayes exclaimed increduously.

“I don’t think you can say that he knew, but he had a vision that this was so. Perhaps he predicted it. Either way the church was forewarned, for Pelier lived before the discovery of the Tellerites within the church. The third painting was even more obscure. . . . It shows a gate pushed open, leading into what might be a courtyard or perhaps a garden. Inside stands a man, smiling oddly, almost gloating, and like the figure in the other painting, he holds a book inscribed with arcane symbols and a strange script. He also holds a leafed stem bearing a pair of small white blossoms. The background is difficult to discern, but the odd thing about this painting is that the man bears an uncanny resemblance to Erasmus.”

“You aren’t serious?! Erasmus Flattery?”

“None other.”

“Martyr’s balls, Kehler! Erasmus? Does the church know this? Do they realize it is Erasmus?”

“I would think they must, now. Deacon Rose will not have missed that when he visited Erasmus, and I am almost certain he will have known of the painting.”

“But what does it mean?” Hayes asked, still trying to grasp the idea that someone had painted his friend, Erasmus, hundreds of years before he was born!

“I am not sure. As I said, the figure bears a striking resemblance to Erasmus—too near for it to be coincidence, I’m sure. I think it means that Erasmus knows more of the mages than he claims, or at least so I would surmise. So you see, it began with Baumgere being called to Compton Heath to listen to the Stranger’s peculiar tongue. I don’t know how he came across the Pelier that showed the stranger crossing the bridge, but he did, and from there a growing interest in the work of the artist would explain how he came across the Pelier that showed the crypt in Castlebough—and then the last painting that shows Erasmus.”

“But that can have meant nothing to him. Erasmus was not even born when Baumgere was alive.”

“No, that’s true, but there is writing on the book that Erasmus held, and I haven’t even the slightest idea of what it might mean. But then we’re forgetting something. . . . We don’t know that Baumgere knew anything about this last Pelier.”

“But this still does not explain why we are here. What is it we hope to find?”

Kehler did not answer for a long moment, and Hayes was about to repeat his question when his friend finally spoke. “We are here because Baumgere searched for something in this cave. Something that had some connection to Teller and the remains of his society that was destroyed by the church. If you ask me to theorize, I will tell you this. I think the crypt Baumgere uncovered might have been the burying place of Teller himself, laid to rest by his followers, who then concealed the place. I think the painting of Erasmus indicates hidden knowledge—that is what Baumgere was looking for. Why he believed it to be here is not clear, but you must remember that Baumgere was a very accomplished scholar. He would not have been searching here if he did not have reason. I think he was seeking knowledge of the arts—knowledge that was hidden long ago, by the followers of Teller.”

“But why was Erasmus the subject of a painting? What has he to do with this?”

Hayes could hear Kehler shake his head. “I don’t know, Hayes. I don’t know. Unless Erasmus was meant to find this knowledge . . . and somehow it has fallen to us. Or perhaps it meant that Erasmus would be the guardian of the arts, in some way. I can’t say. All I know is that Baumgere believed what he sought was here.”

They fell silent in the darkness. From somewhere Hayes could hear the slow drip of water punctuating the silence. Hayes’ mind was racing to take in the story—a terribly incomplete story. What was Kehler keeping back? Something, Hayes was sure. Kehler would hardly have made such an expedition because of an obscure line of poetry scribbled on a survey. He was too thorough a scholar for that.

“It seems very slim evidence,” Hayes said. “Hardly enough to bring us down into this particular netherworld. What is it you’re not telling me?”

The silence was protracted this time.

“There was another letter,” Kehler admitted with such reticence that Hayes suddenly felt apprehensive. The distant sound of water measured Kehler’s reluctance.

“Yes . . .” Hayes softly prompted.

He heard his friend shift in the darkness, his clothing rasping against hard stone. “Atreche, the priest who refused Baumgere absolution, wrote a last missive to the church. Baumgere had been searching the cave, looking for what, the priest did not know, but he had employed two young orphans in this endeavor—brothers ten and twelve years. Beyond the section of the cave known as the Fairy Galleries . . .” Kehler stopped and drew a long breath, “one of these boys met a very untimely end.” He paused again. “The letter did not say how. The brothers were not from Castlebough, and so the boy was never missed. Baumgere kept it secret, somehow.” Kehler cleared his throat, trying to force the emotion from his voice. “The priest who refused Baumgere absolution, killed himself not far from one of the lower entrances to the cave, after performing last rites, it would seem.”

“For the dead child.”

“That is what I think.”

“But why did he self-murder?” Hayes could hear Kehler’s breathing in the darkness, short breaths. This was not a subject he liked to speak of.

“It is difficult to say, though he was responsible for putting the two boys into Baumgere’s care. It would seem likely that he felt culpable. Perhaps he knew that Baumgere planned to use the boys in a dangerous endeavor.”

“And this is where we are going, beyond the Fairy Galleries?”

“Yes.”

“I can see why you didn’t want to tell me this before. Why did Baumgere seek this knowledge?”

“The seeking after knowledge is, as you know, simply in man’s nature—some men far more than others. But if there was some reason beyond that, it might be found in the story of Baumgere’s hero—Tomas. He sought truth, and though he paid dearly for it, he also saw things no other had seen, and lived far beyond the years of men. That is enough reason to seek the knowledge of Teller.”

“And this knowledge is guarded by the ghost of a dead boy?”

Kehler did not answer.

“Sacrificed for what gain, I wonder?”

No response from the darkness, only the slow drip, drip of water, measuring the passing years in this sunless world.