Supper was served—fish, as promised, though it was not a piece as Mr. Broom had said but rather a fish entire, one per man, unscaled and uncooked, for there was neither flame nor blade to be found in the Very Large Hole. The fish were retrieved live from the river; the two men had built up a network of stone-walled corrals diverting from the current proper, and into which fish would innocently amble. Upon finding their transit blocked they would backtrack, only to discover that the point of entry was now likewise impassable, as either Mr. Broom or Tomas had built up a fourth wall to hem them in. Thus confined, the fish would languish in what Tomas described as arrant boredom until such a time as it was removed from its cell, rapped upon the head, and consumed. Lucy thought the method of capture ingenious, but this ingenuity did little to allay the fact of the meal being repellent to him. He stared at the fish, hanging limply in his hands, and his posture denoted a level of disappointment.
“Well, let’s begin, then,” said Tomas, and he and Mr. Broom bit into the clammy bellies of their fishes, rending away the flesh in animalistic swaths. Soon blood and scales were shimmering in their beards, a sight which stole away Lucy’s appetite completely. Setting his fish to the side, he decided he would not partake, at least not yet, for he knew that if he were to remain he would at some point be forced to follow the others, an eventuality he considered with repugnance. The woman’s boot sat in the center of their circle, refilled with water, a communal vessel; Lucy drank from this to wash away the very thought of the taste.
The meal reached its conclusion, and now came the interrogation. After establishing how it was that Lucy had identified them, Tomas and Mr. Broom, so pleased for the company and break in routine, wished to know most every detail of Lucy’s life, from the occasion of his birth and up until the present moment. Lucy had no objection to fielding the queries, and his answers were for the most part truthful. He spoke of the melancholy circumstances of his childhood, for example, with a frankness which surprised even himself. Regarding his decision to leave Bury, to say farewell to all he had known in his life, there was not so much as a fact misplaced. And yet, when he arrived at the question of how it was he’d fallen into the Very Large Hole, now he discovered the truth to be insufficient. For would it not have undone the balmy social atmosphere to admit he had attempted to murder a man in a style both cold-blooded and cowardly? Lucy affected the attitude of one in possession of overwhelming sorrows, and when he spoke, his voice was halting, cautious: “I’m not proud to admit it,” he said.
“Take your time,” Mr. Broom told him.
“By all means, you must,” agreed Tomas.
Lucy nodded his thanks. “Yes. Hmm. As it happens, and if you really want to know, I threw myself into this pit bodily.”
“On purpose, you mean?” Tomas asked.
“That’s right,” said Lucy.
“But why would you do such a thing?” Mr. Broom wondered.
“I was despondent.”
“Clearly you were,” Tomas said. “But what were you despondent about?”
“A great number of things.”
“Such as what?”
“The overall circumstances of my life on earth.”
“Life in general, you say?” Mr. Broom asked.
“Yes.”
“Top to bottom, is that what you mean?” said Tomas.
“That’s it.”
“No solace to be found?” asked Mr. Broom.
“Anyway I could find none, search as I might.”
“As bad as all that, eh?” Tomas said.
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
Mr. Broom and Tomas shook their heads sympathetically. A thought came to the latter, and he brightened. “Possibly things will take a turn for you now, have you considered it?”
“I hadn’t, actually,” Lucy answered.
“This might be your starting-over point.”
“It’s a thought.”
“The moment at which you begin afresh.” Tomas nudged Mr. Broom. “From here on out, a new beginning.”
“Yes,” Mr. Broom said. “It pleases me.”
“After all, is that not how it has been for us, my friend?”
“It has indeed, and indeed it has.”
The bearded duo sat awhile, digesting. Tomas was cleaning his teeth with a fish bone, while Mr. Broom pinched at the tip of his tongue once, twice, thrice; he plucked away some bit of matter, which he fell to studying. Lucy, in regarding these two, was visited with the chilling knowledge that he would soon be assimilated into their society. Naturally this did not sit well with him, so that he felt impelled to ask after the possibilities of escape. The pair of them nodded, as though anticipating the question; Tomas, holding up a corrective finger, said, “There is no possibility whatsoever.”
“Surely there must be,” Lucy answered, looking about the cavern, as if to locate some solution.
“The walls cannot be scaled,” said Mr. Broom.
“The river, then.”
Tomas shook his head. “The downriver route is, you can plainly see, impassable, disappearing as it does into sheer rock. The upriver route presents the only option for escape, and I say without reservation or shame that it cannot be bettered.”
“So you’ve tried, then?”
“Of course we have. In my years alone here I attempted it more times than I care to recall before abandoning the thought entirely. Then, when Mr. Broom arrived, I was swayed by his youth and enthusiasm, and I made several more attempts by his side, each outing a thoroughgoing failure. I suppose it is that you’ll want to take a look for yourself, and you’re welcome to do this, but I for one will opt out, as will Mr. Broom, I imagine. Isn’t that right?”
Mr. Broom nodded, with emphasis.
Tomas pointed upriver. “You enter into the cave,” he said, “and walk a hundred yards, at which point you’ll come to a fork. You may elect to take the route to your left, or the one to your right; it makes no difference, for whichever you choose will lead to yet another fork, and then another, and another, and on like this, endlessly or seemingly endlessly, and in total darkness. It’s slow going against the current, the footing is slick and treacherous, and of course, as you know, the water temperature is not what you’d call inviting.” Tomas paused here, remembering. “Our last excursion was catastrophic. We had been away some days when I wrenched my ankle, and Mr. Broom was forced to carry me on his back. We were delirious with hunger and frozen to our bones and I make no exaggeration when I say we had abandoned all thoughts of survival. At last we simply gave ourselves to the current, bobbing along in the darkness and hoping against hope not to be dashed against unseen boulders. Halfway back, and Mr. Broom broke an arm.” Here he turned to look at Mr. Broom, who drew back his sleeve, revealing a wrist bent to a grotesquely unnatural angle. “Think of it, boy,” Tomas continued. “Floating downriver in pitch black, expecting at any moment to have my skull stove in, and the only sound to be heard other than the rush of the frigid waters was Mr. Broom’s screaming, echoing off the roof of the cavern.” He made a sour face and shook his head. “It’s the devil’s own playground in there, and if you don’t believe me, then you be my guest.”
Lucy stared at the river, puzzling at the fates which had landed him in his present location. What could the future possibly hold for him here? And what of his life beyond the confines of the cavern? He wondered what Adolphus had told Klara of his disappearance. Presumably he’d told her the truth, and so she was mourning his passing. It pained him to think of her being pained, to say nothing of the idea of Adolphus offering his comforts. “We must try again,” said Lucy.
“Must we?” Tomas asked.
“Of course we must. Otherwise we’ll die here.”
Here Tomas spoke gently, and with tranquil understanding. “That’s not how we see it, Lucy.”
“How do you see it?”
“We’ll live here.”