15: Oscar

A glance in either direction confirmed that Oscar was unobserved. He quickly levered up the manhole cover and lowered himself inside. He'd have preferred to have someone to replace the cover after him, someone to keep lookout, but he was only going to be gone a few minutes.

He knew the tunnel well, knew exactly how short the drop was, landed easily. The floor was damp, but not running. Pulling a hefty torch from one of his deep coat pockets, he lit his way down the southern passage for the hundred metres or so until a wide shaft opened up in the floor ahead. The shaft wasn't intended, first and foremost, as a trap for the unwary; but the low lifes who'd made it were quite happy for it to serve that purpose as well.

Positioning the torch on the floor so that its beam illuminated the space before him, he stepped forward to the brink. He was glad he couldn't see down into the shaft; the seemingly-infinite drop always made him dizzy. He rummaged in his pockets again, and this time pulled out a reel of thin twine, with a conical silver plumb weight on the end. A crude tool, but just now his more sensitive instruments -- and himself most of all -- were so buffeted by the contrary forces at work as to be unreadable. His hope was that the dowsing line's clumsiness would filter out all but the loudest signals. At least it might give him some idea what was going on.

Standing as close to the edge as he could bear, he reached out over the shaft and began to pay out the line. It thrummed gently between his thumb and forefinger as it gradually descended into the pit. Five metres. Ten. Twenty.

When the line was almost fully extended, he stopped and held it tight. Stood still and silent over the abyss, focussing on the thread between his fingertips, trying to tune into its vibrations. It had been awhile since he last worked this sort of divination, and his mind did not slip easily into the way of it.

As he waited, picking out one note after another in the faint throb, he became aware of keening sound from the depths -- not through the twine, but to his ears. He was startled. This was no song of the low life. It was harsh and unmelodic, devoid of beauty, little more than a guttural shriek. Who could work magic without beauty? Without shape or pattern? It made no sense.

Sense or not, there it was. It grew louder and harsher. The plumb line picked up its overtones, resonating weakly at first, then faster, harder, until any traces of the information Oscar sought were quite obliterated. That shrill cry consumed everything.

Cursing, Oscar disengaged his thoughts from the line and began to haul it in, hand over hand. The keening whirled around him like a strong wind, brutal and disorienting. The trip had been a waste of time.

Both hands were gripping the string when the yank came, and it was almost enough to pull him over the edge. He cried out in surprise -- and at the same instant the torch went out.

The darkness was absolute, the rising scream dizzying. Before him yawned a pit that descended further than anyone living could say -- and his hands were tangled in a line that led into it. He felt himself beginning to panic.

There was another yank, but Oscar was braced for it. By the time the third came, his hands were free. The plumb line slipped away into the eternal dark and was gone.

At once the keening stopped, though its echoes persisted for several seconds. Oscar sat heavily on the damp ground and tried to get his bearings. He had to get out of this place. He had always been at home in the underland, but now he was afraid. He had to force himself to let that go. He had to force himself to concentrate.

Struggling to his feet, he backed slowly away down the tunnel through which he'd come. All was quiet once again. There was no sign, as Oscar carefully tiptoed away, that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. Not until he was almost out of earshot.

Then the guttural, barely comprehensible, voice whispered:

"Beware."

It was almost lost in the enclosed blackness of the tunnel, but not quite.

"Beware, creature."

Oscar's skin crawled, the hairs on his arms standing straight out. For a moment he thought he was going to vomit.

"We might deign."
Posted by matt at November 17, 2004 11:48 PM