From alt.pub.dragons-inn Thu Jun 16 21:29:01 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7411 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!netcomsv!halsoft.com!news.hal.COM!olivea!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!cs.utexas.edu!newsfeed.rice.edu!rice!cml.rice.edu!andsol From: andsol@cml.rice.edu (Andrew Solberg) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: Under Foot 4 Date: 16 Jun 1994 06:14:28 GMT Organization: Rice University, Houston Lines: 142 Message-ID: <2toqk4$aht@larry.rice.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: cml.rice.edu I am not overly large, but I have performed manual labor enough to have strengthened my shoulders and back to the rigors of heavy lifting. Only a few moments were necessary before I managed to lift one corner of the heavy flagstone and wedge a poker underneath it. After a brief rest, I crossed to the diagonally opposite corner and went to work with another makeshift prybar. Aeloth, one of the abbey's great hounds, stopped gnawing at the hamhock I had given him and came over to see what I was doing. He sniffed once, briefly, at the opened corner of the trapdoor. His eyes narrowed immediately and a low growl crept out of his throat. I stopped to watch him. His hackles were raised, and his muzzle was pressed practically under the flagstone. There had been no handholds on the smooth surface of the shaft for anything to perch on, but I wasn't taking any chances. I drew my mother's rapier, still sharp and well-oiled, from its scabbard and laid it on the floor beside me before I set to work at the stone once more. I pried up the other side of the stone and propped the second poker under it. The flagstone was now fully out of its socket and resting on the solid pig-iron bars. I crossed to a third corner and looped one end of my scavenged rope around it. I threw it over the crossbar of the roasting A-frame, braced my boots against a wall, and heaved. The stone scraped a few inches towards me. I did this several times. After a few minutes, the flagstone was resting a full foot away from the yawning mouth of the newly-reopened shaft. I had singlehandedly moved a 200-pound stone out of its socket, a job that had required two strong neophytes with prybars. Not bad for somebody shy of five feet tall. Aeloth peered down the shaft; I joined him at the edge. It looked the same as it had earlier: smooth, slick walls; impenetrable darkness; no waterline visible. The hound was no longer growling but his fur still stood on end. He stared down into the shaft at something I couldn't see. I was pretty sure there was nothing there he could see, either. At least, I hoped that was true. I dragged the A-frame over the shaft. I wrapped several oily cloths around the top crossbar and tied them off. Then I looped my rope around the padded bar. I fashioned a crude sling out of my greatcoat and seated myself in it tightly, tying the sleeves to my rope. I was ready to descend into the depths. I resheathed my sword, lit the lantern, and played the free end of the rope down into the darkness. I sat down in my sling, gripping the other end of my pulley rope tightly, and let myself down gingerly. I sank slowly into the shaft. Aeloth whined as I descended. I scratched his ears and lowered myself below the floor level. Soon I forgot the damn dog had ever existed. The lantern was a good one, large and well-sealed, and it had a window for narrowing a beam of light. I had the window closed and the hood off, for I wanted to see what was all around me. I hung the lantern from a kerchief around my neck, as some miners do. It gave off very little smoke, but in the confines of the shaft it seemed like a chimney. The walls were close and slimy. I looked at them carefully. The slime was faintly luminescent; if I doused my light and let my eyes adjust, I might even be able to see a bit by them. I wasn't going to test this theory, though. Then I noticed the frescos. They were so faint and rotten and begrimed that I almost missed them entirely. They had probably been painted with some kind of egg-white base, which always rots away with time, especially in damp climes. Every square inch of the shaft was covered with them. I knotted off my rope and took a closer look. They were fabulously done. Some great painter, once upon a time (hundreds of years ago, most likely) spent untold hours in this crowded shaft painting gloriously colorful, lively scenes. There were panels showing a beautiful sunny sky over an ocean, and then another showing a terrible storm that sank many ships, and then another showing dams breaking and fields flooding, and then...... I realized with a start that I was reading the Creation myth. Panels spiraled down the shaft, telling the familiar religious story. Here, for instance, was the tale of the great Deluge, wherein Nahao built his Arkus and took the Father and Mother of all animals to the Mount of Solitude. The story wrapped itself around the pit and disappeared into the darkness. Here, it seemed, were the religious beliefs of the Fellows of Light, told in beautiful and wordless panels of paint and stone. I noticed that there were blank panels at regular intervals -- not smudged or partially eradicated, but totally gone, as if they had never existed. Furthermore, they did not seem to represent any kind of break in the familiar story, and they did not seem to mark any kind of pause or chapter. I realized that the blanks spiraled down faster than the story did. Following a hunch, I picked at one of the blanks with a small knife. Darkened, rotting wood splinters came away. The blanks were where some kind of wooden construction, now likely lying shattered far below, once jointed into the sides of the walls. Shallow depressions in the stone once seated wooden beams which circled down into the depths; likely the framing for a narrow staircase or ladder. The Fellows, I surmised, could descend into this comfy little hidey-hole of theirs while reading their own myths and legends. A nice little set-up, I thought, and felt somewhat less gloomy and threatened in the ruined shaft. I descended once more, but came up short as I ran out of rope. I cursed myself for forgetting: I had only taken about forty feet of hemp; doubled up, that gave me only about twenty feet of reach. Of course I couldn't go any further! I would need more rope, obviously; my unauthorized little venture into the depths was going to come up a little short in the booty department. Warder Iolus might get a kick out of the frescos, I supposed, but knowing his grim demeanor I thought it unlikely. I was about to start back up when my lantern flashed on something metallic. It was below me, about four feet down. I knotted off the rope and looked closer. Sure enough, something gleamed quite nicely in the lamplight. It was set back in a kind of niche in the shaft wall, but its dully bronze glow reflected back well enough. There's only one thing that shines that yellow color that stays untarnished in a hothouse for years, and that's gold. Believe me: I should know. I was unwilling to leave the shaft emptihanded, especially when I had come so close to getting something valuable. I tied the lantern off on the rope and, seizing the hemp further up, hefted myself bodily out of my sling. I hooked my boots in my greatcoat, making sure they snagged securely, and gently swung myself upside-down. I smacked my forehead on the shaft wall, but I regained my bearings soon enough and reached into the niche with both hands. They closed around something smoothly cold and hard. I fished it out -- clumsily, as it turned out to be dreadfully heavy. It was a candelabra with three tines, and the scraps of old candles falling to pieces in the sockets. It was without question gold, and it was in good condition. It took me several minutes, acrobatic though I am, to right myself and stow my swag properly. A short rest later, I was hauling on the rope and pulling myself to the surface. It was hard work, but I very much wanted to see the look on Iolus' face when I showed him the water I had drawn from his 'well'. TBC -- HWRNMNBSOL (andsol@cml.rice.edu) H:(713)794-0021 Rice University, Department of Mathematics: Long Division Specialist "FORD, REAGAN NECK IN PRESIDENTIAL PRIMARY" -- Ethiopian Herald, 2/24/76 Disclaimer: Rice University will deny this conversation ever happened.