We lapsed into silence for a while. I was busy with eating, and Mr Ambrose, who only took an occasional bite now and then, seemed to be very busy staring at the tunnel floor, as if the stone whizzing by told a fascinating story.
‘I was right,’ he said, suddenly. ‘This tunnel leads to the sea. We are not that far away from the exit anymore.’
Startled, I looked up.
‘How do you know?’
‘Do you see this? And this?’ He pointed at the floor, and I barely managed to catch a blurry glimpse of a small stone before we rushed past.
‘What about it? Looked just like a pebble to me.’
The cool look he gave me made me shut my mouth.
‘This “pebble” was quartzite - not the same type of stone as the mountain around us. Such pebbles are only found on beaches. They must have been accidentally carried up by soldiers who passed this way from further down, because up at the mountain there was not a single quartzite anywhere in sight.’
He sounded as if he had spent his life burrowing through all kinds of different rock and knew all of them by name. I wanted to open my mouth to argue, but then I remembered the ease with which he had pushed the mining cart, his familiarity with the functioning of a draisine, and I shut my mouth again. Somehow, I was suddenly certain he knew what he was talking about. If you looked at his chiselled granite face, you simply had to believe that he knew all there was to know about stone.
‘But will we get to the exit fast enough?’ I asked. ‘Before Dalgliesh’s men catch up with us?’
‘As I said, Mr Linton, we have a good head start.’
‘But don't you think they’ll catch up with us quickly once they’ve pushed their cart to the top and roll downhill, after us?’ I asked. ‘After all, they’re three, and we’re only two. Their added weight should make them move a lot faster.’
‘Yes, they are three, and we are only two, that is true,’ agreed Mr Ambrose. ‘But still, the difference in weight might not be as great as you might ima-’
He eyed me, and then suddenly lapsed into silence. A very lengthy silence, and, for him, a very healthy one. Had he continued his sentence, I would not have been responsible for my actions. I gave him my most fiery glare.
‘There will be a difference in weight,’ I huffed, and pushed him away, sliding out from under the sack. ‘A very great difference in weight. Just you wait and see, they will catch up with us fast!’
~~*~~*
Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.
I glared morosely at the tunnel walls, doing my best to avoid looking at him.
‘Do you hear anything?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘I could have sworn I heard voices behind us!’
‘I didn’t hear anything, Mr Linton.’
Silence.
‘They should have caught up with us long ago. How long has it been since we left them behind?’
‘Exactly twenty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds, Mr Linton.’
‘It can’t be that long already!’
‘But it is, Mr Linton.’
Silence. Calm silence from him, grumpy silence from me.
Suddenly, my ears pricked up.
‘Do you hear that?’ I demanded.
‘Mr Linton, I told you, they are not-’
‘Not from behind! From there!’ Anxiously, I clambered to my feet and pointed into the darkness ahead of us - only that it was not complete darkness anymore. There was a tiny point of light moving towards us, getting bigger as it approached. But not white light. Not the light of day.
Suddenly, Mr Ambrose appeared beside me. His eyes were as dark as the bottom of the ocean, his mouth pressed into a grim line. Well, it was always pressed into a grim line, but now it was a very, very grim line.
‘What do you think it could be?’ I asked.
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I suddenly heard the noise I had been both dreading and hoping for: the faint squeak of a mine cart’s wheels! But it wasn’t coming from behind. It was approaching from ahead of us, from where the light was.
‘Prepare yourself,’ Mr Ambrose commanded, reaching into his jacket and drawing out something hard and shiny. I only caught a glimpse of the metal barrel of a gun before it disappeared again, hidden behind his left hand, where it was easily accessible. ‘We will have company, soon.’
Shots in the Dark
‘You have a firearm?’ I demanded, my breath catching. He regarded me with supreme disdain. ‘Sir,’ I hurriedly tagged on.
‘Of course I have a firearm, Mr Linton. Do you think I would go into a situation such as this without being prepared?’
‘But why didn’t you use it on the soldiers before?’
‘Because they had long-range weapons and could have shot me long before I could have returned the favour. You don't bring a rifle on an infiltration. It is cumbersome and slow to load. This,’ he patted the weapon hidden behind his hand, ‘is a Colt Paterson improved model prototype with loading lever, 36 calibre. If our friend there,’ he nodded towards the approaching light, ‘gets close enough, he will be swiftly and terminally perforated.’
‘Meaning, Sir?’
‘Meaning that I will put a hole in his head, Mr Linton.’
I threw a worried glance at the walls of the tunnel, which were still rushing past in a blur, then directed my gaze at the light that was approaching alarmingly fast.
‘I hope we survive long enough to have to worry about fighting him. If we keep going at this pace, we'll probably die when we ram into him. We’re moving too fast and, as you said, this thing has got no brakes.’
‘I doubt it’ll come to a collision. Look.’ And he raised the safety lamp high over his head, pointing to something beside the cart I hadn’t seen before: a set of tracks, running parallel to our own.
‘Why have two sets of rails in a mine?’ The confusion in my voice was evident.
‘One for sending up the salt, one for sending down empty carts again. It makes sense.’
‘Well… I suppose you’re right. And you think he’s on the other set of tracks?’
‘Yes. But…’
‘But what, Sir?’
‘But be ready to jump, just in case I’m wrong.’
How very comforting.
As we raced closer, I could see that indeed he was not on another set of tracks. But there was no need for me to jump, either. Long before we reached the other mining cart, the tracks flattened out. We began to slow down, rolling along the track at a leisurely pace. Now we could see that the other mining cart hadn’t, in fact, been moving towards us - it had only seemed that way because we had been catching up so fast. It was, in fact, moving in the same direction as we, only at a considerably slower pace. A single, rather fat man, whose red uniform and bushy white beard made him look distinctly harmless, was gripping the handle of the draisine. As we came nearer, he raised his hand.
Mr Ambrose raised a hand, too - the one with his gun in it.
I noticed just in time to grab it and push it down again.
‘No!’ I hissed.
He gave me a don’t-interrupt-my-important-business look, which I completely ignored. I clung to his arm tenaciously. ‘Why not, Mr Linton?’
‘Because he hasn't got a gun in his hand, Sir!’
‘He might be going for one, Mr Linton.’
‘Then wait until he does, Sir. You can’t shoot an unarmed man!’
‘That, Mr Linton, is usually the wiser and more effective policy.’
‘Ahoy there,’ the man called, waving genially in our direction. ‘Caught up to me and my little ship on wheels, have you? Well, I ain’t the fastest, I got to admit that.’
‘See? He didn’t want to shoot! He just wanted to wave at us.’
‘For now, Mr Linton.’
Suddenly, the old soldier let go of the end of the see-saw with which he had been pushing along his cart and jumped off.
‘I’m going to take a little rest and have my supper,’ he announced, appearing perfectly content to let the draisine stand where it was. ‘Want to join me?’
I looked at Mr Ambrose.
‘Don’t even think about saying yes, Mr Linton,’ he hissed. ‘We’re being chased by a whole army of soldiers! We don't have time for supper!’
‘I wasn’t going to say yes, Sir,’ I snapped back, miffed. ‘I was going to ask how we'll get past him without arousing suspicion! He’s blocking the way!’
‘I had noticed as much, Mr Linton. Do you still object to my shooting him?’