Author’s Note: I’ve long been fascinated by the concept drawings done by Syd Dutton for our series. Recently I was lucky enough to purchase one of his original drawings, and it has sparked dreams of what might be…

Part One of this story was first posted on BBTV, the Classic B&B Google Mailing List, during the 2022 celebration of Vincent’s birthday, Part Two was posted for Winterfest Online 2023, Part Three appeared in the 2023 San Diego Convention conzine, and Part 4 in the 2025 New Orleans Convention conzine.

PART ONE

It had intrigued and baffled both Vincent and Mouse for years: the heavy wooden drawbridge stuck in the upright position just steps from the entrance to the Great Hall. It had been created gods-knew-when by who-knows-who. The ropes or chains that had once fitted into the sturdy metal rings at the top had long since worn, rotted or fallen away. And no amount of searching on their part, or poring over the oldest maps of Below, had revealed any useful information about it.

How could they open it? And more importantly: where did it lead?

Father was content to consider it a mystery, on a par with how the Great Hall itself had been carved from the solid rock around it, or how the steps leading to the Great Hall’s doors and down, down, down into depths rarely ventured into were created. But not Vincent. And when Mouse began to explore beyond the Home Tunnels, his curiosity matched Vincent’s. For this and other so-far-impenetrable mysteries of the Tunnel world were begging to be solved…

As he set the heavy beam in place to secure the Great Hall’s doors after yet another Winterfest celebration, Vincent’s gaze shifted to the darkness below him. Although a few torches were set in the walls beyond the Great Hall doors, there was nothing past them other than an increasingly dangerous, steep and uneven rock staircase descending into nothing deemed useful to the community.

“Ready?” Mouse, beside him, was decked out with a lantern in each hand, a backpack on his back, and another dangling from one shoulder. Lengths of rope were secured to the bottoms of both packs, and from his belt hung several water bottles which bounced against his hips as he impatiently rocked from foot to foot.

Vincent dusted his gloved hands and then reached for a pack and a lantern. “Ready.” Like Mouse, he wore a modified headlamp, but his was the usual kind, attached to a kerchief tied around his forehead.

They had previously explored the more-accessible turreted column to the left of the drawbridge. Was it a flanking tower? Part of a keep? It seemed to promise easy access, and the possibility of stairs leading down and into what was behind the drawbridge. Unfortunately, it was a dead end; they had climbed up and peered inside numerous times, but the tower itself was an empty cylinder, sealed completely, but for the window-like openings on its upper level.

“Climb first?” Mouse held up several pitons.

Shaking his head, Vincent replied, “We already know we aren’t strong enough to pull the drawbridge down, and there’s nothing for it to rest on, even if we did somehow manage it. We can’t risk damaging the stair and pathways beyond.”

Mouse nodded and dropped the pitons into a cross-body satchel he wore.

Vincent hefted the large pack onto his back, securing it with ties across his chest.

Both men turned and headed down the dark stairway.

Hours of exploring both before and after a quick lunch had brought them no closer to finding another way to approach the area behind the drawbridge. They had covered this ground on previous exploratory hikes, but decided to search it again, on the off chance they had somehow missed something before.

They hadn’t.

“Which way next?” Vincent knew that Mouse had an uncanny ability to divine connections hidden behind tunnels, caverns and chambers – ways to access or circumnavigate areas that even Vincent was unable to discern. But this puzzle had baffled even Mouse, with his extraordinary skills.

Mouse shrugged. “One way.” He pointed. “Another.” His hand flicked in a different direction. He shrugged again.

“Well, I always like to start by going left,” Vincent said, smiling. “Perhaps because I’m left-handed. Shall we?” He indicated one of several dark spaces which promised corridors tall enough for them to travel for a long way.

“Already tried it. Lots.”

Frowning, his companion pointed to the next corridor over.

“Tried it too. Lots more.”

Holding back a smile, Vincent held out a hand, palm up. “We must go somewhere, Mouse.”

The younger man looked around, studying their environment, until he suddenly grinned. “Go up!”

“We’ve been…up. The stairs lead to the Great Hall and the Home Tunnels, so…”

Mouse shook his head vigorously. “Up,” he repeated, this time pointing to the ceiling above them, the rock there punctured by a large hole Vincent was certain he hadn’t noticed before.

“Find a way above. Follow it.”

They had about a dozen pitons. They could go upwards for a way, assuming the cavity in the rock didn’t narrow.

“Is there another level where this hole comes out?” Vincent wasn’t certain he had ever seen such a thing on any map, but then, he hadn’t seen a level above the one where they stood at all – not unless he counted the level far above their heads where the Home Tunnels were.

Mouse laid his lantern down and pulled off his pack and satchel; the water bottles followed. “Going to see.”

Vincent did the same with his own pack, retrieving only the coil of rope, which he placed around his neck. He took a hammer from his belt and handed it to Mouse. “I’ll boost you up and hold you until you hammer in the first few pitons.”

The younger man nodded and lifted one leg, accepting the boost and, after hammering in a piton, he scrambled to kneel and later to stand on Vincent’s broad shoulders, while the older man stood stock still, steady and steadying.

“OK good!” Mouse shouted, panting from the effort. “Three in! Push!”

Vincent took hold of Mouse’s booted feet and heaved him up until he felt Mouse grasp and pull himself up to rest a foot on the lowest piton. He heard more hammering. Mouse disappeared completely up into the hole in the rock ceiling. Suddenly, the shout he had hoped for: “Found it!”

Vincent thrust his lantern as high into the opening as he could. Above him, he could faintly make out Mouse’s face peering down at him.

“Tunnel! New one! Not on maps! Come!!!”

Vincent gazed at their packs and water; as much as he wanted to take it all with him, the hole wasn’t wide enough to accommodate his bulk while hauling them. He reasoned that, should the space Mouse had found prove explorable, they could return for their equipment. So he settled for securing both lanterns to his belt, and he hauled himself up via the pitons.

Soon he was standing in a large, long corridor leading off into deep shadows at one end. The nearer end was blocked by a seemingly impenetrable rock wall. Mouse was already in front of it, studying it by the light of his improvised headlamp.

Vincent retrieved his hammer – Mouse was careless once a tool was used and no longer needed – then held both lanterns up to provide as much light as possible for Mouse’s inspection. At the same moment, both became aware of a tiny imperfection high up in the rock that did not appear to be natural.

“See it?” Vincent said, just as Mouse crowed, “There!”

Mouse reached for it, pressed hard, and was rewarded by a groaning snick of long-disused metal, and something creaking as it rolled. They stepped back as a hidden door detached from the rockface and slid towards them.

Mouse let out a whoop. Vincent smiled. Both carefully peered into the yawning gap. Then they entered the turret atop the circular column beside the drawbridge. They had climbed up to it several times in the past without finding an exit, but now it suddenly had a floor and an access point.

The trigger they had found had, somewhat ingeniously, not only produced a hidden door but activated a secreted platform that now extended fully from one side of the column to the window openings. With the access door open, it was possible to stand on the platform and gaze down from the windows at the stairs leading to the Great Hall.

The clever design allowed anyone to access the turret from the tunnel side. But with the access door closed, no one nosing about from the turret side could find any purchase. They searched, but there was no trigger within the turret that would open the access point.

Mouse pulled a folded copy of a map of the area out of one copious pocket and, using a pencil stub from another pocket, marked the location of the elusive lock release. He meticulously refolded the map and replaced it and the pencil, then gazed up at Vincent.

“Come with Mouse?” Without waiting for the reply, he scooted out of their newly found door and down their newly found corridor, on to other adventures.

Shaking his head and smiling, Vincent carefully tied the length of rope he’d carried to the brickwork between two windows. It would allow them to simply rappel down from the tower to the stairs rather than laboriously climb down the pitons between levels. They could retrieve their packs later – they were safe enough in the deserted corridor where they had been left.

He then entered the tunnel through the open access door and set off to follow his friend.

Mouse was already so far ahead of him, his lantern light was a mere pinprick in the darkness. “Careful, Mouse!” he called, knowing it was useless, but feeling compelled to warn against the possibility of traps, or another hole that Mouse might accidentally descend into without meaning to.

They traversed the tunnels more slowly once Vincent caught up with his exploring partner, partly so they could map their way, and partly to be on the alert for further hidden access points. The tunnel had to lead to something, otherwise why have such a strong bulwark against entry?

After some time, they almost literally ran into a brick wall; turning a corner, they were brought up short by a rockfall. They would have to find another approach if they wanted to continue along this hitherto unknown tunnel. It was as frustrating as it was intriguing, but they had left their tools behind with their supplies, and it was getting late anyway. Reluctantly, they turned to head back toward the Home Tunnels.

Vincent ruminated as they trudged along, as did Mouse, both silent, both tired from their hours of fruitless exploration along this passageway. There had to be a reason for that protective barrier – why build a drawbridge opening into a long empty corridor?

As they returned to the tower, they held their lanterns aloft, searching for any tell-tale edging that might betoken another hidden door.

Vincent had been letting his claw-tipped nails trail along the wall. His index fingernail snagged briefly before popping out from what had momentarily caught it. “Mouse, I may have found something.”

Mouse angled his own lantern to banish any shadows. The infinitesimal crack came into focus once Vincent ran his fingernails over the area once more.

They looked at each other, their own excitement reflected in the other’s eyes. Vincent turned back to the wall and felt for the hidden release, which turned out to be similar to the one they had already encountered. The same creaking metallic sound greeted them. How long had it been since this entry point had been unbolted? They pushed the door until they got it halfway opened. Vincent slipped his hammer from his belt and placed it so that the door could not swing shut behind them as Mouse, ever inquisitive, burst into the unknown chamber, his lantern held high.

At Mouse’s gasp, Vincent stood quickly, on alert. But then he saw what had caused Mouse’s reaction and stood amazed himself.

The chamber they had entered was enormous, larger than the Great Hall, and taller. Their footsteps echoed in the huge space. The floor was tiled intricately, in a pattern resembling the walls of a Moroccan palace. Colorful tapestries hung from metal poles and braces on second-floor balconies. From the light cast by their lanterns, it appeared that there were at least a dozen of them, not just a few as in their own hall. Against the walls stood intricately carved tables with no observable dust upon them.  Torches lined the space, seemingly waiting to be lit. The air smelled fresh, as if the vast room had been in constant use. Everywhere they looked, things were in perfect order, everything tidy and clean, as if its inhabitants might have just left.

Why they felt they should whisper, they didn’t know, but they both did.

“Who?” Mouse murmured.

“It seemed like the door hadn’t been used in…decades. Yet…this…” Vincent’s low rumble was pitched only to reach Mouse’s ears. “Let’s explore,” he suggested. “You go up to the balcony and look for another exit. I’ll check down here.”

Mouse nodded and headed for the staircase. Vincent watched to ensure he made it up the stairs safely, then he turned to the left wall and began a slow traverse of the chamber.

Spaces between tables were revealed to be entrances to tunnels leading out, but he didn’t follow them now. Instead, he did a mental map of the entire chamber, noting to himself areas where other, hidden passageways might be found. Once he finished his initial survey he met Mouse, who had returned to the main level and was peering into the closest tunnel leading out of the hall.

“Let’s map what we’ve seen,” he suggested to the younger man, and Mouse dutifully extracted paper and pencil. They drew the spaces they had explored, noting furnishings and exits. When they had finished, Mouse grinned.

“Look more?”

“It was late before we got here,” Vincent reminded him with reluctance. “And now it’s much, much later. We know how to find this place again. Let’s go back and return tomorrow, with others.”

Mouse frowned. “Ours right now. Later…theirs.”

“We always knew we would share our findings, my friend. It’s why we do this. Come on.” He patted Mouse on the shoulder. “Let’s be hopeful that William has saved some dinner for us. I’m hungry, and I know you must be.”

Mouse resisted his urging, prompting Vincent to add, “Who will feed Arthur? If he starts looking for food…”

Raising his eyebrows as if only now recalling his responsibility to his raccoon friend, Mouse nodded. “Better go! Now!” He raced from the chamber without a backward glance, Vincent hurrying to catch up to him.

As Mouse continued out the entrance and down the long tunnel towards the Home Tunnels, Vincent retrieved his hammer, and marked the doorway latch with a piece of charcoal from his pocket so that they would find it easily when they returned. Then he took one more look at the wonderful found space, already imagining its use by the community. And from here…what more would they find? The prospect of further exploration gladdened his heart, even as leaving their discovery saddened him.

Sighing heavily, he left, his feet set reluctantly on the path toward home.

Tomorrow. They would come back then.

PART TWO

“What did you see? Mouse made absolutely no sense when I ran into him…almost literally.” Father gazed up at Vincent over his glasses.

“I believe we now know the secret to finding hidden doorways,” Vincent advised the older man, whose eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Where we were had not been charted by anyone who created the maps we use, but Mouse made notes.” Smiling, he added, “The large chamber we discovered is in excellent repair and appears to be ready to use.”

Father’s eyebrows narrowed. “Has it been used recently? Perhaps by Paracelsus’ people?” He shuddered at the thought.

“I doubt it. The place was clean. It didn’t have the feel of a lair, but of fastidious former tenants. We found no signs of them, however, only furnishings. There must be a source of fresh air, as it was not musty at all. And with numerous passageways leading out of it, it seems a good base for further exploration.”

The older man beamed. “Excellent! I’ll admit I had my doubts about you two wandering around on what I thought was a fool’s errand but…I’m glad to be proven wrong!” He rubbed his gloved hands together, his mind already in planning mode. “We’ll organize a large crew to join you in the morning. I only wish I could be with you as you explore further. Just imagine the potential for new chambers! All that space…my, my.” Father’s eyes took on a faraway look.

Vincent chuckled and patted his parent on the shoulder. “Sleep well, Father. Tomorrow we’ll use that Polaroid camera Catherine gave you so you can share in the discovery.”

At the Council meeting convened early the next morning for Mouse and Vincent’s official report, eyes gleamed and smiles wreathed all the faces. Nearly every able-bodied adult and most of the children wanted to join in exploring the newly discovered space. A crew of eight to accompany Mouse and Vincent was finally selected after much wrangling. Those who were disappointed to be left out were reminded that this was just the first of many sojourns into the area, and they would all have a chance to explore.

The selected team hurried to gather their packs.

The first obstacle they encountered was trying to climb the tower beside the drawbridge.

“I’m sure I secured the knots on the rope we left,” Vincent said, frowning down at the coil that was now lying in a tangle at the foot of the tower. “It held our weight last night when we rappelled to these stairs.”

Mouse looked from the window they had rappelled from to the rope, his lips pursed. Then he merely shrugged. He pulled some pitons from his pack, dug deeper, and came out with a hammer.

Zach, the nimblest among the crew, made an inexpert ascent by driving in the pitons until he got to the window level. Breathing heavily from the effort, he began to clamber within in order to tie a new rope for the others to use. He stopped suddenly with only one leg inside the window, then he turned and shouted, “There’s no floor, and there’s only a curved rockface on the other side, no open door.”

Somehow, the access door linking the turret to the tunnel had closed in the night, taking with it the floor that had extended when it had opened.

“Perhaps it was on a timer?” Vincent suggested in an attempt to make sense of the situation.

Mouse frowned and shook his head. “Old system. No clock.”

Vincent realized that Mouse was correct. There could have been no timer on that creaky old locking device.

Had he inadvertently triggered the lock prior to descending via the rope? It seemed the only explanation, as unlikely as it might be. And without the floor to stand on, it was as impossible as ever to look for the internal trigger to open the access door again.

They would have to make their way to where Mouse and Vincent had left their packs. There the crevasse in the ceiling held the pitons they had used to climb up to the hidden tunnel above their heads. It would take time, but they could make good progress from there.

As Zach came down the way he had gone up, more sure of himself now on the metal spikes, Vincent apologized to the crew. “I know you are anxious to explore. This setback is frustrating, but we have another way in, although it’s a bit of a hike.”

Nobody grumbled. “You lead, we follow,” said Cullen, and he slapped Vincent on the back. “Didn’t feel like climbing a rope anyway!”

General laughter accompanied Cullen’s statement, which relieved Vincent. “This way,” he said.

The group descended the stairway carefully, and proceeded to the access point Vincent and Mouse had discovered the day before. It took until lunchtime to get to the spot, the group having to go at the pace of the slowest among them – William, now red-faced with the effort of a long hike, but determined to be among the first to see what had been discovered.

The hole in the tunnel’s ceiling was still there. But the pitons that had been hammered inside were gone. And so were the packs.

Mouse looked at Vincent uneasily. It had been odd that the rope from the tower window had fallen, but they could suggest an explanation for that. This was harder to figure out.

“Why missing? Didn’t fall out.”

Vincent nodded. Even if the pitons had somehow worked their way out of the rock, wouldn’t they be lying in the dust at the bottom of the hole? Was human intervention possible? But who would have braved the long march to their entry point in the dead of night to remove their pitons? And why?

The possibility of someone following them to take their packs was always present. On rare occasions on other exploratory trips, both Vincent and Mouse had seen evidence of temporary campsites, some old, some…not. It was why they carried a few implements and supplies on their persons instead of leaving everything in their packs. Might some intruder have stumbled upon their materials and taken them for their own use? It would have been hard work to dislodge the pitons but…

Disguising their unease, Vincent and Mouse recreated their undertaking of the previous day and hammered new pitons into place.

With nothing else to do for a while, the others rested and ate the lunches that had been packed. If asked, most would have admitted that they had hoped to eat lunch at the tables Vincent and Mouse had described to them within the marvelous newly discovered hall. The hard-packed tunnel floor was a poor substitute, but they were all used to the ground serving as their table while on work crews, so nobody complained.

“Time to go!” Mouse announced as he jumped down from the lowest piton, having placed new spikes carefully. “Who first?”

Zach, emboldened by his earlier climb using pitons, needed little help to hoist himself up and to the floor above their heads. Cullen followed with less grace but fairly adroitly, although it took him twice as long as the youngster.

The rest of the group was less adept at climbing. And after watching one of their number struggle, needing the help of a rope tied to their mid-section to heft them upwards, two of the crew decided not to continue. Charlie muttered something about not being a fan of spelunking, and Andrew stated that being one of the first to view the new hall wasn’t worth this kind of effort.

Vincent was surprised that William was not among those who had decided to give up. But if the heavy-set man was game, Vincent was willing…and the only one able…to assist him in his inexpert scramble upwards, tight fit that it was for such a robust man.

Finally, the crew, minus the two already on their way back to the Home Tunnels, was on the path they had expected to be on hours earlier. While the day had been eaten up by all the unexpected barriers to quick movement, the good humor of the group took an upsurge. They were finally on the promised passageway, with the prospect of an easy walk ahead. They moved forward with anticipation as Vincent and Mouse led the way down the long tunnel.

“This whole area will be pretty close to the Home Tunnels,” Cullen remarked. “That is, once we find the direct path that Vincent had promised us…the one that mysteriously evaporated this morning.”

His sardonic tone cut Vincent, with its suggestion that some embellishment had been responsible for generating the enthusiasm for this trek. But he said nothing in direct response, accepting the implied criticism, and knowing that the goal, when reached, would justify all that he and Mouse had promised. Instead, he determined to focus attention on productive lines of conversation.

“While we walk…does anyone have ideas on ways to mount the tower more easily than using pitons or rope? Perhaps the drawbridge might be employed for easier access, now that we know the secret of the hidden door latches?”

Immediately, the conversation blossomed with suggestions. Plans were discussed and excitement grew.

When conversation began to lag again, Mouse began talking about the cavern they were closing in on, about the numerous wall hangings, the carved tables, the ready-to-light torches. “Bigger than big!” Mouse said at one point, his arms flinging wide, the lantern in his hand nearly smashing into William’s.

“Hey! Watch it!” William managed to avoid the collision by pulling his own lantern back quickly, but it banged against the tunnel wall and the glass shattered. He grumbled loudly at the inconvenience of the lost light.

The climb up via the pitons had been the most unpleasant, unnerving physical activity William could recall experiencing. But that wasn’t the only problem. Today’s unaccustomed exercise had taxed him more than he had imagined it would, and his sweat-soaked shirt and vest were getting uncomfortably itchy. Even the toes of his boots were being uncooperative, constantly catching on stray pebbles, tripping him up. He’d only stayed with the team this long because he’d argued so hard to be included in the first group to explore, insisting he could keep up when other, more fit individuals had angled to take a spot on the team. And he’d tried to keep his spirits up and a smile on his face. But really, enough aggravation and discomfort were enough.

And this was the last straw.

“I’m going back,” he announced.

Apparently, William wasn’t alone in his thinking. Despite the promised proximity to this magical space they had yet to set eyes on, they’d been on their feet for a full day. Exhaustion was setting in, along with the knowledge that there would be a long trek back home before a hot meal could be eaten.

Taking the opportunity presented, Matthew commiserated with William.  “Can’t do much without a lantern.” He patted William on the shoulder and added, “Might as well go back with you. We can supervise the youngsters, make sure dinner is edible.”

“Good point.” William was relieved to have company. He wasn’t entirely sure he could negotiate the pitons without assistance. He saw Mouse quietly tie extra rope to Matthew’s pack, and would have snapped at the implication that the extra rope would be needed for him…until he realized he was more grateful than perturbed.

Their crew now down by half, Vincent and Mouse moved them as quickly as they could down the long passage.

Vincent couldn’t blame his tired friends for turning away to head home. Perhaps he had, after all, over-promised in his excitement over their find? The trek was taking them much deeper into the day than his original plan. And with all the unexpected delays, they would have much less time than anticipated to explore once they entered the vast hall. But he knew they had to be quite close to their goal now.

Yet… A growing unease was intruding at the edge of Vincent’s perceptions. He couldn’t put his finger on the source but he felt as if he should be noticing something. Shaking his head, he resisted the impulse to chase the source of that unnerving feeling. The prospect of seeing the wonder on his compatriots’ faces buoyed him. He pinned his gaze to the upper edge of the tunnel wall, faith in their mission taking precedence in his heart.

On they went.

And on. Farther and farther. Until Vincent finally halted their progress.

Mouse consulted his hand-drawn map. Their measurement of distance the night before hadn’t been exact, but it was precise enough that he thought they were in the general area where the hidden release in the rock wall of the tunnel could be found. Yet it hadn’t been.

“I hate to say this but…perhaps we made a mis-calculation in the length of the passage yesterday. I suggest we retrace our steps.” Vincent winced to see the frowns on his companions’ foreheads.

The wearying group turned back the way they had come. Each of them held their lantern high, helping Vincent and Mouse look for that so-far-elusive mark which disclosed the site of the craftily hidden door in the rock wall of the tunnel.

Still it wasn’t found.

Vincent felt his throat constrict as he suggested, “We must not have gone far enough the first time. I think we should turn around and continue down the passageway again.”

Frustration fueled a burgeoning anger in the remnants of their team, now suspicious that an elaborate trick had been played on them. “C’mon, guys,” Cullen complained. “The joke’s stale now. Find this supposed chamber soon or I’m going back.”

“We would never play such a trick,” Vincent promised. “The charcoal mark is where the access point is, and it’s very noticeable. We will find it.” He looked at Mouse then back at the others. “Why don’t you rest now, and we will go on ahead again,” he suggested, indicating with a gesture himself and Mouse.

He and Mouse left the others leaning against their packs. When they had traveled a long distance, Mouse murmured, “Don’t see them.”

Vincent turned to look at him. “Them? What do you mean?”

The younger man shook his blonde curls, a frown creasing his brow. “No footprints.”

Vincent’s eyes widened as he took in the implication. He stopped and looked down: the only footprints in the thin dirt on the passage floor were the ones they were making now…but, he belatedly realized, that had been true since the moment they had entered the passage.

This was what had been plucking at his perception all afternoon. They had not found the footprints they had left in the dirt yesterday. Not one. They should have been able to follow the disturbance in the dirt right up to the hidden doorway. But he had been too distracted to notice, at least consciously.

Had some breeze through the passageway blown their footprints away? It had been a windy night Above, and it was always possible the air currents were disturbed even this far below the city; it happened on occasion in the Home Tunnels, so why not here? Still…

Vincent and Mouse stared at each other in dismay. Their mission was a failure.

The grim faces of their compatriots greeted them as they returned.

“We apologize. We can’t find the access door. It’s here, but…” Vincent shrugged, keenly aware of the furrowed brows and bitten-back retorts of the four people who had stuck with them all day and into the evening.

Without a word, the band of erstwhile explorers turned and retraced their steps to the crevasse that thankfully still held their newly placed pitons.

Everyone Below was disappointed to hear of the failure of their mission. And nobody volunteered to search again the next day…especially since Mouse had discovered in the morning that his hand-drawn map had disappeared.

Mouse assumed that Arthur had made off with the map, although, if he could have been asked, the raccoon would have claimed no interest in things that were neither shiny nor edible.

The map’s loss remained a small part of a larger mystery. And mystery it remained. A flooded section of the Home Tunnels took everyone’s attention from planning further exploration. Then two new residents were accepted into the community and needed to be made welcome and accommodated. And soon Winterfest was upon them. As time went on, and other responsibilities pushed the thought of returning to the drawbridge and what lay beyond it further into the future, the prospect of unraveling the mystery faded completely from the community at large. But in his heart, Vincent never let his hopes die; he and Mouse would untangle the tantalizing enigma.

And then one day…

PART THREE

The pipe code Catherine had learned was a point of pride for her. For those who grew up Below, it came easily; it was a “language” they had heard all their lives, an inextricable part of the fabric of their world. When adults were accepted into the community, it became an essential element of their daily life, something they had to become proficient in to function within their adopted home. So they applied themselves to it, assisted by everyone they came in contact with, and daily exposure along with feedback from those around them made for enough repetition and guidance that new residents generally picked up the basics within a few weeks.

Helpers didn’t learn it. That was no knock on them or their interest in the community Below. They just had very little opportunity or reason to understand what was being said on the pipes. An emergency code of the S-O-S variety was all they were taught, as Helpers ventured Below only on rare occasions, and nearly always were accompanied by a community member.

Catherine, as Vincent once told Devin, was…more than a Helper. That extended not just to her relationship with him personally, but with the community generally. She was a fixture Below, coming down several times a week, and not only by invitation. She was a consultant on legal matters of various kinds, both for the Council and for individuals who sometimes had unresolved legal entanglements Above.

It was only natural, given her curiosity and her situation, that Catherine would have an interest in learning pipe code. There were many willing teachers; often the children functioned as such, supplementing Vincent’s lessons. They were proud that they could offer her help, show off their own expertise, and have a chance to hang out with Vincent’s Catherine from time to time.

It’s possible a number of the older boys had a slight crush on her, and that made them eager to provide instruction. Catherine merely smiled and accepted their tutelage, paying them back with comic books and pats on the back.

On this day, Catherine was bringing down the birth certificate she had tracked down for Brooke, who wanted to follow in Michael’s footsteps and apply to colleges. As she entered the Tunnels from her threshold, she tapped out a message that she was on her way.

Catherine knew that Vincent was on a work detail, so she sauntered rather than move forward with purpose. The pace suited her. It had been a crushingly busy week at work, and she was tired. She would have put off this visit to another day, but the application deadline was fast approaching, and she didn’t want to disappoint Brooke.

Catherine rubbed her eyes, a wide yawn nearly causing her to stumble. She ambled on, ruminating on a legal issue she had to resolve for Joe. Precedents are scarce, so what’s our best angle? Joe’s counting on me and I don’t want to let him down. The bottom line is finding a way to contextualize the issue to our best advantage. Right? Or will Joe think that’s too esoteric an approach to the legal issues?

She was so fixated on the thorny problem as she made turns and traversed long passageways that she paid scant attention to her path, letting her feet find the way. But when she finally focused her attention on the here and now, the tunnel she found herself within felt unfamiliar. How long had she been meandering through these rock hallways on auto-pilot, not noticing her whereabouts?

Catherine turned to gaze behind her. That way was no more familiar than what lay before her. Rolling her eyes at her inattention, she resolved to backtrack until she reached a recognizable path. Perhaps she would be a bit late; maybe she should send another message on the pipes.

Checking her watch, she was shocked to find that over an hour had passed since she had descended the ladder at her threshold. She should have reached the Hub of the community well before now. She was more than a little late; she was long overdue.

Embarrassed at having to declare herself lost, Catherine decided to wait to reveal her situation. Perhaps she could recover her bearings, and then the situation would be just a self-deprecating joke to tell at dinner. 

She turned to retrace her steps, pulling her flashlight out of her pocket to aid her inspection of her surroundings. As she moved along what she felt was the most likely path, she chided herself over her predicament. Chandler, you get into some truly unusual messes. Now…where in the underworld am I?

The path was leading downward now, but she didn’t recall having gone uphill before. Surely the effort of ascending would have registered on her tired brain and she would have caught herself before getting so far afield. But downward she continued to go…and the turns and tunnels were getting darker and more forbidding the further along she went.

She could still occasionally see pipes running along tunnels she passed through, and knew she really should tap out a message on one of them. But something held her back. Realization bit hard: she hated admitting defeat.

It’s pure stubbornness, young lady, she thought, repeating in her head the scolding tone of her high school principal on one of the occasions when she had to appear before him, hoping he wouldn’t call her father over whatever infraction she had committed. Yes, she was stubborn. It came from having a lawyer for a father. From a young age she’d had to stand her ground like an opposing attorney in order to win arguments with him. 

Being stubborn worked to her advantage on many occasions. Perhaps not this one? Maybe it’s time to surrender to the obvious: I’m lost. Really lost.

She was many levels below the Hub level now, she was sure. Well…fairly sure. Far away from any sentry posts, of that she was certain. But whether she was several levels under the Hub or a mile away was not something she could guess. Thankful for the flashlight, she continued walking. I suppose I can’t get any more lost than I already am, so I’ll give myself a few more minutes before giving up.

A noise brought her up short. What could be down here with her? It sounded again: an animal-like grunt. A shiver went through her. What kind of animal could live this far underground? For a third time it repeated, echoing softly in the dim tunnel. It sounded like…something or someone was in pain.

Frowning, Catherine turned slowly, raking the area around her with light.

Snuffling sounds. More soft groans…

She stepped quietly toward a cavity in the rock wall of the tunnel which she had passed a moment before; it seemed merely a fissure, not a passageway. Yet the sounds were emanating from that place.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Her voice sounded thin and strained to her ears. With more authority, she added, “If you need help, I can get it.”

A harsh intake of breath met her words. Fear was in it.

“I won’t hurt you. Actually…I’m lost. So you would do me a favor by letting me know where you are, and where I am.”

There was no response. But whether human or beast…something had made those sounds of distress. She couldn’t ignore them without investigation.

Catherine moved closer to the fissure and she saw that there was indeed a gap there, and that it was higher than her own head. She stepped into it, and was surprised to find a wider cavity, as if the rockface were a door that had been opened. If she had not heard the sounds, she would have missed the cleverly disguised opening entirely.

Beyond the opening – doorway or not – there was a darkness that felt vast. Summoning her courage, she called out again, “Hello? I’m Catherine. Do you need help?”

She played her flashlight into the gloom and realized with great surprise that she was at the threshold of a large cavern. “I’m going to shine my flashlight around until I find you. I hope that’s all right. You sound like you’re in pain.” She heard no reply so took that as permission to continue.

The flashlight’s beam did not reach the far wall beyond where she was standing. But the cavern wasn’t empty. From what she could see, it contained long sturdy wooden tables with candelabra atop them; their candles were slender and had not been lit.

She let the light play to one side and saw massive panels of intricately woven tapestries hanging from a great height. One of the tapestries seemed to have fallen partway off the iron rod that had been holding it in place.

Amazed at what she was seeing, Catherine forgot for a moment what had drawn her here. All she could think of was Vincent’s attempts to discover what other people had been…or still were…living beneath the city besides the communities of which he was aware – his own and the remnants of Paracelsus’ group. Here, now, was the proof he had been seeking. Vincent would be gratified to know what she had found here as confirmation of his suspicions, and it would be a starting point for further exploration. Her heart swelled at the thought.

The sounds of distress – muted but obvious – were coming from beneath the tapestries. She shone the flashlight along the floor, which was made of intricately carved tiles. The light revealed a tall ladder lying on its side…and someone splayed on the tiles beside it. 

Thoughts flashed through her mind as she rushed to the side of the person on the floor. Here was proof of current habitation, not just the existence of tables and tapestries as had been found before, but people. There was an entire other community Below!

This community had chosen to stay separate from the others Below for all the decades of the existence of what she thought of as the Tunnel world. In fact, they had been remarkably good at concealment, given that apparently no one in Vincent’s world had ever spoken of seeing one of the members of this group. She might be the only one, a feat unparalleled, even if it was totally by chance.

Once she got to the injured individual, Catherine saw that one leg was lying at an unnatural angle. “Your leg is broken!” She burned with remorse that her amazement at finding herself in this place had delayed her in rendering aid to whomever the injured party was. “Who can I call for help?” she asked urgently, kneeling beside the figure on the ground.

“Go…” gasped the injured individual.

“I can’t leave you like this. Let me get help and then I’ll go.”

She lit the person’s face. It was a man, sallow-faced and sweating. His dark brown hair was cut in an odd fashion. She let the light drift down his body, looking for other injuries. She would say he was wearing strange clothing but, considering what those Below wore, that wouldn’t be enough to distinguish how odd his clothes were in comparison: a rough homespun outfit – an ecru-colored long-sleeved shirt, full and long, still partially tucked into brown knee-length pants sewn from some kind of nubby fabric.

His clothing resembled what she had seen re-enactors wear at the Plimouth Plantation in Massachusetts, the location of a high school field trip. In the “living history” area, volunteers wore replicas of 17^th century Colonial American clothing. This injured man looked like he had just gotten off a bus from that place…or from the Mayflower.

He had lost one of his stout, large-buckled leather shoes in his fall from the ladder. It lay further than an arm’s length away, beside an overturned lantern whose glass was shattered. The darkness must have been total until she arrived with her flashlight.

“Trouble…” He grunted with the effort of saying the word. 

Catherine didn’t know whether he would get in trouble, she was in trouble, or she was trouble, but none of that mattered now.

She looked for something useful, raking her flashlight beam around the room, and saw a flask beside a toolbox near the fallen ladder. Scrambling over to it on her hands and knees, she grasped it and pulled it close. “Is this water?” she asked.

The man nodded once.

She sat back on her heels and uncorked the flask. Then, lifting his head, she put the flask to his lips. He drank thirstily, and when he seemed sated, Catherine set it down, easing him back into a flat position. She heard his resulting sigh and wondered for the first time how long he had been lying here, in the dark, in pain, and unable to help himself.

Catherine took off her jacket, folded it, and placed it under the man’s head. It was little comfort, but all she could offer. “Please,” she asked, begging this time, “tell me how to get help.”

His lips clamped shut, even as his eyebrows furrowed with pain.

Her frustration was rising. He wasn’t the only stubborn person in this chamber! “If you don’t tell me how to call someone you know, I’ll go find a pipe and tap out a summons to alert my people Below” – how she delighted in saying those last three words! – “to come help you.” She somehow knew he would not welcome more intruders, and she was right, for he lifted one hand in a staying motion.

She waited, impatient, for his instructions, but he remained silent. Surely self-preservation would force his hand. Would he really sacrifice himself to protect his community from further discovery? Then she thought of Vincent, and what she might endure to preserve his safety…and had to acknowledge that possibility.

“If it’s secrecy that’s the issue, please know I’m already keeping the secret of the community a few levels above us – known to you, I’m sure – so one more secret isn’t going to be a problem for me.”

She saw his lips curl upward ever so slightly, but she had not won his trust so easily, she was sure. 

In a softer tone, she added, “I’m Catherine. Vincent – he’s the unusual-looking one from that group, which I’m sure you also already know – saved my life by bringing me Below when I was badly injured. I’ve been a friend to that community ever since, and have protected it and its secrets. I can promise the same for this place, for you.”

Pain warred with pragmatism on the man’s face before, reluctantly, he ground out, “I’m Weaver.”

“Tell me what I can do, Mr. Weaver.” She stood up, expectant.

“Just…Weaver.” He gestured with a jut of his chin at the far wall.

Catherine’s gaze followed the motion and she trained her flashlight in that direction, noticing an old-fashioned bell pull hanging discretely against a wooden cornice set into the rock wall. She went to it. With her hand on the fabric, she turned to him. “What sequence of tugs should I use?”

Despite his capitulation to his need, he still hesitated before saying, “Five rapid tugs for emergencies.”

She gave five tugs on the bell pull but could not hear any ringing. Wherever the bell was sounding, it was not close. “Is that all?”

Weaver nodded. “Someone will come.” He sighed deeply. “Thank you.”

She returned to his side and offered him another drink from his flask. “When did you fall?”

He adjusted his position slightly, grimacing at the pain in his leg. “It’s been hours.”

“You don’t work with another person when you need to use a ladder?” She was surprised that anyone would willingly go up a tall ladder with no one around to hold it steady. Those in Vincent’s community didn’t engage in dangerous duty on their own. But her question went unanswered.

Catherine could tell he didn’t want to reveal more than he already had. And she had so many questions! Who were they? How long had their community existed? Were they the ones who had excavated the tunnels and carved the stairways and built the archways – and that drawbridge that had engaged Vincent and Mouse’s attention – in this world below the city streets? How many of them were there? How did they manage to avoid and evade discovery for so long? But she suspected she would get no answers – not from Weaver, and not from anyone who would show up as a result of her emergency summons. He probably wouldn’t even answer if she asked what he was trying to fix when his ladder had dumped him to the ground, although it seemed likely he was in the process of working on the tapestry that was half-fallen.

And oh, while they were waiting, how much Catherine wanted to take the opportunity to explore this large chamber and to examine those tapestries. She struggled to resign herself to never having her curiosity satisfied. For her time here, she knew, was ticking away. And a chance unlike any other was going with it. It took all her resolve not to do it. But she didn’t want to antagonize or distress the injured man any further. After all, whatever “trouble” had meant, it certainly involved her. So she forced herself to repress her curiosity and neither asked him anything more nor explored the chamber.

They remained side by side, not talking. Weaver’s hitched breathing reflected the pain he was in. Catherine was impressed that he had not cried out once from the agony of his broken leg. Was stoicism a part of their community’s ethos? She had so many questions…

After many long minutes, she heard heavy footsteps at the far end of the chamber. A voice called out, “Weaver? Having trouble with the tapestry you…”

The voice lapsed into silence once the speaker realized Weaver was not alone, and he immediately blew out his lantern, hiding his position.

Catherine swung her flashlight toward the area from which the voice had emanated and caught a glimpse of another homespun-clad man, this one bearded, golden-haired and slight of frame. His breeches, like Weaver’s, ended at his knees, and his stockings were sagging around his ankles. He jumped back out of her line of sight.

Weaver spoke then. “She’s a friend of the Pipe Tappers…and lost, lucky for me. Broke my leg. Only heard me whimpering like a sick dog ‘cause I forgot to trigger that damned door release when I hauled in the ladder.”

Catherine adjusted the angle of her flashlight to find the new arrival again in the darkness. He was staring at Catherine open-mouthed, a mixture of surprise and anger on his face. Then he glanced at Weaver lying on the floor and saw the condition of his leg; the sight spurred him into action. He hustled to the wall where the bell pull was located and yanked on it, a complex set of tugs that apparently gave more information to those listening.

When he had finished, he addressed Catherine warily. “Got things covered now. Leave.”

She disliked the man’s dismissive tone but could well understand his aggravation. “As Weaver told you, I’m lost. I need a guide, or directions, back to…the…Pipe Tappers? Was that the term you used?”

“Not my problem.” He turned his back on her and began checking Weaver for other injuries.

“Stop it, Chandler,” Weaver said. “She’ll wander until she dies down here. Small kindness after she helped me.”

In surprise, Catherine said, “Chandler? That’s my name, too!”

“It’s what I do, not my name,” the gruff man replied.

“Oh!” Catherine was beginning to realize that Weaver’s – probably more properly “the Weaver’s” – community was much, much different than the one she knew Below, even discounting their clothing. “Well, Chandler, I would appreciate any help you could give me. Blindfold me if you want, but I really do need guidance to some part of the Tunnels from which you feel it’s safe for me to contact my friends.”

The Chandler considered her comment and grudgingly nodded. “Can do that, I suppose. After we get the Weaver here help.”

Catherine nodded, then retreated to the doorway to wait. The Chandler engaged in a discussion with the Weaver which she could not hear, but she assumed the Weaver was explaining the situation further, including her promise to keep what she had seen to herself. At the end of the conversation, she noted the Chandler’s glance her way and back to the Weaver before he gave the hurt man a reluctant nod.

A half dozen men came into the chamber soon after, all of them just as shocked and dismayed as the Weaver and the Chandler were to see her. But nobody spoke, however wide-eyed they were. They worked in silence, stealing glances her way but also following what seemed to be hand signals from the Chandler.

As soon as they had the Weaver’s leg stabilized and placed him on a stretcher, the Chandler cocked his head toward the open door and Catherine took the signal to mean she should go out ahead of him.

The Weaver’s voice, slurred slightly from the pain medication he had been given, called out, “Thank you kindly, Miss Catherine!”

She turned slightly to reply, smiling gently. “Be well, Weaver.”

As soon as she left the chamber, the Chandler did something imperceptible to the rockface; there was no discernable latch, but somehow the doorway slid and disappeared. The rock wall now looked seamless.

Catherine stood expectantly, awaiting a blindfold, while the Chandler checked the pockets of his buff coat, a baggy affair in plain brown wool with lots of buttons down the front. His hands emerged from his pockets empty. Scowling, he growled, “Cannot find a kerchief.”

Politely, if somewhat amused, she replied, “Shall I keep my eyes closed for the duration?”

His scowled deepened, then, surprising her, he chuckled. “I shall trust in you, Miss. The Weaver told me to. And after all, you are a Chandler, if in name only.”

She laughed. “And I know an actual chandler – in the other community. Rebecca. She’s an amazing candle-maker.”

He nodded as he pointed ahead of him to indicate their direction. “She is. I’ve long admired her work.”

Catherine kept stride for stride with him as she considered his comment.

As if reading her mind, he added, “Yes, we know of them. Make it our business to, if only so we may avoid them better. Good people, but…”

Guessing his unspoken words, Catherine said, “You have been secretive for so long, you aren’t willing to expose yourselves, even to good people?”

He nodded. “It’s best. We have our ways. They have theirs.”

Catherine hesitated before saying, “Last year two of them found you. Well, found one of your chambers, and how to access it.”

“Aye.” He indicated a turn ahead and they swiveled sharply into a narrow tunnel that culminated in a blank rockface. He put pressure on a point at head height in the sheer wall and a doorway slid open, revealing a staircase. “This will save us time.” He paused on the first step and added, “They caused us much trouble and aggravation, having to seal off that area overnight.”

She nodded. Vincent had been frustrated over the incident for months. She knew he had not completely given up his quest to learn more, especially since he had seen the previously unknown chamber with its tapestries and tables…much like the one she had just been in. He hated unsolved mysteries, and this was the most intriguing one he had come across Below. How delicious it would be to lay this newly acquired knowledge before him, to watch his gorgeous blue eyes light up with interest and possibilities.

But… The simple fact was that she respected this man’s community and its desire to remain hidden. That kept her daydreams in check. She knew from experience how deeply held such wishes were. So she said what the Chandler needed to hear, using the same words she had said once before to another man who put his trust in a stranger.

“I’ll keep your secret.”

He turned to look at her, suspicion on his face, and she added, “Yes, even from Vincent.”

“A big secret like this one? And your man wanting so desperately to find out more about us?” He looked skeptical as he tilted his head to direct her down one particular corridor among a choice of three archways leading in different directions.

“I will respect your wishes. I can’t say I’m comfortable keeping secrets from him, but I will honor the promise I made to you.” She thought of something to lighten the mood. “Give me a penny, and you’ve paid for my silence. In my world, we call it lawyer/client confidentiality.”

He stared at her as if wondering how serious she was. She hoped he could see that she had been joking about that last bit, although why she expected him to know about lawyer/client confidentiality…

Surprising her, he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a badly tarnished copper penny. “If I ever have need of a lawyer…”

Catherine accepted it with a chuckle but she pocketed it and replied, “Paid in full.”

They continued in silence for long minutes. After some time, she began to notice a certain familiarity to the pathways. The Chandler stopped them soon after. He pointed to a nearby pipe.

“You know your pipe code, yes?”

 She nodded.

“They have mounted a search for you. Best if you curtail them by telling them where you are…which is close to what they call the Chamber of the Winds, an easy area to get turned around in. They’ll come and guide you the rest of the way.” He bent to pick up a rock from a small stack on the path and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She took the rock. “I hope the Weaver heals well. If he needs…if you need anything, I believe you know how to find me, is that correct?”

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“Then feel free to let me know. I would be happy to help. And thank you for taking me this far. I promise to pay more attention to where I’m walking in the future.” She smiled and held out her free hand, offering a handshake.

The Chandler assessed her for a long moment before conceding to the gesture, offering his hand in return. “I won’t say it was a pleasure, but I am heartily glad it was you and not another who happened by when the Weaver needed help. I believe you understand. And I’ll hold you to your promise.” His piercing gaze could have nailed her to the rockface behind her.

“You may, with all confidence.” She nodded, then turned to tap out her message. When she finished, she looked over her shoulder. The Chandler had slipped away, somehow erasing any marks of his passage in doing so.

Vincent was the first to find her, rushing to envelop her in his arms. She was grateful for her rescue, embarrassed that it was necessary, and much troubled in her heart that she could tell him nothing of her recent experiences.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “It was stupid of me not to pay more attention to my surroundings. I got off course, made poor choices in taking turns, and caused you all to worry.”

He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. Confusion filled his unique features. “I never felt you were in danger but still… Catherine, why did you not call for me on the pipes hours ago?”

A lie began to form but Catherine pushed it away, not wanting to compromise herself more than necessity demanded. She thought of something else to say, fully certain the Chandler was even now eavesdropping. But even if he weren’t listening, she would honor her promise.

 “I…I thought I could find my way. You know how persistent I can be. As I walked along, lost and getting more lost, I was thinking about Mr. Chisholm, the principal who always told me I was too stubborn for my own good.”

All that was the truth…just not the whole of it. But she could live with the sin of omission. She had, after all, been guilty of that particular offense with everyone she knew Above for several long years. And a promise was a promise, even to people who were known only by their occupations and not their given names.

She shivered in the chill air. Now that she had stopped hiking, she was cold.

“Where is your jacket?” Vincent asked, taking off his cloak and wrapping her in it.

In the confusion surrounding the Weaver’s rescue and the Chandler hustling her away from his community, she had forgotten it.

“I must have left it somewhere. I had…used it as padding to rest on.”

Again the lie of omission pricked at her conscience, but she tamped down any feelings of guilt, having become adept at how to adjust what emotions she broadcast through their Bond. As, she had finally realized some time ago, Vincent had learned to do soon after they met. Perhaps some feelings just couldn’t be shared.

“Come, let’s get you back to my chamber. You’ve been walking for hours and need your rest.” With that, he scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her swiftly from the corridor she would never be able to find again to the chamber she loved more than any other.

In the morning, Catherine found her jacket, folded neatly, at the foot of the threshold to her apartment building.

    PART FOUR

There are so many different worlds, so many different suns. And we have just one world, but we live in different ones.

       ~ Mark Knopfler

Catherine was wiping down her kitchen counter after storing her leftover Chinese take-out when she heard a knock on her apartment door. She frowned, checking the clock on the wall: 9:30.  It was late, and she wasn’t expecting anyone.

As she approached her front door, the knocking resumed. “Looking for Miss Catherine Chandler, please,” a polite male voice announced. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

“Who is it?” She wasn’t going to open any of the locks on her door until she knew who was disturbing her evening uninvited.

“Ye know me as the Chandler. We met…when the Weaver was hurt.”

Surprise lit her features. A member of the highly secretive community Below…here? She looked through her peephole and was reassured by his familiar face.

“Just a moment.” She threw back the bolts and unlocked her door, opening it wide. “Come in, please.”

The thin, breeches-clad man stood at her threshold, wool hat in hand. The highlights of his full beard and longish hair glinted where the flickering flames from her fireplace caught the gold. “Ma’am.” He nodded to her.

“Come in,” she urged him again, not wishing for her neighbors to take note of his odd attire. He entered, obviously uncomfortable, but seemingly determined to carry out whatever mission he was on.

She closed but didn’t lock her front door as she said, “Please, sit. I can get you water or another refreshment, if you’d like.” Catherine was uncertain what they might be used to drinking in their mysterious and hidden corners of the tunnels, but it was safe to assume water was acceptable.

“I would appreciate that, thank ye, Miss Catherine.” He nodded as he sat gingerly on the edge of one of the cushions of a couch in her living room.

She returned with glasses for both of them, and a plate of Girl Scout cookies, the only sweets she had in the apartment. He stared at the cookies as if they were oddities, and well they might be, to him. He didn’t take one.

“May I ask how you got past the doorman?” She smiled uncertainly, but sat to show him she wasn’t overly concerned about his presence.

He winked. “Do ye think your man is the only one who has…alternate ways of entering places?” He took a sip of water. “Delivery men appreciate a hand at times. And…I have other means.” It was as much of a confession as he seemed willing to give. With it over, he got to the point. “Ye will recall the penny we exchanged in return for your lawyerly skills.”

Smiling, she recalled how she had calmed his fears that she might tell others of finding her way into his society’s home tunnels. She had offered her silence, which he had not believed she would keep, until she asked for payment of a penny so that she would become his lawyer, forbidden from telling his secrets to others.

“Ye are still bound by that secrecy, correct? Ye called it ‘paid in full’ for your services.” He seemed proud to have recalled nearly word for word what she had said.

“Yes, basically.” She smiled. “Lawyer-client confidentiality is a requirement of my profession.” She thought of how he had framed his comment, and asked, “Are you in need of a lawyer Uptop?”

“Aye. So I came to ye.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s what ye promised.”

She nodded, bemused. “It’s true. I made the promise to assure you of my silence, which I have kept.”

“Considering how your man keeps searching, I’m certain ye never told him where he might have good results. I appreciate ye keeping your word. And now…I need ye to keep your promise to be my lawyer. Paid in full.”

She sat back and considered what he seemed to be asking her. “While I am willing to help you in any way I can, I can’t be a private party’s attorney right now, as I am employed by the city in the District Attorney’s Office. Legally, I am bound only to represent the city in cases before the court. But I know many fine lawyers, and…”

He shook his head. “Nay. Ye promised ye would help me, and help me ye must.”

“I will, as much as I am able to,” she assured him. “Tell me why you need a lawyer and I will do my best to advise you – informally.”

He tilted his head, seemingly assuaged…for the moment, at least. “One of our number…a youngster, wet behind the ears and full of himself…has gotten entangled in something that put him in your city’s jail.”

“Does he need representation?”

“He needs help getting out. I’ll see to it he disappears back to the tunnels once he’s freed.” The Chandler shook his head. “But I fear it’s serious.”

Lifting a notebook and pen from her coffee table, she said, “Tell me his name and where he’s being held. I’ll find out what I can.”

“The Miner. Well…he uses another name when he comes to the city, though he has no identification from your world. He chose Robert Miner.”

“All right.” She noted his name. “And which precinct is holding him?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t say. Here is his note.” He reached into the pocket of his homespun vest and pulled out a piece of paper that looked like it had once been rolled, maybe to place in a bottle.

She spread it flat and read it aloud.

Cannot return. Incarcerated in the city. Forget me.

Miner

“Well, that doesn’t tell us much.” She looked up at him. “When I go into the office in the morning, I’ll have someone check for his name in our computer system.” At his frown, she added, “It’s a citywide listing. If he gave this name when arrested, we will be able to find out not only where he’s being held, but for what charges. Once we know that, I can advise you on how to proceed. It may be as simple as providing bail for him, if it’s not a serious charge.”

“We have no presence in this world of yours.” He held his hands out, palms up. “No funds. We know no one…except ye.”

She took her responsibility to this man seriously, even though he barely understood what he was asking of her. Seeking to ease his concern, she said, “Don’t worry too much until we know more, all right? As I said, it may be easily resolved. If it’s not, we’ll deal with that once we know what he’s up against.”

The Chandler rose. “I thank ye.” Suddenly his eyes brimmed with tears. “I have worried on this mightily since I received his note.”

She stood up and guided him to her door. “I can imagine how upsetting this is. But summon patience, if you can. I’ll know more tomorrow. Where should I send word to you?”

“If it’s all right, I will return on the morrow. Late, like tonight.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”

With only the slightest of hesitations, he held out his hand to shake hers, then put on his hat and left.

After he’d gone, Catherine had two immediate thoughts. First, she wondered how the young man had sent the note if he was supposedly in jail. Second, she had to ensure that Vincent and the Chandler did not cross paths at her apartment.

It was a minor miracle that Vincent hadn’t visited tonight. It was mid-week, so she wasn’t expecting him, but it wasn’t unheard of for him to surprise her, especially if something noteworthy had happened Below or there was an invitation to deliver.

* * *

Vincent opened Catherine’s message with anticipation, which turned into disappointment as he read it.

Dearest Vincent,

I ask that you not come Above to visit me until I send word. For the next few days, I will be working on a project I cannot discuss, and will be holding meetings at home in the evenings.

I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.

All my love,

Your Catherine

 * * *

Catherine’s suspicions about the young man were confirmed the next day, when Edie informed her that no one named Robert, or Bob, or Bobby Miner, or anybody with the last name of Miner or even Minor, was in the system. There had been no arrest, no incarceration…nothing at all was in the police database. Edie had extended her search back two months, and then reached out to neighboring jurisdictions.

“Who is this guy, Cath?” Edie was intrigued by Catherine’s odd request, and the lack of information that had resulted. She was unused to failure.

“I’m not quite sure, but an…old friend got a note telling him the young man was in jail. He’s not very savvy about our justice system, so he asked me to check on it.”

“He from another country?”

Catherine smiled. “Something like that. Anyway, I appreciate you doing the search for me.”

“Sure thing! Of course, lunch is on you today!”

* * *

The Chandler was not happy with Catherine’s news. “Why would he lie? Mayhap your filing system is incomplete?”

She shook her head. “Everyone arrested is included, no exceptions. And my researcher is the best. She found nothing, even going back several months, and extending to all the boroughs. She spelled the name in different ways, used diminutives of ‘Robert’, and still found nothing. So take this as good news. He’s not in any serious legal trouble in the city, as his note suggests.” Seeing the confusion on the Chandler’s face, she softened her voice as she patted his arm. “He may have wanted you to think he couldn’t come home, but that’s a different issue.”

“Why would he do such?” He ran his wax-scarred hands through his long hair in frustration.

“Is there…perhaps…another person involved?” She was careful about broaching the topic, but it seemed likely that Robert Miner had been looking for the easiest way to break from his community. “He might not have believed you would accept an outsider as his…companion. It’s hard to argue for him to return home alone if you are made to believe he’s caught up in the legal system.”

A cloud seemed to pass over his face. “Months ago now…yes. He mentioned something about having met a girl. We told him there was no bringing a stranger into our midst, the risk was too great. He agreed…reluctantly, but he said he understood.”

Catherine nodded, then switched from an attorney’s mindset to an investigator’s. “Tell me what you recall about her. Did he mention her name? Where they met? Anything you can tell me would be helpful.”

The Chandler’s face condensed into a frown. “It was a great shock when he told me of her. The Miners who know him best may remember his speaking of her, but to me he said little other than this girl was handsome and kind to him.”

“It might be helpful if I returned with you so I could interview the people he worked with…the Miners. And perhaps his parents and friends? The more information I can gather, the better.” She knew this was likely a suggestion he would refuse, so was astonished when, after considering her offer for a minute, he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“I will receive The Punishment, but it is necessary, I can see that.” His face was grim, as if anticipating much trouble.

“Can I spare you that? What of something less drastic? Perhaps…” She handed him her notebook and pen. “If you conducted the questioning on your own behalf, would that invoke The Punishment? And perhaps the man I assisted…Weaver…might be willing to help you, since he knows me?”

Relief spread across his face. “Aye, that would do!” He refused the notebook and pen but said, “I’ll take your questions and ask them.”

“All right. I’ll just sit here and compose them. You can take one sheet of paper with my questions on them with you?”

‘Yes, that I can do. I will memorize the questions on my way back home, and commit the responses to memory, as well.”

A half an hour later, he left with Catherine’s list of questions about the mysterious woman who had caused Robert Miner to leave his own world behind.

* * *

 “Might I come in, Miss Catherine?” A knock had been followed immediately by the Chandler’s query. Catherine rose from her dining table and its scattered papers and opened the door.

“Please, come in.” She held her hand out for his hat, and after a slight hesitation, he gave it to her. She then waved him to the seat he had taken before, where a glass of water and a bowl of soup were waiting, the soup covered by a dish.

“I just made corn chowder for dinner” – a slight exaggeration, as she had only heated up the restaurant-made soup she’d purchased a few hours before – “and thought you might like something warm on this cool evening.”

“Chowder?” he asked with interest. “I am partial to chowder.”

“Please, enjoy it. I’ll just get some tea and return soon.”

By the time she brought in a tray with a steeping pot of tea and two mugs, the corn chowder was only a memory, only a few bits of potato lurking at the bottom of the otherwise empty bowl.

“I am much beholden.” He nodded as he accepted a mug of tea.

“Have you information for me?” She was ready with her notepad, and within a few minutes had jotted down the little the Chandler had collected from those in his community who had anything to impart.

She frowned. “There’s not much to go on,” she admitted, “but…I may know someone who can help.”

“Is this someone bound to your confidentiality agreement?” Suspicion clouded his eyes.

“He is very discreet. And I will be careful to reveal only what is necessary,” she assured the man.

The Chandler rose and took his hat from the arm of the couch. At her door, he paused and turned to her. “I know my demand about what ye owe to me was beyond what ye meant to offer. I appreciate your help. Ye are a kind woman.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to assist a tunnel dweller, no matter his community. You all inhabit the same world Below, after all.”

* * *

Elliot Burch was surprised but pleased to see Catherine Chandler on his visitors’ log.

“Cathy!” he beamed as he greeted her. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“It’s good to see you, Elliot.” She didn’t take the seat he offered her. “I’ll only stay a minute. I’ve come for a referral.”

He leaned against the front of his desk, a confused look on his face. “Looking for a new job?”

“No.” She chuckled. “Just looking for a good investigator.”

“Ah, then you want mine. He’s the best.” He turned to his Rolodex and pulled out a business card, then turned back to her. “Here. I have his number memorized.”

She looked down at the card. “Cleon Manning.”

“Tell him I sent you to him, and he’s to put everything else on hold to work on what you need.” Elliot waved a hand when she began to object. “Look, you wouldn’t have come asking if it was something insignificant.”

Acknowledging the importance of her mission, she nodded. “I appreciate this.”

“I expect an expensive Christmas gift from you this year,” he said, smiling, as he ushered her out of his office.

* * *

“There’s not much here to go on,” Cleon said to Catherine when they met that evening.

She mused on her apartment becoming Grand Central Station this week. She had agreed to meeting on her own turf since Mr. Manning indicated it was close to his office. She doubted that but…she had to admit, it was convenient.

“It’s all I have. His family is…extremely traditional, and not at all sophisticated. They came to me with the only information they had. If I were to guess, this young man seems to want to break contact with a minimum of pain, but it isn’t working.”

“Are they Amish?” He was only half-serious, but that half was more than curious.

“Something like that. They really don’t deal well with modern city life. So I’m their interface. I hope that’s OK?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Mr. Burch said to put my best guys on this, so…”

She blanched. “I’m sorry, I thought… I’m paying for this investigation out of my own pocket, so how many men…”

He laughed. “No, you’re not. On that, Mr. Burch was quite clear. So you just let me do what I’m best at, OK? We’ll find this Robert Miner and his young lady soon enough.” He rose. “I’ll let myself out. I’ve got your number and will keep you updated.”

Once he left, she locked her door and sighed. She missed Vincent. But there was no way she could go Below or ask him to visit with all the activity centered within her apartment in the evenings.

As if he had been monitoring her front door, the Chandler knocked and announced himself soon after the investigator’s exit.

She filled him in on the little she had to tell him, and then, without any ceremony, he thanked her and left.

 * * *

The next morning, Catherine got a phone call at work. “It’s Manning. Can you get away for lunch?”

She looked at the office clock. “I can, yes.” She wrote herself a note as she listened, then nodded and said, “I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

Catherine emerged from her office building to find Cleon waiting by Elliot’s limo. He motioned her over. “We might as well both use the boss’s car instead of taking a couple of cabs.”

She didn’t argue. It was obvious Elliot was accommodating her in every way he could. She assuaged her guilt by admitting to herself that he wouldn’t miss the money involved, and he got a lot of pleasure out of helping her.

“You’re sure you’ve found him?” She was frankly shocked it had taken Cleon so little time, considering the scant information she had given him.

He nodded. “We got lucky. Robert Miner and Sissy…well, Susan Kovalcheck, got a marriage certificate this morning. He must have used a fake ID, but then the marriage bureau doesn’t scan those too closely.”

“They’re married?” Her heart sank.

“Not quite yet. They apparently talked about getting married in a little church in Brooklyn this afternoon. The clerk overheard their discussion. We can probably catch them before the ceremony.”

She wished she had time to alert the Chandler to this news, but there was no help for it. She alone would have to represent the world Robert Miner was leaving behind.

In less time than she would have believed, the limo came to a stop in a parking space in front of the church. There was activity near the doorway as people filed in, so she easily slipped inside.

Near the altar in the little church stood a young bearded man who looked quite out of place in a new, ill-fitting suit and work boots, while the men milling around him were more stylishly dressed. Through the doorway at the side of the altar, Catherine could see a lovely young woman in a knee-length white dress standing with a matronly type who wasn’t smiling, although the young woman didn’t seem to notice.

Taking a chance, she sidled up to the bearded man and whispered, “Are you the Miner?”

Hearing himself addressed in that way caused him to turn panic-stricken eyes toward her, but they quickly turned quizzical. “Who be ye?” he muttered.

“A friend of the Chandler and the Weaver,” she murmured in turn. “Might I speak with you?”

He threw a frightened look toward the back of the church but when he saw no one from his erstwhile home there, he relaxed a bit and nodded.

Alone at the far edge of the front row of pews, she said, “Your family in…you know…asked me to find you. They were so worried that you were in jail.”

He blushed. “I had to think of something to prevent them from expecting me back. I didn’t mean to cause such worry that they would seek out…”

“Someone like me?” She smiled after finishing his thought. “Well, it’s a long story, but I met the Weaver and the Chandler a while back under very unusual circumstances, and they trusted me to look for you.” When she could see him begin to protest, she hurriedly added, “I don’t mean to try to convince you to return home. I just wanted to find you, so I could assure them you are safe…and happy.”

His eyes softened, and he looked toward the girl in white. “I am. Sissy is wonderful. I knew from the first moment I saw her that she was my other half.” He shook his head, looking at the ground. “I tried to tell them. But they wouldn’t listen.” He turned pleading eyes to hers. “Will you explain it to them? I cannot go back without her, and they cannot accept her. There was no other choice for me.”

“Bobby?” The young woman, Sissy, had called out to him, obviously worried that he was speaking to a stranger. Catherine could see the concern on her face.

“Everything is fine,” Catherine replied to her. She turned back to the young man. “I will explain to them that you are staying in the city. But please, don’t abandon them completely? They miss you. And if it’s all right, could I have contact information for you? I could be a conduit of news until you feel comfortable seeing them again, if you’d like.”

He nodded, relief on his face. He gave her a telephone number. “That’s Sissy’s parents’ number.”

“Thank you.” She wrote it down, then took a card from her purse. “Here’s my office number, and my home number is on the back.” When she saw his eyebrows rise while reading her information, she added, “This is a completely private matter. My office isn’t involved, I promise.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Really. And…congratulations.”

* * *

Cleon got her back to her office quite a bit after her lunch hour was over, but Joe was occupied and didn’t notice, so she quietly got back to work, trying to make up for the time away from her cases. At 6:00, she grabbed her coat and slipped out, knowing the Chandler would be coming by, and hoping to give him her report with time enough left to go Below to see Vincent.

The Chandler was awaiting her, sitting patiently in the hallway chair by her front door. She wondered if any neighbors had seen the strangely dressed man who looked like a Mayflower reenactor, but then…it was fairly close to Halloween, so perhaps that could be her explanation.

“I had a strong feeling ye would find the Miner today. Am I wrong?” he asked as she unlocked her door.

She ushered him in, saying, “I did see him, yes.”

As soon as she had closed the door behind them, he turned to her, his face reflecting his anxiety. “Is he well?”

“He is well…and happy. He also…is married.”

The Chandler dropped the hat he had been holding. “He has…married?” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Come. Sit,” she urged him, picking up his hat and tossing it on the couch. When he had complied, she sat on the coffee table in front of him, holding one of his hands. It was forward of her, she knew, but she felt he needed physical contact for her report.

“My investigator found that he had applied for a marriage license. I got to the church just before the ceremony. He is obviously deeply in love, and felt he had no choice but to remain in the city with the girl he cares so much for. But he asked me to tell you that he will keep in touch with you through me until a time when he feels he can visit with his family in the tunnels.”

The man looked stunned, and Catherine wasn’t sure how much of the information he had absorbed.

“Married…to a city woman.”

“Yes, a lovely girl named Sissy.” She reached into her pocket and handed him a Polaroid given to her at her request by one of Sissy’s aunts. The look in Robert Miner’s eyes as he gazed at his Sissy left no doubt of his deep affection for her, and that look was reflected on Sissy’s face.

Catherine watched the Chandler’s face go from shocked to resigned to…eventually…sadly smiling.

“May I borrow this? It is not strictly allowed, but…”

“Of course. I brought it for you. For your family.”

He nodded, still staring at the image of the happy couple.  Finally, he said, “He had…no choice. I see that now.”

“He had to follow his heart,” she murmured, thinking not only of the Miner, but of one special man waiting patiently for her Below.

The Chandler looked up at her. “Thank ye. I am much relieved, even as I am saddened to have lost him.”

“I suspect you haven’t lost him,” she said. “He…and you…just need some time.”

He looked down at the photo again. “He is my son.”

“I assumed he was. Your love for him was obvious from the start.”

“Does…does your man’s father make things difficult for him, as I have done with mine?”

She nearly laughed out loud. But his people knew so much about Vincent’s community, it shouldn’t have surprised her. “Let me put it this way: I wish he would become as understanding as you.”

That drew a smile from the man before her. “Perhaps this is reason enough to break our silence and meet with the Father’s commune.”

They both chuckled at the thought, knowing it was highly unlikely.

“I shall not bother ye further,” he said, rising.

“If you ever want to send word to him, I have his contact number. I believe he wants to maintain a line of communication. Anytime, just let me know. I’ll pass along a message, or a letter, or try to arrange a meeting.”

“Thank ye.” He picked up his hat. “Ye are a wise and caring woman, Miss Catherine. I am glad we have the same name.”

“I am always happy to help another chandler,” she replied, smiling.

* * *

“Catherine!”

He met her as she descended the ladder into the world Below…his world, the one apart from hers.

She turned and melted into his waiting arms.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I love you,” she responded, cutting to the heart of things. “Always and forever, Vincent.”

There was the briefest of hesitations, and then… “Always and forever…I love you, Catherine.” His husky voice was filled with emotion, and his arms enfolded her, pressing her to his heart.

“The man you saw…”

As she had suspected, Vincent had been keeping a close eye on her since he’d received her mysterious note.

“I can’t speak of it. I made a promise.” She hated to put him off, but she had to.

“He is one of…the others. From the place we stumbled upon and then lost.” It was a statement, not a question.

She had suspected that Vincent’s curiosity and need to protect her would lead to that conclusion. But she wouldn’t confirm his discernment. She wouldn’t break her promise…not even for him.

“I couldn’t say.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” She didn’t know if she could be so incurious, if the shoe was on the other foot.

“Someday…perhaps…”

“Someday, I hope that we might move beyond speaking of ‘someday,’ Vincent,” she said, changing the subject to one of far more concern to her.

He nodded as he held her close.

“Someday is getting very close now. Soon, my love. Soon.”

“Promise me?”

He leaned away from her, gazing into her eyes as he swore words she hoped very much to hear in another context very soon.

“I do.”