more.
It was no longer there.
He began to search his pockets-first the left, the right. Finally he burrowed into the inside pocket of his doublet. Nothing. The tinderbox must have fallen out, either as he fell into the chamber or even earlier as he crawled through the tunnels. Desperately he held on to the useless lantern while he knelt and blindly tapped around with the other hand, trying to find the lost box. Soon he reached the opposite wall. He turned around and felt his way back again. After repeating this procedure three times he gave up. He would never find the tinderbox down there.
Simon tried to stay calm. Everything was still completely black all around him. He felt as if he had been buried alive; his breathing quickened. He leaned against the wet wall. Then he called for the hangman.
“Kuisl! I slipped! My lantern is out. You must help me!”
Silence.
“Kuisl, damn it, this isn’t funny!”
He could hear nothing other than his own rapid breathing and an occasional trickling sound. Was it possible that the clay down here would swallow every sound?
Simon stood up and felt his way along the wall. After just a few feet his hand found emptiness. He had found the opening to the top! Feeling relieved, he felt around the spot. The approximately two-foot-wide hole started at chest level. This was where he had dropped down into the chamber. If he could manage to crawl up and back into the upper chamber he should actually meet up with the hangman. Though Simon had not counted to five hundred, his stay down here already seemed like an eternity. The hangman had certainly returned by now.
Then why didn’t he give any sign of life?
Simon concentrated on what lay before him. He took the lantern in his teeth, swung his body up, and was about to push himself through the tunnel when he noticed something.
The tunnel was sloping down at a slight angle.
But how could this be? After all he had fallen down into this chamber. Therefore the tunnel must be rising! Or was it a different tunnel?
Horrified, Simon realized that he had gotten lost. He was just about to let himself slide back into the chamber to look for the right tunnel when he heard a noise.
Whimpering.
It was coming from the tunnel in front of him, the one going down, and it was very close.
The children! The children were down there!
“Sophie, Clara! Can you hear me? It’s me, Simon!” he shouted down.
The crying stopped. Instead he could hear Sophie’s voice.
“Is it really you, Simon?”
An immense feeling of relief came over him. At least he had found the children! Perhaps the hangman was already with them? Of course! He had not found anything in the upper chamber, so he had climbed down again and taken the second tunnel. And now he would be standing down there with the children, playing tricks on him.
“Is Kuisl down there with you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Really? Children, you must tell me. This is no longer a game!”
“By the Holy Virgin Mary, no!” Sophie’s voice came from below. “Oh God, I am so scared! I heard steps, but I can’t get away because of Clara…”
Her voice changed into weeping.
“Sophie, you need not be afraid,” Simon tried to calm her. “The steps you heard were certainly ours. We are coming to get you out of there. What’s the matter with Clara?”
“She…she’s sick. She has a fever and can’t walk.”
“We…we’re going to make out all right, Sophie. For sure. I’m coming down now.”
He took the lantern in his teeth and slid down the tunnel. This time he was prepared for the fall. He only fell a couple of feet and landed almost softly in a puddle of ice-cold muddy water.
“Simon?” Sophie’s voice came from the left. He thought he could see her outline in the dark: a spot that looked a little darker and seemed to move slowly back and forth. Simon waved. Then it occurred to him how nonsensical that was in the dark.
“I’m here, Sophie. Where is Clara?” he whispered.
“She’s lying next to me. Who are those men?”
“Which men?” While Simon spoke, he crawled toward the outline. He felt a stone step and on it moss and straw.
“Well, I mean the men I heard above. Are they still there?”
Simon tapped his way up the step. It was as long and as wide as a bed. He felt the body of a child stretched out on it. Cold skin, small toes. Rags covering her legs.
“No,” he answered. “They…they’re gone. It’s safe. You can come out.”
Now Sophie’s outline was very close, right next to him. He reached for it. He felt a dress. A hand reached for him and held him tightly.
“Oh, God, Simon! I am so scared!”
Simon hugged the little body and stroked it.
“All will be well. Now all we have to do is…”
He could hear a scraping sound behind him. Something was slowly pushing through the opening into the chamber.
“Simon!” Sophie cried out. “Something is there! I can see it. Oh, God, I can see it!”
Simon turned around. At a spot not far from them, the blackness was darker than the rest. And this darkness was coming closer.
“Do you have any light down here?” screamed Simon. “A candle? Anything?”
“I have tinder and flint. It must be here somewhere…for heaven’s sakes, Simon! What…what is it?”
“Sophie, where is the tinder? Answer me!”
Sophie started to scream. Simon slapped her face.
“Where is the tinder?” he cried once more into the blackness.
The slap helped. Sophie quieted down instantly. She felt around briefly, then handed him a fibrous piece of sponge and a cool piece of flint. Simon pulled the stiletto from his belt and struck the stone in wild blows against the cold steel. Sparks flew, the tinder started to glow, and a tiny flame flared up in his hand. But just as he was about to light the lantern with the glowing fibers, he felt a draft from behind. The shadow fell over them.
Before the lantern went out a second time, Simon saw a hand swoop down in the fading light. Then darkness overcame him.
In the meantime the hangman had gone through two more chambers without finding any trace of the children. The room he had reached with the ladder had been empty. Shards of an old pitcher and a few rotten barrel staves littered the floor. In the corner alcoves there were recessed stone seats. They were scrubbed smooth and looked as if hundreds of frightened people had squatted in them over the years. Two tunnels led from this chamber into the darkness as well.
Jakob Kuisl cursed. This dwarf’s hole was indeed a damn maze! It quite possibly extended underground all the way to the church walls. Perhaps the priest had been right after all with his ghost stories. What secret rites could have taken place down here? How many hordes of barbarians and soldiers had already passed above, while deep down in the earth, men, women, and children listened fearfully to the conquerors’ steps and voices? Nobody would ever know.
Above the entrance to the tunnel at the left were a few marks that Jakob Kuisl could not figure out. Scratches, arching lines, and crosses that could be of human or natural origin. Here, too, the passage was so narrow that one had to practically push one’s self through. Could there be some truth to the stories that an old midwife had told him almost thirty years earlier? That the passages were built so narrow on purpose so that a body would surrender all that was bad, all sickness, all bad thoughts to Mother Earth?
