Riptide

'It's tiled in stone,' came the voice.

A faint glimmer of hope rose within Hatch. 'Small pieces of stone?'

'Yes.'

The glimmer became stronger. 'Look closely. Does any piece look different from the rest?'

'No.'

Hope slipped away. Hatch held his head in his hands, jaws agape, fighting for breath.

'Wait. There is something. There's a stone in the center, here, that's not square. It's tapered slightly, almost like a keyhole. At least, I think it is. There's not much of a difference.'

Hatch looked up. 'Can you lift it away from the others?'

'Let me try.' There was a brief silence. 'No, it's wedged in tight, and the soil around it is hard as concrete.'

'Do you have a knife?'

'No. But wait, wait a moment, let me try something else.' Very faintly, Hatch thought he could hear the sound of scratching.

'Okay!' the voice said, a thin tone of excitement carrying through the intervening rock. 'I'm lifting it now.' A pause. 'There's some kind of mechanism in a cavity underneath, a wooden stick, almost like a lever or something.'

That must be the fulcrum handle, Hatch thought drowsily. 'Can you pull it up? Reset it?'

'No,' came the voice after a moment. 'It's stuck fast.'

'Try again!' Hatch called out with the last of his breath. In the silence that followed, the buzzing returned, louder and louder in his ears; he leaned on the cold stone, trying to prop himself up, until at last he slipped away into unconsciousness.

. . . Then there was a light, and a voice, and Hatch felt himself coming back from a long distance. He reached up to the light, then slipped and fell, sending one of Johnny's bones spinning away. He breathed in the air, no longer stuffy and poisonous, faintly perfumed with the smell of the sea. He seemed to have fallen into a larger tunnel as the slab that crushed his brother had rolled back.

Hatch tried to speak but could only croak. He gazed up into the light again, trying to focus his blurry eyes on who was behind it. Raising himself on shaky knees, he blinked and saw Reverend Clay staring back at him, dried blood caked around his nose, flashlight in hand.

'You!' said Clay, disappointment huge in his voice. A large, thin cross of bright metal hung from his neck, one sharp edge covered in mud.

Hatch swayed, still breathing the delicious air. Strength was returning, but he could not yet muster the energy to speak.

Clay replaced the cross within his shirt and stepped closer, standing in the low doorway that Hatch himself had once stood in, more than twenty-five years before. 'I took shelter near the mouth of the tunnel, and I heard your cries,' the minister said. 'On the third try I was able to shift the lever, and the end wall of the tunnel came away, opening this hole. What is this place? And what are you doing here?' He peered closer, shining the light into the chamber. 'And what are all these bones that fell out with you?'

Hatch held up his hand in response. After a moment's hesitation, Clay reached down and Hatch staggered to his feet.

'Thank you,' he gasped. 'You saved my life.'

Clay waved his hand in a gesture of irritation.

'This was the tunnel my brother was killed in. And those are his bones.'

Clay's eyes widened. 'Oh,' he said, moving the light quickly away. 'I'm very sorry.'

'Did you see anyone else on the island?' Hatch asked urgently. 'A young woman in a slicker? Dark hair?'

Clay shook his head.

Hatch closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath. Then he pointed down the newly exposed tunnel. 'This leads to the base of the Water Pit. Captain Neidelman's in the treasure chamber. We have to stop him.'

Clay frowned. 'Stop him from what?'

'He's about to open the casket that contains St. Michael's Sword.'

A look of suspicion darted across the minister's face.

A series of racking coughs seized Hatch. 'I've learned the sword's deadly. Radioactive.'

Clay crossed his arms.

'It could kill us all, and maybe half the town of Stormhaven, if it ever got out.'

Clay remained silent, staring.

'Look,' said Hatch, swallowing hard. 'You were right. We never should have been digging for this treasure. But it's too late for that now. I can't stop him alone.'

A new look suddenly crossed the minister's face; a look Hatch found hard to interpret. Clay's expression began to change, brighten, as if his face was suffused with inward light. 'I think I'm beginning to understand,' he said, almost to himself.

'Neidelman sent a man to kill me,' Hatch said. 'He's become unhinged.'