The Barbary Pirates

“Judging from my experience with my submarine, we have at least half an hour,” Fulton replied. “If they’re not gone, we’ll have to come out and surrender. But Ethan’s idiotic scheme is our only chance.”

It was stuffed as a sausage inside, but the tomb was far bigger than the one I’d found in the City of Ghosts near the Holy Land—more the size of a horizontal closet than a coffin. We wrestled the heavy lid back over us, centering it as best we could, and cast ourselves into complete darkness. Then we waited, hoping they’d run by.

Dim sounds through the stone.

A crash—the nave door being forced opened. The faint sound of shouts and outrage. A closer clang from the sanctuary gate forced open, the pounding of boots on the floor, and then a rush as the side door was found opened.

Silence.

Had it worked?

“There could be more who are waiting,” I whispered. “Let’s give it several minutes.”

So we lay half atop each other, sweating, our weapons clenched, our breath hot and close. I was ready to have a peek when we heard more sounds, and froze. There was talking that came to us as the faintest murmur, and then an odd rattle.

“Sounds like chain,” Cuvier whispered.

Then a pounding, like something being driven into the wall or floor. More rattling, and the squeal of something being ratcheted tight.

“What the devil?” asked Smith.

Finally all was quiet again, and I waited warily, listening for the merest hint our enemies were standing by. But no, they’d gone. We were nearing the end of Fulton’s half hour, I guessed, and I didn’t want us swooning from lack of air.

“Out we go then,” I whispered, “for better or worse.” Lying on our backs for leverage, we lifted arms and legs to push against the heavy stone lid to rotate it out of the way.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Harder!” I hissed. We grunted, pushing with all our might. All we heard was the clanking of metal link against metal link, chain grinding against stone.

“No, hard this time!”

It was as if the sarcophagus had been cemented shut.

“Bloody hell. I think they’ve chained the lid down,” said Smith. “They’ve got us trapped and sealed, Ethan. They’re just waiting for us to suffocate.”

“They can’t be that clever.”

I pushed again. But we couldn’t get out.

“Well, hang.”

My plan had buried us alive.

“Apparently we didn’t fool them,” I said unnecessarily, speaking aloud now under the assumption that they knew they’d caught us like insects in a bottle.

“Apparently, this is the most damn fool thing we could have done,” amended Cuvier. “I thought we were in a race for some secret! They simply want to smother us?”

“Maybe they already knew the crypt was empty,” said Fulton, with a trace of admittedly understandable bitterness. I think he was beginning to doubt my reputation as a gifted adventurer. “First you set our bordello on fire, Gage, then you get us arrested, then some paramour throws a grenade at the mere sight of you, and now you’ve condemned us to suffocation. Can anyone remind me again why we chose him as a guide to the Palais Royal?”

“She wasn’t my paramour.” I felt more than a little defensive.

“He was supposed to be an expert on trollops, too,” Cuvier said.

“Maybe they just want to take the fight out of us,” said Smith. “Hullo!” He banged on the lid with the muzzle of his blunderbuss. “We surrender!”

Nothing.

So we all yelled and banged, to no more effect. It was as if they’d buried us and departed to have supper, Fulton’s liquid fire cruelly repaid. What is worse, burning or suffocation?

“Maybe we could shoot our way out,” Smith suggested.

“If you set that blunderbuss off in here the balls will bounce until they kill us all,” Fulton replied.

“Well, it’s empty anyway. Fearfully hard to load when we’re packed in like this.”

“Try not to set off Robert’s bagpipes, either,” Cuvier said. “I’d rather not roast as well. And I’m getting a cramp.”

“Aye, Ethan, can you shift?” asked Smith. “We might as well die comfortable. What’s it like to smother anyway, Georges? You’re the zoologist.”

“I assure you I haven’t tried it.”

“I think it’s more insidious than painful,” Fulton theorized. “As our breath grows short, our brains will fog— that was my experience in tests aboard my submarine. Eventually we’ll lapse into unconsciousness and die. Not much different from falling asleep.”

“Not such a bad way to go,” I said, trying to see the bright side.

“Then hold your breath first, idiot, so the rest of us have a few moments more,” Cuvier muttered. I don’t know if he was tiring of me just then, or was simply annoyed at the idea of him and me lying together for all eternity.

“Do you really think they know the box is empty of any secrets or treasure?” Smith asked.

“I’m guessing their plan is simply to kill us by waiting and then open it up again to look for themselves,” I said. “Rather efficient, really. I mean, we’re already buried, too. They don’t have to do any work at all.”

“I’m full of admiration.”

“We’d better stop talking to conserve our breath while I think,” I proposed.

“And when is that phenomenon to commence, exactly?” Cuvier inquired. Then he began kicking at the stone lid and yelling things like “help” and “parley.”

That did no good either and at last, exhausted, he lapsed into silence. We lay crammed in the dark, blind, helpless, and doomed. I wish I could report I had some kind of profound insight while buried alive, but frankly, nothing philosophical occurred except that, as the others had concluded, I was a damn fool. I was just glad my companions hadn’t thought to strangle me. And so we waited. And waited. And waited.

Silence.

It felt lonely.

“Gentlemen, are you dead?” I finally ventured.

“For God’s sake, Gage,” Smith groaned.

“But I’m not dead, either. Isn’t that a curious phenomenon, Cuvier?”

“Maybe we are dead,” Fulton said. “Maybe this is what death is like, especially after you’ve killed men in bitter violence. Maybe this is hell.”

“No, there’s air coming in here,” I insisted. “Has to be. Not light, but air.”

“What are you saying?” Smith asked.

“That there’s some leak in this box. Feel with your hands to see if you can find it. Maybe there’s more to this sarcophagus than we initially realized.”

We scrabbled with our fingers but could find nothing. I looked in vain for a crack of light, but since there was none, the air, if it really was coming in, had to be from the unlit below. “I think there’s a hollow under this box,” I insisted. “Put your noses down and sniff for better air.”

“Gage…”

“Wait,” said Cuvier. “It does seem fresher here at this end.”

“Maybe we can dig,” Smith said. “Ethan, do you have your silly sword?”

“It’s a rather elegant rapier.”

“Let’s try scraping and prying with the thing.”

Getting it clear of its scabbard wasn’t easy, given our tight packing. Then we had to twist it around to get the