out of his head. The stone walls inside the well were jagged. River rocks had been fitted together around the shaft centuries earlier, but there had been no care taken to keep them smooth or regular. The wall wasn’t meant to be seen or touched, only to keep the well from falling in on itself. Day found ledges and niches for his boots, which made the journey easier, but he took care not to get his toes caught.
He didn’t want to end his career in a Black Country well.
He stopped after what seemed an eternity and braced his back against the wall behind him, his legs locked and his feet flat against the stones across from him. He didn’t release his grip on the rope, but he let it go slack. His arms ached and his legs were sore. He could no longer see anything of himself; his own body was invisible to him in the darkness. He looked up and held his left hand above him, and the silhouette of the tip of his thumb completely blocked the pale grey circle that was the opening of the well. He still had no way of knowing how deep the well was or how much farther he had to go to reach the bottom of it. He looked down and around and up again, but there was nothing to see except that circle of light far away.
“Hammersmith! Nevil!” Day’s voice echoed and bounced around him, frightening in its starkness. He could hear panic rising in it.
The sergeant’s voice floated down to him, amplified by the well, so that he might have been dangling on another rope next to Day. Or even waiting for him somewhere down below. “I’m here.”
“Thank God!”
“I haven’t left. But I haven’t been able to see you in quite some time.”
“You’re looking?”
“I am, but it’s no use.”
“I can’t see you looking.”
“Do you see my head at the top of this thing?”
“No.”
“I’m here,” Hammersmith said again.
“I must be deep if you blend in with the daylight up there.”
“Do you want to come back up?”
“No,” Day said. He wasn’t sure he could climb back up if he tried. His arms hurt and his chest felt tight. He had assumed that Hammersmith would help get him back to the surface by pulling on the rope, but now he wasn’t sure Hammersmith would be strong enough to do the job. Perhaps if the well weren’t so deep and the sergeant weren’t so sick. Still, there was no point in stopping. They would figure out a way to get Day back up when he was all the way down.
He slid his back against the wall and let more slack go through the loop, lowering himself again.
“Keep talking, Nevil,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything, man, just give me something to concentrate on aside from this hole in the ground.”
“I’ll do my best.” There was a long period of silence, and Day thought that the sergeant had misunderstood him. He didn’t want to have to ask Hammersmith to talk again. It would make him seem weak and frightened. Then: “Sorry,” Hammersmith said. “We’ve been joined by others up here. People from the village.”
Day was overwhelmed with relief at hearing Hammersmith’s voice. He grinned and spoke to the tiny circle of light far above him. “There are still people in the village?”
“Apparently not everyone is sick.”
“How many up there?”
“Three,” Hammersmith said. “Two strong men, both of them miners, and a woman. They heard us out here. Curious about what we’re doing.”
“Did you tell them?”
“A bit of it. Not much to tell yet.”
“Not much to do yet, either, but don’t let them leave.” Day took a deep breath and blew it back out through his mouth. Now there were people who might be able to help Hammersmith pull him back up. A lucky break. He took another deep breath and noticed a change in the air. He could smell something. Water? Decay? Something organic at any rate, something aside from cold stone and his own sweat.
“I might be reaching the bottom of this thing, Sergeant,” he said. His voice moved around him, back and forth against the stones, loud and hollow and eager-sounding. “It feels warmer down here.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Just wait.”
He opened his hands a fraction and moved faster down the well until he felt his palms burning through his gloves. He tried to clamp down on the rope, but he was falling too quickly. He pushed his feet out and caught the opposite wall, but slipped and fell farther, his head now below his feet, traveling upside down toward the bottom of the well. He panicked and lost his grip with his left hand, grabbed at the stones beside him. There was no purchase to be found there, and he plummeted faster. The vertical tunnel vibrated with a deep roaring noise, and some small part of him realized that he was shouting.
There was no one to help him.
It was the realization that he was utterly alone in the dark well that brought him back to his senses. The rope was still looped around his right hand, zipping out below and above him. He kicked out his feet again and pushed against the wall and tucked his chin against his chest and slammed his back into the stones behind him. At the same time, he clenched his right fist and found the rope with his left hand, wrapped it around his forearm, around his elbow, back around his hand another time. His descent slowed and then suddenly halted, yanking his arm up and out. There was a jolt and a flash of pain in his shoulder, and Day gritted his teeth, braced himself sideways against the walls of the tunnel. He concentrated on catching his breath. One in, one out, one in, one out. He could hear his heart beating. And he could hear Hammersmith’s voice, small and tinny, from somewhere far above him, no longer amplified, too distant to have been audible above his own howling.
“Sir? Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m here, Nevil!” He had to shout to send his voice hurtling upward toward that pale little spot that represented the sky.
“What happened?”
“I decided to take the express route to the bottom!”
“Can’t hear you well, sir! I’m coming down there!”
“No, Nevil! Stay where you are!”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I think! Fell and hurt my shoulder, but I’m okay!”
“Is it broken?”
“I don’t. . Wait a moment!”
He repositioned himself, made sure he was wedged solidly, feet against one side, back against the other, and let go of the rope. Immediately, his hand felt cold and his shoulder began to throb painfully. He tested it, moved it in small circles, back and forth. Agonizing pain, but nothing broken, so far as he could tell.
“It will heal, Nevil! I’m going on!”
“Carefully, sir!”
Day looped the rope around his left hand now, letting his tender right shoulder hang loose and naturally at his side, and walked himself slowly downward, scraping the back of his overcoat against the stones behind him. He was breathing hard again and grunting, and the sound was unsettling, but he was his only company. He could hear Hammersmith talking up above, but he couldn’t make out the words.
A moment later, the seat of his trousers began to feel cold, and he gradually realized that he was wet. The thought crossed his mind that he had lost control of his bodily functions, but then the wetness spread out across his thighs and up his spine, and he realized that he had backed into a cold pool. He adjusted his grip on the rope and eased his legs down and splashed into the well water. He kicked his legs and windmilled his aching arm and let out a huge whoop of triumph. The thought crossed his mind that he was now trapped at the bottom of a well in the middle of nowhere, and he smiled to think that, despite his circumstances, he had never been so happy to be alive.
“Sir!”
