Chapter 93: Down the Hole
Mary’s fingers drifted through the water, sending ripples across the surface. Neither of them had managed a full sentence since they noticed the wall.
The space in front of James shimmered before either of them could speak again.
🏴 [TITLE ACTIVATED — Nosy Bastard]
Congratulations. You have discovered ruins that would have remained peacefully forgotten for millenia had you possessed even the slightest capacity to mind your own business.
I suppose that answers the age-old question of whether ancient mysteries can smell an idiot from a distance.
The answer appears to be yes.
Please continue. I am becoming increasingly interested in finding out what impossible thing decides to introduce itself to you next.
⚔ [QUEST ISSUED]
Ruins That Shouldn’t Be Here
Walls built by human hands are hiding beneath a swamp on an island where they have absolutely no business existing. Kindly investigate the ruins and determine which long-dead civilization made the questionable decision that has now, through an astonishing chain of events, become your problem.
Reward : 10 Fate
I do hope you enjoy drowning in mystery nearly as much as you enjoy drowning in general. You seem remarkably gifted at both.
James let out a laugh before his attention returned to the wall beneath the blue water. His thoughts had already wandered away from the voice.
"I can’t figure out how a wall ended up here."
The words came so quietly he barely noticed he’d spoken them aloud. "The Maya never sailed this far east with any fleet worth mentionin’ and the Aztec barely had a fleet at all. Neither of ’em had any business bein’ anywhere near this island."
Mary looked over, bemused. "Since when d’ye know anythin’ about the Maya or the Aztec, Captain? Never took ye for the bookish sort."
"I wasn’t talkin’ to you."
"Aye?"
She swept a hand at the empty swamp around them. "Well, ye were talkin’ to somebody, and I’m the only somebody standin’ here."
James clicked his tongue. "Point is, whoever built that down there wasn’t anyone who was supposed to know this island even existed."
"Fascinatin’."
She didn’t sound fascinated in the slightest. "Now tell me you’re not about to suggest exactly what I think ye’re about to suggest."
"I’m goin’ down for a look."
"No."
"Mar-, Mark."
"No, Captain."
She deadpanned. "We don’t know how deep the hole is, or if there’s even a way back once you’re inside. You can drown, get stuck, lose yer way in the dark and I’ll be left standin’ up here shoutin’ at a hole."
"I’ve been holdin’ my breath in rougher waters than this since I was old enough to swim. I’ll manage."
Mary let out a short exhale through her nose. "I’ve no doubt you think so. What concerns me is whether the hole intends to reward that confidence or bury it."
James spread his hands, grinning despite himself.
"Where’s the adventure in good sense, lass?"
Mary froze.
The word hung between them.
She reacted first.
James realized his mistake a heartbeat later.
The argument vanished from her face, replaced by a far sharper expression.
She seized the front of his shirt and hauled him half a step closer while her eyes searched his face as though hunting for something she’d overlooked.
"How long."
"Easy now."
"How. Long. Have you known."
"It’s not what you think-"
"Don’t you dare tell me what I think." Her fingers tightened in his shirt. "Since when, Calloway?"
James reached for the only defense he had. "You’re imaginin’ things. Lass is natural enough to me, plenty of sailors throw it around. Doesn’t mean-"
"Try again."
"I mean, half the crew calls each other worse than lass durin’ a slow day. You’ve heard Pete-"
"Try again, or I’ll throw you into that hole myself and spare the water the effort."
James looked at Mary.
Then he looked at the hole.
The hole was beginning to strike him as considerably less dangerous.
He slipped out of her grasp and dove before she could flip him over, the cold swamp water swallowing him just as she found enough breath to begin a series of curses.
The water stole every word.
James kicked downward through the fading light until the wall emerged once more from the murk, exactly where they’d left it. It looked no more welcoming from up close, its squared stones lying beneath the swamp with the confidence that had been waiting there long enough to stop caring whether anyone ever found it.
His hand slid across the stone until his fingers found the its base.
Well...
It looked enough like a passage.
He reckoned his lungs still had enough air left to support one questionable decision.
That seemed plenty.
James tucked his shoulders and pushed himself inside.
The passage proved only just wide enough for the attempt. Stone scraped his coat and shoulders while he kicked forward through water that grew darker with every stroke, until the daylight behind him disappeared entirely and he found himself swimming through blackness with nothing to guide him except the wall beneath one hand.
Anne was going to be unbearable if this turned out to be a very elaborate way of drowning.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, his hand punched through open air.
James drove upward, broke the surface, and filled his lungs in one greedy breath. The exhale bounced away through stone before returning from somewhere deeper in the darkness, making the place feel far larger than the patch of water he floated in.
As his breathing slowed, the chamber slowly revealed itself.
The water continued ahead through a narrow channel cut down the middle of the room, while a raised stone walkway ran beside it just above the waterline. James caught the edge with both hands, hauled himself onto the worn ledge, and stood dripping onto a floor buried beneath centuries of undisturbed silt.
It was no cave.
Every wall had been built from carefully cut stone blocks fitted tightly enough that many of the joints still held despite the centuries. The ceiling hung low overhead, thick roots bursting through cracked seams wherever the island had finally begun reclaiming what lay beneath it. The channel stretched away into darkness, disappearing beyond the reach of the faint light filtering back through the flooded tunnel.
"Sewers," James muttered, glancing along the passage. "Or somebody’s idea of one."
Whatever purpose the place had once served, it had been abandoned long enough for the world above to forget it existed.
Shivering, he dug through his soaked coat until he found his flint, steel, and a miserable excuse for tinder.
"This ought to work beautifully."
He struck the steel.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
The flint showered sparks exactly as it was supposed to. The tinder, having spent the minutes underwater, had apparently decided it had retired from the profession.
James snorted and tried again.
This time a single ember caught.
Tiny, weak and stubborn.
He bent over it at once, cupping both hands around the fragile glow and feeding it the gentlest breath he could manage until the ember finally rewarded him with the smallest tongue of flame.
Then, behind him, something splashed from the water.