Once the door closed, Farran looked at her, just the light from the shed windows. “Ready? You don’t have to come?”
“As if I’d turn down this adventure. This sensibly managed adventure. Shall I take one of the lanterns?”
“Please. May I go down first? I’ll let you know if there’s any problem with the ladder.” Farran did not quite insist, but Vega was clear she might have an argument.
It would mean he’d see her climbing down awkwardly, plus whatever the light showed under her skirts. But it also madesense. She nodded once. “You first, me next. Go on, let’s not waste time.”
Chapter 20
IN JACK CADE’S CAVES
Descending the ladder took all Farran’s focus until he was on the ground. It was sandy ground, not entirely firm. The lantern he’d clipped to his satchel stayed lit, and the air didn’t seem too stuffy. “Just a moment.” He called it up the ladder, then he turned to get a better look.
The ladder came down into the end of a tunnel, which led off to the northeast, he thought, if he hadn’t got too turned around. From what he’d understood from the surviving records on these caves, they were one long chain. It shouldn’t be too difficult to keep track of where they were and how to get back. Also, he had both chalk and a spool of sturdy black thread in his bag.
Now, he took a few steps back from the ladder, then tested it again with his hands. “Steady, come down when you’re ready.” He was going to stay there and hold the ladder when he realised that might well be improper. Farran stepped back, behind the ladder, giving her more room. Vega climbed down nimbly enough, making him wonder if she’d spent time in the wings of a theatre or perhaps up in the rafters for some part of a performance. When she was on the ground, she scuffed one toe into the sandy floor, then looked at him, meeting his eyes. “Shall we? Do you have a map or anything like that?”
“Some descriptions. The caves are supposed to chain together, one leading into the next. Do you know the charm for bad air?” He unhooked the lantern from his bag and held it up so the light illuminated much of the area.
“To identify that it’s there, yes. To save us from it, less so. Shall I?” Farran nodded and waited for her to cast it. She spoke it like a proper incantation— of course she would, that must be part of her training as much as her singing voice. Then she nodded, obviously confident it had worked as it ought.
“Does that come up often in your life?” Farran asked.
“Paint fumes are a thing in a theatre. Or some of the materia illusionists use, or dyes for costumes. Mostly, I don’t enjoy trusting to someone else’s idea of what’s safe for me to breathe, given that my voice earns my living. Even too much smoke can be a problem.” She shrugged one shoulder, then took her own lantern off where she’d clipped it to the belt of her dress. “My. No one tidied up, did they?”
It was easy, given two lights, to see the gleam of broken bottles along the edge of the tunnel. There weren’t so many that they littered the path itself, but they were two or three deep along the walls, every so often one at a different angle. “There must be rats down here, maybe other animals. Probably not people.” He’d worried about that, before, but the benefit of the entrance being hidden by magic meant that was less likely. People from Albion did apparently come down here occasionally, a couple of times a year, for one reason or another. A ready source of chalk, for one. “Do you feel anything from the talisman?”
Vega opened her mouth— Farran could see the shape shift in the shadows— then closed it. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Perhaps because we’re underground?”
“That way, then. The histories I could find talk about three chambers, curving around, but all connected. The smallest,at the end, has a well, apparently, or did.” Farran took a few cautious steps, then heard Vega coming behind him, a little back. That was good. If one of them slipped, they wouldn’t both tumble into each other. Farran definitely did not consider himself a brave and valiant knight, and he absolutely was not much use in a brawl. But he felt it was more chivalrous to go first.
The path led straight for a bit, then curved the other way, forcing them to turn right and follow a semi-circle around to the left until it opened up into what looked like a new room. A vastly larger room. It was a good ten feet high, likely higher. More than twice Vega’s height, so far as Farran could tell in the lantern light, and then some. And it was long, much further than they could see in the light they had. He could not tell if he heard anything moving, rodents scurrying away or not.
Beside him, Vega came to a stop. “I can do a charmlight that will light the room, most likely. Would that be a help? Or a problem?” Her voice was breathy.
“It shouldn’t be. Unless there’s some magic here that we don’t know about.” Farran took a breath, considering. “I feel like there might be something around, but nothing, nothing that we’d be disturbing, if that makes sense?”
“And I feel a slight tug that way...” She gestured along the wall running off to their right. “That direction, but further. I’d like to see where we are, though.”
“The light, then. And we’ll be prepared to dash back to the ladder, if we have to.” The thing of it was, Farran didn’t feel unsafe. Not beyond the slight inherent nerviness of being underground. But it felt more like being in the vaults of one of Albion’s banks, with a custos dragon at one end, and a series of small caverns cut into the hallway for storage. There were layers of magic here, and age, but not danger. “Oh, wait. Does it involve sound?”
“Yes. Why?”
Farran gestured. “There were comments about cave-ins, when they closed the spaces off in 1854 or whenever it was. The records are a little unclear. Let’s back up under the tunnel here. A bit more protection?”
“And be prepared to dash back, if we have to,” Vega said. “Right.” She waited until they’d rearranged themselves, then Farran nodded, and she sang.
It was not the same as when he’d seen her on stage. She’d had no warmup, either. Some part of his mind had to point that out. This was what she was like all the time, what her voice could do, any time she chose. It was a rumbly sort of sound, well in the lower part of her range. Then, interval by interval, she climbed up. Not thirds, always, sometimes a second, sometimes a fourth, once a fifth. Farran had enough music and ear training he could identify it, even if he couldn’t always sing it cleanly. The whole built up until she held a note at the top. She wasn’t singing loudly, not enough to make anything vibrate, but he could feel her wanting to. He could feel the space wanting her to.
Vega had, he thought, far more discipline about her magic than he did. She held the note until the glowing light lit up the central cavern. There was a chandelier, hanging a little crooked, and it glimmered in the light. So did the many glass bottles. Farran looked around, rather awe-struck. It was one thing to have heard about the cave, seen some of the commentary. But he could see why people had come here for parties and gatherings. It had a majesty to it, even without the chandelier.
“Can you tell me more about what’s down here? Or what’s that way, specifically? Oh, wait. People wrote things on the walls!” Vega sounded delighted. She only took a step before stopping. “We should go together, obviously.”
Farran chuckled. “We should. Let me tell you what I could find out. There are rumours, first, that it was used by Jack Cade for Cade’s Rebellion in 1450. Possibly also used during Cromwell’s Protectorate. Then people lost track of them until around 1780. They’d bring very civilised tours down here, but of course it didn’t stay like that for long.”
“I was thinking how grand a place it would be for a club and dancing. And the acoustics— I’m not going to test, I remember what you said about cave-ins— must be superb.”
“I was thinking the cave rather wanted you to sing, honestly. I don’t know that I should say we chance it but...” Farran admitted, in his heart of hearts, that he might want to hear her sing somewhere like this, just for herself. Or maybe also for him, not that he’d ask her about that. “At any rate, the later gatherings, someone built a bar, there are the chalk pillars, you can see those, holding up the roof. And people would scratch their names or drawings in the chalk walls, or soot above.”
