Page 60 of The Lighthouse Keeper

Ahead and to my left, a sign stuck out from the wall. “Stairs.” I tugged on Rafe’s arm. “That must be it.”

Almost too easily, we reached the stairwell, where the stairs went up, and, more importantly, where they went down. At the bottom, however, we found our way blocked by a locked door.

Without hesitation, I reached for the coin in my pocket.

It wasn’t there.

“Damn it.”

Rafe moved closer. “What?”

“The door is locked.” I patted my other pockets. “I always carry a coin, because whenever I don’t, I need it most desperately.”

“Hmm.” Rafe dug through the folds of his cloak. “Here.”

I’m not sure what he handed me. It might have been a knotted bit of wood or a partly carved creature of some sort.

Or it might have been a finger bone.

Before I could spend too much time pondering the alternatives, I gave it a push of power and held a brass key.

It fit the lock perfectly and we were in.

But where were we? A dark, echoing space. I sent up a witchlight. My initial impression was confirmed. The room seemed larger than the lobby above, as if someone had only bothered to put in the bare minimum of walls. There was a row of windows across from us, in the right direction to look onto Front Street.

Where Front Street had been, anyway.

There were a few pieces of broken furniture; a picture frame with only three sides and a wooden crate with the lid leaning against the wall. The floor was thick with dust, and, on closer inspection, there were footprints in that dust.

Footprints that we hadn’t made.

“Oh.” Rafe stood some two feet in front of the door, his body tense.

I’d gone several steps deeper into the room and glanced at him over my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

He lifted his amber spectacles and rubbed his bare eyes. “I don’t suppose you can see the flames, can you?”

“Lord.” I hadn’t thought of that. “Take my hand.”

I reached for him and he grasped my fingers. His touch was warm and firm. “Keep your eyes shut or look straight down. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m not sure…” His voice trailed off.

“Do you want to stay on the stairs? I can look for Margaret on my own.” The idea frankly terrified me, but I’d try. I couldn’t bear the thought that Rafe would have to walk through the memories of the fire.

“No.” He shook his head without letting go of my hand. “Let’s go.”

I got us through the empty room. The big double doors that opened onto the unused sidewalk were not locked, fortunately, so it wasn’t long till we were through them. I still had some sense of direction, guessing that going right would take us where we’d come from and going left would take us further south.

The wooden planking that had once been a sidewalk was still in decent repair. Some four feet along the street side, a wall rose up, in effect creating a tunnel. The light was brighter here, because patches of glass brick interrupted the darkness overhead at regular intervals. Along with my witchlight, it was quite easy to move about.

I had no idea how far the tunnels extended in either direction, so picked left at random. The prevailing scent was damp stone with an undercurrent of sewage that was more of a warning than an actual threat.

Rafe relaxed once we started moving, even going so far as to release my fingers. I hoped that meant he could no longer see flames.

The tunnel was quiet, the rattle and clank of traffic on the street overhead dampened. As odd as it was to be traveling underneath the city’s main street, it wasn’t unpleasant.

Not unpleasant until I heard them, that is.

---