Oracle of the Dead(68)

The cutters set about their work, two of them beginning at opposite corners of the square. The other two stood by. Perna explained that they would spell one another at intervals. There was not room for all four to work at once, and in any case when a man must work with his arms above his head, his hands and arms quickly grow numb and he has to lower them to get the feeling back before he can resume work.

Soon the air was full of stone dust and the sound of the mallets and chisels in the confined space became overpowering, though the workmen didn’t seem to notice. I left them to it and went in search of breathable air.

“What do we do when they finish?” Hermes wanted to know.

“We go into the ventilation tunnel and see where it leads,” I told him.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he said with a sour face. “More tunnel-crawling. I never want to see another tunnel as long as I live. There’s something unnatural about descending into the underworld before you’re dead.”

“Well, this is good practice, since we all have to make that journey eventually.”

“Cheerful thought.”

In time I went back to check the work. The carvers were making progress, but they were carving, with great precision, an absolutely square hole, its sides as true and smooth as the altar of a temple.

“It doesn’t have to be precise,” I reproved them. “Just carve a hole up there I can get through. I don’t care how ragged the hole is. This isn’t for display.” The carvers looked at me as if I were speaking Etruscan. Perna took me back to the entrance and explained.

“Sir, these men have been trained in fine stonework since childhood. They couldn’t do sloppy work if you threatened them with torture. Besides, this way it will be easier to tidy up afterward; just cut a block exactly the size of that hole and you’ll hardly be able to tell there was any carving done at all. They don’t want to anger the goddess more than they absolutely have to.”

I sighed, knowing when I was beaten. “Very well. Let me know when you have a hole I can get through.”

“Right you are, Praetor,” he said cheerfully.

I told Hermes about the problem and he, predictably, thought it was funny. “You’d have done better to get some convicts with sledgehammers.”

“I’ll know better next time,” I said, as if there would be a next time for this sort of work.

From time to time a workman would emerge with a bag of stone chips which he carried off to dispose of somewhere. These were truly men who believed in keeping their worksite tidy. At last, in late afternoon, Perna emerged from the mouth of the tunnel. “It’s ready, Praetor.”

Hermes and I went inside to view the work. We looked up an absolutely true, square, smooth-sided hole that went through about two feet of solid stone. Despite their fussiness, the carvers had cut stone fast. They had even swept the floor clean and the draft through the hole had sucked the rock dust out of the air. We were ready to begin our exploration. I sent the workmen and Perna out, but bade them stand by for further instructions. I didn’t really expect to need any more stonework done. I just didn’t want them heading for the taverns and blabbing about what we’d been up to here.

“This won’t take many of us,” I told Hermes. “Get two of the men and plenty of torches. I’ve no idea how far we’ll have to travel and I don’t want to do any of it in the dark.”

Hermes went out and was back minutes later with two of the men, the ones he regarded as his best sparring partners. Both wore swords and one carried a bundle of torches. Hermes and the other man boosted the third up through the hole in the ceiling. He reached down and they passed him a torch. Hermes went next, then, with the two above pulling and the remaining man boosting, they hauled me into the tunnel overhead. Then the two reached down and hauled the other man up.

I held up a torch and had a look around. The tunnel was nearly identical to the one below. The chisel marks on the walls looked the same. It was probably carved out simultaneously with the main tunnel. This one hadn’t seen much traffic over the centuries and its ceiling hadn’t collected as much soot. But this one didn’t follow the other all the way to the entrance. Instead, it ended right at the first vent slots. The only way to go was downward.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We followed the tunnel, examining everything as we had before. This time, naturally, the slots were in the floor instead of in the ceiling. The niches in the walls were not neatly carved in this tunnel, just rough alcoves for holding lamps. Undoubtedly, these had been for the benefit of the miners, since this tunnel was probably not intended to be used once it was finished. I counted the slots we passed, and when I came to one I thought was significant, I stopped and got down to peer through it.