Woodhill Wood (13 page)

As his toes probed the sucking darkness, the grass around the entrance brushed his face, but Gurde didn't dare move his hands. He just managed to hold back the sneeze that would have sent him falling. The hole seemed bottomless as he hung there, afraid to look down, trying to remember what had drawn him there, and hoping he had the strength to get out if the darkness was too deep.

At last a toe touched something solid. At full stretch, Gurde put some weight on it and heard the crunch of the empty Pepsi can. He released his fingers from the rock and slipped over the edge.

As he dropped down to the tunnel floor his feet slid away and he fell forward. He managed to grab hold of a crack in the rock and was still for a few seconds. Then he dug his heels into the mud and carefully turned around, keeping a tight grip on the crack, to stare into the depths of nothingness.

The mine stank of rotting wood and of dead sheep, and there were other, putrid smells that he could not name. The icy air was filled with the constant echo of water plipping from the ceiling into the underground lakes. A large drop landed squarely on top of his head and ran down inside his collar.

Gurde took a few paces down the tunnel like a blind man, keeping one hand on the rock wall as a guide, thinking that a careless step into the blackness might be his last. The uncertainty grew as he began to see the shapes forming ahead, slight glistens from the splashes hitting the pools, lighter patches floating on the dark water, an even darker hole in the far wall.

The more Gurde tried to stare at the blackness, the more he thought he could feel unseen eyes staring back. He wished he had brought a torch.

He had been warned many times about going into the mines. The water that covered the floor looked shallow, but it could hide flooded vertical shafts that dropped for miles into the valley and not even a torch could light what lay beneath. The water in those shafts was so cold that it would be only a matter of minutes before they sapped all warmth. The damp rock against his fingers felt slimy and alive, and the stagnant air that filled his lungs sent a nervous shiver through his body.

He could just make out the edge of the first black pool and stared down at the thick ripples that oozed like oil against the shore. He was perhaps ten yards down the entrance tunnel. The father's warnings were not needed. Gurde would not willingly have taken another step. Those that had gone deeper and not come back could have expected nothing else.

Something just under the surface caught his attention: a line of brightness trapped in the mud. Gurde crouched down and peered into the water, hesitated for a moment, then reached in carefully so as not to disturb the mud. He closed two fingers across the pale line. The water was so cold that it felt as if it was stripping off his skin but Gurde kept hold and slowly withdrew it from the shallows.

It wasn't a line at all, but the top of a small silver lump that seemed to glint even though Gurde knew there could be no light upon it. He held the small mucky lump up to his face and tried to inspect it, but his eyes were beaten by the blackness. For that instant Gurde forgot the cold and the danger, and just stared at the narrow ring of silver that he gripped between finger and thumb.

Then something moved in the darkness overhead. His body solidified. Gurde slipped the piece into his pocket and turned his ears upwards as panic split his spine and widened his eyes.

The scratching sound came again, echoing around the cavern, and everything was black and wet and cold and Gurde was alone underground, alone beneath the cloak of the devil. He sprinted and scrambled back up the muddy slope towards the world with a cry jammed in the back of his throat.

It was only ten yards to the rock wall below the entrance, but Gurde was already running fast enough to lunge towards the sky. His hands and head passed through the hole into the light and he prayed that the boulder would save him before gravity and the mines dragged him down. His fingers held.

He was hanging over the edge again, dangling legs into the darkness, and expecting to feel the claws sinking in. He dragged himself forward, so that the boulder dug painfully into his chest, and crawled away over the wet grass.

The air was fresh but Gurde could still smell the mine. He didn't look back. Instead he grabbed the rucksack and ran back to the path, splashed through the burn, and ran on up the grassy path on the far side, clambering over the stile and then into the trees.

He stopped by the first trunk and turned to face the shadow behind him, but there was nothing. Only patches of bright sunshine breaking through the branches. He tried to remember what he had heard; probably the mines' echoes playing tricks. His heart was pounding but Gurde smiled and then laughed out loud. He had been stupid to go in. But he was back on the Woodhill where nothing could ever harm him.

He pulled the heavy knobbly lump out of his pocket, rubbed away the remaining mud, and turned it. Its surface was twisted and dull. It was surely a nugget of pure silver. He wondered who could have lost such a thing. It had been lying too far down to have rolled from the entrance, so it must have been dropped beside the black lake, by a miner perhaps. Or perhaps it had been eroded from the cave roof and had dropped into the mud for him to find – now Gurde had a piece of the heart of the hill he could carry with him.

The ground between the trees was a carpet of leaves and as he watched new threads drifted down from the branches to embroider it further. The view across the hill was quite different from his last visit of only a week before. As he walked over the soft golden cloth, Gurde relaxed. He was home again.

There was a sudden burst of rustling up the slope to his left. The sound stopped, then a high-pitched bark identified the source and the rustling restarted closer than before. Gurde could hear Spike scuttling and bouncing around amongst the soft leaves, enjoying all the new rotten places he had to explore, all the new smells that he could dig for. There was no sign of Mr Gunn either but Gurde knew he couldn't be far away. Spike came sliding down the slope, trying desperately to regain his footing, and dropped, nose first, on to the path. The dog got to his feet, shook himself, and looked back down the path to see where his master had got to.

"Hello, Spike," Gurde said.

The little dog jumped into the air in surprise, span around and started barking furiously.

"It's all right, Spike. It's only me."

Spike growled and took two threatening steps forward. Gurde crouched down and offered an open hand. This obviously wasn't the reaction the dog had expected because he cocked his head to one side, turned, and sprinted back down the path, stirring up little puffs of leaves behind him as he went. The dog approached the first corner far too fast and Gurde could hardly bear to watch as the dog tried to turn, skidded over the loose surface, left the path and went crashing out of sight into the bushes.

Just as Spike left the path Mr Gunn came striding into view, his walking stick beating out its regular pace.

"Spike. C'mon, boy," he called.

Spike came bounding back out of the bushes as if nothing had happened and started trotting along just behind the swinging stick. Mr Gunn had his tweed cap pulled down over his brow, so he didn't see Gurde waiting on the path until he was only a few feet away. The old man stopped and pushed his cap back off his face. They exchanged nods. 

"You again?" he said after a pause.

"Aye. Mornin'."

"Bit early for you, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Gurde replied.

"Aye," he whistled. A bird in the tree above called back. "There's nobody about this time in the mornin'. That's how we always come at this time, eh Spike?"

The dog sat down to lick his front paw. He didn't seem to be listening.

"Aye. Bit early for you. Where you goin' anyhow?"

"Just up there a bit," Gurde said, pointing up in the general direction of the cliff.

"Back to your bashin'. What you doin' up there?"

"Sculpting."

"Wi' your hands?"

"No."

"Where's your chisel, then?"

"Oh. I've left it up there."

"Aye."

They both stood watching Spike licking himself.

"Do you think he's cut himself?" Gurde said.

"No. He just likes lickin'."

"You going up to your log today?"

"Aye. I always sit on my log."

"Yes. I know."

"Is that right? How do you know?"

"You told me."

"Did I?"

Gurde nodded. Mr Gunn scratched the back of his head with his thumb and frowned.

"Well. I'd better be goin'. Come on Spike."

"Is it all right if I walk with you?"

"Aye. Why not. It's a free country."

He set off at his fast pace. Gurde jogged up alongside and they walked the few hundred yards to the log in silence. Mr Gunn lowered himself down into his place and leant forward on to his stick.

"What's yer name, son?"

"Matt."

"Well, son. You'd better sit down."

Gurde sat down beside him and showed him the silver nugget, eager to get an opinion.

"Last time I was here you said you knew things." Gurde said.

"Did I?"

"Yes. Do you know what this is?" Gurde offered the lump to the old man.

"Aye."

"Do you? What is it?"

"A piece of silver."

"Yes?"

"Aye," Mr Gunn sighed. He took the nugget and held it between his narrow fingers. "Aye. It's definitely a good piece of silver. Best in the world under your feet here."

"I found it."

"Oh aye."

"I found it down the mines just a few minutes ago."

"You went down the mines? By yoursel’?"

"Yes. Just over the burn back there. Do you think it's old?"

He stared at it for a while.

"Might be."

"It's strange. It was right down inside. In the water."

"Oh aye."

"Don't you think that's strange?"

"Well, there's stranger things happen." He passed the nugget back. "Ugly wee thing."

"I like it."

"Aye."

Gurde turned it around. "I wonder who could have left it down there."

Spike came trotting up and began sniffing around between Mr Gunn's feet. 

"I used to go down the mines," he said.

"Counting otters?"

"No. Otters down the mine?" He gave me a puzzled look. "No. There's still plenty silver down there. Untouched veins. Paid for them big houses."

"Did you dig for silver?"

"No. When I was young I used to go down."

"Why?"

"Why did ye go down?"

"I don't know."

"Well then."

He leaned forward on his stick. "Folk say there's strange things down there now."

"I heard something down there just now. It scared the hell out of me."

"Aye."

"I didn't see it. It sounded like it was scratching the roof."

"That big, eh?" The old man smiled to himself.

"I didn't mean.."

"No. That'll be bats. Just bats."

Spike pricked up his ears.

"Oh." Gurde said.

"Aye. Eh Spike? Bats!" Spike scuttled a few steps backward. "Bats!" The dog barked and started hopping around again, trying to see in which direction his master was looking. "Over there. Bats." Gunn laughed out loud at his dog's confusion. Spike looked a little annoyed at being teased and wandered off with his nose to the ground to explore elsewhere.

"Mr Gunn?"

"Aye, son."

"Have you retired?"

He smiled broadly. "Aye. A good few year ago."

"What do you do now, then?"

"Sit on ma log."

"Apart from that."

"Think, son. Think."

"What do you think about?"

"Things."

"What things?"

"You'll see."

"See what?"

"You'll see what things are worth thinkin' about. What's with all the questions? What are you after?"

"Nothing. I just wondered."

"Well, son. You keep your wonderin' to yourself. It's the best place for it."

Gurde picked up one of the dull yellow leaves from the forest floor and began stripping it like a moth’s wing, wishing he hadn't tried so hard to make conversation. Mr Gunn dug deep into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small tin which he opened to reveal a few strands of tobacco and a green packet of cigarette papers. Gurde glanced away for a second to look for the dog. Mr Gunn struck a match into a cupped hand and Gurde was surprised to see the thin cigarette already rolled and hanging off his lower lip. He drew hard on the end. It glowed bright and a shot of thick white smoke drifted out over the path. The tin was closed with one hand and slipped back into the depths of his pockets.