St Paul’s Labyrinth. Jeroen Windmeijer

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      ‘We can’t really get lost down here. We’ve not seen any side tunnels, or any stairs … This is sensational, Peter. I just want to walk a little further.’

      Aware that he was likely to lose sight of Arnold again, Peter put the rope down. He laid it carefully on the ground, next to the wall and well in sight. By the time he looked up again, his companion’s light had vanished.

      The silence and darkness seemed to have intensified, as though Arnold had literally been swallowed up.

      Peter took a few uncertain steps forward and saw that the tunnel formed a T-junction and split off to the left and right a few metres ahead of him.

      ‘Arnold?’ he said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out Arnold’s name again, but there was no response.

      He was suddenly aware of how cold and damp it was. What should he do now? He called out again, but all that came back was the echo of his own voice. He began to half-heartedly go down the tunnel on the right, but after a few metres, he reached a wall. This part of the tunnel was a dead end.

      He turned around, making sure that he didn’t let go of the wall. Without the rope, it was his only guide. He went back to the point where the path split and then walked a couple of metres into the other tunnel. He called Arnold’s name again and it came out like a hiss. ‘Arnold!’

      He took a few more apprehensive steps.

      ‘Arnold!’ He was screaming now. His voice died away almost instantly.

      He was jarred by the sudden, chilling sensation that he was being observed by something or someone hiding just beyond the reach of his headlamp beam. He was suddenly very scared, like a small child in the night, afraid of the monsters under his bed. He wanted to get out of here, go back up into the sunlight.

      ‘Hello,’ he said haltingly. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

      He had to get out of here. Now.

      But before he’d even started walking back out of the tunnel, his headlamp blinked erratically and then went out. Now he was in total darkness. An instinctive fear of the dark – a deep, primitive, irrational fear – overwhelmed him. He flailed his fists around to ward off an invisible enemy.

      ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me …’ he murmured to himself.

      His breaths were quick and shallow. His hands trembled as he took his phone from his pocket. The light from the screen that usually glowed so softly blazed now with the brilliance of a lighthouse beam.

      Where had that bloody Van Tiegem gone? That obstinate bastard.

      This was useless.

      He turned back to fetch help.

      He felt something cold brush past his neck.

      Peter spun round in a panic. The jerking movement made his headlamp come on again. He took the hardhat off and aimed the light at the tunnel behind him. He couldn’t see anything.

      He shone the light on the ground in front of him and saw the end of the rope a few metres away. Tears pricked his eyes, as much from relief as from the dust in the air. He left the rope where it was in case Arnold came back.

      This had been such a stupid idea! He had let himself get carried away by that damned Van Tiegem and his insistence on being first! Never, not once, had that man shown the slightest interest in the actual work of digging. But if there was ever a nice find somewhere, he was there like a shot to make sure he was front and centre on the photos.

      Above all, Peter was angry at himself. They’d have to come back of course, with more people, more light, and a longer rope.

      He reached the opening where they had entered the tunnel. When he was directly under the hole, he shouted upwards. ‘Daniël! Janna! Hey! Can you hear me?’ His voice was hoarse and cracked.

      ‘We can hear you Peter! We’re here! Did you find—’

      ‘I’ve lost Arnold! He’s … The bastard kept going, past the end of the rope. We have to—’

      ‘What!’ Janna and Daniël exclaimed together.

      ‘You’re kidding,’ Janna said. ‘What happened? I told you! You should never … This is not my respons—’

      ‘Yes, I know that! Wait, I’m coming up.’ Peter stood on the pile of rubble so that he could reach the bottom rung of the rope ladder. Afraid that something or someone might grab his legs at any moment, he frantically writhed and squirmed his body through the hole. He looked up as he climbed, and although the light was fading as night approached, he could see the worried looks on Daniël and Janna’s faces.

      They both held out a hand and helped him out of the pit.

      Peter took off his hardhat. His face and clothes were grey with dust, like a miner coming up from the coalface after a long day’s work.

      He stooped over with his hands on his knees. Then he straightened up again and told them what had happened. Daniël leaned in as he listened, but Janna drew back slightly, as though she was afraid. When Peter had finished speaking, she gripped him by the collar, pulled him emphatically towards her, and turned him round so that she could examine him. A studious frown appeared on her forehead. She looked at him questioningly, making Peter suddenly feel very small.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked,

      ‘Come and look,’ she said to Daniël. Daniël moved closer and his eyes widened.

      Janna gripped Peter’s arm and squeezed it urgently. ‘What really happened down there, Peter?’

      Peter followed their gaze to the spot they were both staring at.

      In the middle of his chest was an enormous bloodstain.

       6

       Friday 20 March, 6:50pm

      The three of them stared at the bloodstain on Peter’s shirt, frozen like characters in a promotional still from an action film.

      ‘That wasn’t there just now, was it?’ Janna asked.

      Peter tugged himself free of her grasp. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What do you mean by asking me what really happened down there? I’ve told you, haven’t I? He walked into the tunnel ahead of me and then he walked around the corner. There was no rope left, but I went in after him, shouting his name. When he didn’t answer, I came back to get you so you could help me.’

      ‘And that blood on your shirt? Is it yours?’ Janna demanded.

      ‘He fell over. We heard a loud noise … You threw the rope down and it gave us a fright. Arnold was stumbling around and his hardhat fell off. He grazed his head on the wall and then he fell against me …’

      Daniël stood between Peter and Janna, like a football captain trying to prevent one of his players СКАЧАТЬ