They froze and clung to each other, pressed against the wall. It was not difficult to remain silent. Their breath had ceased utterly on hearing that sound.
“Ach. Vassiss?” A question. And definitely not Petey’s voice. It had the hard gutturals of Gaelic, but was otherwise unfamiliar. Then there was a cry and a thud. After an age of time, Minerva peered through slit eyes and saw”a faint, flickering glow coming from the Hole. Starved for light, she strained in the gloom, devoured every shape as it became clear. There was the crack-striated floor, the rough, curved walls, and, as she turned her head cautiously, the darkness of the exit door, not so far away as she’d thought, yet not near enough. There was no clue to the owner of the voice. It had retreated--dropped or fallen--into the Hole. Then her eyes rested on Gig’s, which were tight-shut.
One thing was sure, she had to get her friend into the next room and out of sight. She gave her a gentle shake and Gig blinked. Minerva nodded deliberately and gestured towards the door with her head. She hoped Gig understood. She didn't dare risk so much as a whisper. Still clinging, but lightly now, she backed towards the exit door, step by halting step, pulling Gig after her, like they were in a kind of slow-motion dance. Twice they halted in midstep, the first time, as the voice repeated its odd combination of sounds: “Ach. Vass iss,” and again a moment later when a high-pitched cackle echoed through the cave.
They made it to the door, exhausted by tension and bated breath. Minerva shoved her friend into some soft folds of material, hanging from the wall, and wrapped the ends around her, tucking them in like a blanket. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, her mouth in Gig’s ear. Sensing no protest, she inched back towards the Hole-Room, then eased herself down to hands and knees.
She crawled towards the light in the floor. Her purpose was clear. It had been stupid and cowardly to have passed the Hole earlier without having a look along with Petey. Well, no matter what her fears were, she had to see the source of the danger now, if danger it was, before she would turn her back on it again. And...she had to know what kind of beast had such a curious, oddly appealing laugh. Reaching the Hole, she assumed a crouching position, ready for flight, if the discovery was bigger or faster than she could handle, and peered over the edge.
In what was no abyss, but merely a wide depression about six feet deep, she saw an elf-like creature bent over a guttering lantern. It was bigger than a garden gnome, and skinny, with bony bare feet sticking out of its robe. It looked slow and harmless. It had no weapons that she could discern, except a stick protruding from a neat bundle and a staff that lay nearby. It seemed to have made itself at home down there. But behind the elf was another hole--in the floor of the depression. It was about three feet wide, but how deep she could not say.
The creature turned suddenly and looked up. It stared at her for an instant out of twinkling black eyes, then made that cackling sound and stretched out its arms, as if it expected her to leap down into them. “Mine kint,” it cried. “Come!” And once again, it laughed. The curious thing was, Minerva felt a powerful urge to obey it. The laughter tickled at her brain and seemed to promise the company of pink-cheeked children about a hearth, chestnuts roasting on the fire, and a tin of ginger snaps. Only Jacko’s cautionary tales of babes replaced in their beds with Faerie changelings and Red Caps stalking travelers to their deaths kept her in her place.
The elf’s demeanor changed. Its slanted eyes flashed and its pointy chin wobbled. More of that strange language issued from its mouth, but now it sounded petulant. It started to climb up towards her. Minerva instinctively kicked out, and her heavy brogues made contact with its face. Falling back, the creature missed its footing, hit its head hard on the lantern, and lay still.
Minerva longed to climb down and retrieve the light. She wasn’t all that sure that it was still day outside, and feeling their way through the cavern with sharp rocks all around would be no picnic. But the lantern looked heavy”it had hardly budged in the collision. It had shutters, and she recognized it as the kind made to stand up to windy nights guarding sheep in the mountains. She wasn’t sure she could maneuver it and herself up the steep sides of the hole. And she expected Gig would be too scared to be much help.
But now there came a scuffling sound behind her, and Gig threw herself down beside Minerva, looking indignant.
“That robe you hid me in," she hissed, "it stried to trangle--mingle--strangle me. What’s that?" She pointed to the elf, its body splayed out between the lantern and the smaller hole, its sharp features ghastly in the flickering light. “Oo, Erkling,” she exclaimed.
“What?”
“Erman jelf”I mean”German elf. Kidnaps children. Detey’s Pad has one in his brylairy. Stuffed.”
Minerva shivered. An Erkling. Its merry laughter had very nearly lured her into its clutches”and from there”where? The Hole? Or worse?
“If I climb down, I think I could lift that lantern up to you on a staff. Do you think you can hold it?”
“If it’s hot too not.”
“I’m going to try. Keep an eye on our friend there.”
Minerva lowered herself into the depression, with the help of some large rocks jutting out of the dirt. She looked the elf over”it lay as if dead. She felt the briefest twinge of conscience, but turned her attention to the task at hand. The lantern was indeed heavy and she’d have to boost it straight up with the staff, keeping her weight under it. But the staff, though long enough, was completely smooth. No knob or notch marred its surface to provide a convenient hook.
The bindle stick was better. It was thick and had a fork at the end, perfect for her purpose, but she judged it a bit short. She rummaged through the elf’s belongings to see if she could find anything else that would help. The only remotely useful item was a long rusty knife, half-buried in the dirt. There were also some papers and orts of grayish bread and a hooded cape in a dusty knapsack. She set the handle of the lantern into the crotch of the stick and swayed it upright.
“You’ll have to reach down for it, Gig. Lie full out with just your arms over the rim. Grasp it by the handle. It’s not that hot.” Minerva braced herself with her back against the cliff--she couldn't bring herself to turn her back on the Erkling--and lifted the lantern over her head on the end of the stick. She inched it hand over hand straight upward. It wavered in her grasp. Rocks dug into her back. Sweat trickled down her face. Her muscles were tiring quickly. She glanced at the prostrate elf. A trick of the flickering light made it seem as if it were winking at her. But now a foot twitched, then an arm. It was no illusion. The creature was waking up!
She forced herself to glance upward, and she could see that the lantern was not yet high enough for Gig to reach it. The Erkling sat up, then started to raise itself to a standing position, shaking its head as if trying to clear it. Minerva gave a last lunge of superhuman effort and stretched up on tiptoe. The lantern, if it was going to clear the rim, had to do so--right now. She grimaced, and a loud “MMMMMRRRRRRUHHH” of frustration escaped her lips.
The creature stared at Minerva. It might have taken her for a menacing beast, roaring and raving, with a great bright weapon raised over her head because its eyes widened in surprise”and fear. It took an instinctive step backward”foolhardy, for the hole was but inches away. Its foot struck the edge. It seemed to realize its mistake and tried to correct it by paddling with its arms, but to no avail. It toppled backwards through the hole, and disappeared into the darkness.
Seconds later she heard the impact. The bottom was a long fatal way down. Silence ensued.
In her shock, Minerva hadn’t realized that her burden had lightened. She tore her eyes from the hole and saw Gig hauling the lantern up over the rim.
“Gaire’d he wo?” Gig asked. She obviously hadn't been watching.
Minerva couldn’t bring herself to reply. She was glad Gig had identified the thing as an Erkling. She’d read about them somewhere. They were firmly classified as beasts, nasty child-eating beasts, so she didn’t need to feel guilty about its painful end. Still, she couldn’t help wondering about the voice she’d heard. It had sounded so like language.