Chapter 3: The Table of Shadows and Glare

They trundled along on the Hill-Roller, which, now that it was clear of audience, seemed to pride itself on finding every lump and bump beneath the earth. Each jostle sent Elias’s spectacles sliding down his nose, and each correction was performed with the sigh of a man who had lost many things in dark tunnels and didn’t wish his dignity to become the next.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Leo called over the rattle.

“Absolutely not,” Elias replied. “But the map does say ‘Test site. Bring better rope.’ Which is either a warning or a dare.”

Leo’s eyes gleamed. “I like dares.”

Rounding another damp bend, they reached what could only be described as an underground vestibule. Here the ceiling arched higher, and the floor evened out. The tunnel split: one branch flanked by rusty chains and the glimmer of something glassy on the far wall, the other leading off into deeper darkness.

Elias squinted. “Did you see that?”

“The chains?”

“The glare—like glass. Someone left something shiny.”

Leo hopped off the Hill-Roller before Elias could protest, shoes slapping stone. He approached the chains, which fenced off an alcove. Light from somewhere—perhaps a trickling shaft from above—caught on a panel set into the back wall. It shone with a cold clarity, like a sheet of ice. Leo pressed his nose to the chain links.

“It’s a window!” he announced.

“A window in a dungeon,” Elias muttered, catching up. “Well, at least we’ll get some ventilation.”

But it was not a window for air. Behind the glass lay another room: a small, cluttered chamber stuffed with shelves and, dominating the left wall, the most magnificent workbench Leo had ever seen. It was carved from a single massive oak slab, the wood gnarled and gleaming, covered in the detritus of invention—vials, twisted wire, a half-finished mechanical bird. There were hammers of peculiar design and a pile of blacksmith’s tongs arranged in a circle like a jury mid-deliberation.

“Is that—” Leo began.

“My father’s table,” Elias whispered, his voice suddenly thin. “He sold it years ago… said it was too heavy to keep above ground.”

Leo scanned the scene. “Were you ever down here with him?”

Elias shook his head. “He never let me near his work. Not really. But that’s his mark—see the burnt-in feather at the edge?”

Leo pointed to the far side of the glass. “There’s a door in there.”

Sure enough, a heavy oak door with bands of black iron sat behind the table. Above the handle, a mottled plate gleamed dully—the perfect size for a small brass key.

As Elias fumbled for the key, footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind them—a sharp, rhythmic sound wholly unlike their own hesitant shuffles.

Leo froze. “Did you invite anyone else?”

“If I had,” Elias whispered, “I would’ve made tea.”

Before they could react, the footsteps stopped. A shadow, tall and lithe, appeared at the mouth of the vestibule. It was a man, but not one Leo recognized: he wore a battered cloak, boots caked with red mud, and the flash of a sword hilt glinted at his belt. His face was turned away, studying the branching tunnels.

Elias grabbed Leo’s arm and pulled him behind the cover of the Hill-Roller. The map slipped from his robe and fluttered to the ground, landing with a soft, traitorous plap.

The man turned. His eyes, unnervingly green in the gloom, swept the room—lingering a moment too long on the glass panel, the chains, and then on the map at his feet. He stooped, picked it up, and turned it over in his callused hands.

“A clever route,” the stranger mused, voice mild as milk. “But you missed the shortcut by the well shaft. Pity.”

Leo’s heart hammered. Elias, not for the first time, regretted ever inventing a single thing.

With calculated casualness, Elias called, “Are you lost, friend?”

The man’s lips curled. “Only if being where I intend is considered lost.” He examined the map a moment longer. “I’ve been seeking the source of these tunnels for some time—someone left rather fine blueprints in the blacksmith’s attic. And then there was talk in the tavern of an alchemist and a child going underground.”

Leo tried to make himself smaller. “We’re just—just exploring.”

“Exploring, are you?” The stranger’s green eyes—surely no one’s eyes changed color with the light, and yet—glittered now with something sharper than friendliness. “With a brass key, a map, and a penchant for trouble. You must be Elias.”

Elias stiffened. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

The man drew a step closer. “That’s the usual arrangement.”

He leaned on the chains, peering at the glass panel. “There’s something behind here I mean to see. That table—oakwood, yes? It belonged to the smith before it ended up here. Funny how things travel.”

Elias squeezed the acorn key in his fist. “And what if it’s locked?”

“Is it? Well, perhaps you can open it for me.”

Leo glared. “Why should we?”

The stranger smiled, slow and sly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to open every locked thing in these tunnels. And I assure you, I am very thorough.”

He flicked the map back onto the Hill-Roller. “Shall we?”

Elias’s mind raced. If this man had found the blueprints, he might know more than he let on. He could be the blacksmith’s assistant, or—worse—someone seeking the lost secrets for himself. Still, they had little choice.

Elias nodded to Leo and, with shaking hands, fitted the acorn key into the lockplate above the oak door. It turned with a click that sounded far too loud in the hush. The door didn’t swing open. Instead, a series of gears spun in the wall, and a panel slid aside, revealing a complex lattice of glass tubes and copper wires. At its center, a gemstone glowed—violet and pulsing, alive with contained lightning.

The stranger let out a low whistle. “Now that’s worth the journey.”

Elias’s mouth went dry. “I don’t remember building that.”

The mechanisms began to hum. Light swelled behind the glass, casting wild shadows on the walls. The stranger reached for his sword.

Leo grabbed Elias’s sleeve. “What happens now?”

There was no time for an answer. The humming became a roar. The glass panel flared, blinding—

—and the room filled with rushing footsteps as more figures appeared in the tunnels behind.

Elias shielded Leo with his body as the glow burst into the vestibule, and the last thing either of them saw before the world washed white was the stranger’s eyes: dark now, and full of threat.

Then everything vanished in the blinding glare.