The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

There’s more in the bag.” She pressed a disk about as large as a half-dollar into Val’s palm.
    “Pirate loot—” he began. Anything that would keep them from thinking of where they were and what had happened was to be welcomed.
    “Val”—he could hear her move uneasily—“remember that old saying: ‘Pieces of eight—Ralestones’ fate?”
    “All good families have curses,” he reminded her.
    “And good families can have—can have accidents, too.”
    There could be no answer to that. Nor did Val feel like answering. The savage pain in his legs and back had given way to a kind of numbness. A chill not caused by the dank air crawled up his body. What—what if his injuries were worse than he had thought? What if—if—
    The dripping of the water seemed louder, and it no longer fell with the same rhythm. Ricky must be counting money from the bag. He could hear the clink of metal against stone as she dropped a piece.
    “Don’t lose it,” he muttered foggily.
    “Lose what?”
    “Your pieces of eight.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You just dropped a piece.”
    “I haven’t touched—Val, do—do you feel worse?”
    But he had no thought now for his body. If Ricky had not dropped the money, then what had caused the clink? He ground his cheek against the clay. Thud, thud, clink, thud. That was not water dripping nor coin rattling. That was the sound of digging. And digging meant—
    “Ricky! They’re digging! I can hear them!”
    Her fingers closed about his free hand until the nails dug into the flesh. “Where?”
    “I don’t know. Listen!”
    The sound had grown in strength until now, though muffled, it sounded through that part of the passage still remaining open.
    “It comes from this end. From behind that wall. But why should it come from there?”
    “Does it matter? Val, do you suppose they could hear me if I pounded on the wall at this side?”
    “You haven’t anything heavy enough to pound with.”
    “Yes, I have. This package thing that you found. It’s quite heavy. Val, we’ve got to let them know we’re here!”
    She crawled away, moving with caution lest she bring on another slide. That reassuring thud, thud still sounded. Then, after long minutes, Val heard the answering blow from their side. Three times Ricky struck before the rhythm of the digging was broken. Then there was silence followed by three sharp blows. They had heard!
    Ricky beat a perfect tattoo in joy and was quickly answered. Then the thud, thud began again, but this time the pace was quickened.
    “They’ve heard! They’re coming!” Ricky’s voice shrilled until it became a scream. “Val, we’re found!”
    A clod was loosened somewhere above them and crashed upon the wreckage. Would the efforts of their rescuers bring on another slide?
    “Be quiet, Ricky,” Val croaked a warning, “it’s still moving.”
    Then there came the sharp clink of metal against stone. “Val,” called Ricky, “they’re right against the wall now!”
    “Come back here, away from it. We—we don’t want you caught, too,” he answered her.
    Obediently she crawled back to him and again he felt her hand close about his. The sound of metal grating against stubborn brick filled their pocket of safety. But as an ominous accompaniment came the soft hiss of earth sliding onto the wreckage. Which would win to them first, the rescuers or the second slide?
    There was a vicious grinding noise from the walled end of the passage. A moment later a blinding ray of light swung in, to focus upon them.
    “Ricky! Val!”
    Val was blinking stupidly at the light, but Ricky had presence of mind enough to answer.
    “Here we are!”
    “Look out,” Val roused enough to warn, “the walls are unsafe!”
    “We’re coming through,” rang the answer out of the dark. “Stand away!”
    Now that they could see, Val realized for the first time the danger of their position. A jagged, water-rotted beam half covered with clay and sand lay across him, and beyond that was a mass of splintered wood and wet earth. A little sick, he looked up at Ricky. She was staring at the wreckage. Her eyes were black in a white, mud-smeared face.
    “Val—Val!” His name came as the thinnest of whispers.
    “It isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said hurriedly. “Something underneath must be supporting most of the weight or—or I wouldn’t be here at all.”
    “Val,” she repeated, and then, paying no heed to his frantic injunctions to keep away, she dug