Tunnels 01, Tunnels

interviewer.
    "And tell me, Professor Burrows, newly appointed Dean of Subterranean Studies, what does the Nobel Prize mean to you?"
    Now walking more quickly around the circle, a jaunty spring in his step, his voice reverted to its normal tone and he moved the light orb to the other side of his face. He adopted a slightly surprised manner with pantomime hesitancy.
    "Oh, I... I... I must say... it was truly a great honor and, at first, I felt that I was not worthy to follow in the footsteps of those great men and women--" At that very moment his toe caught against a piece of rock, and he swore blindly as he stumbled for a few paces. Regaining his poise, he began to walk again, simultaneously continuing with his response. "-- the footsteps of those great men and women, that exalted list of winners who preceded me."
    He swung the orb back to the other side of his face. "But, Professor, the contributions you have made to so many fields -- medicine, physics, chemistry, biology, geology, and, above all, archaeology -- are inestimable. You are considered to be one of the greatest living scholars on the planet. Did you ever think it would come to this, the day you began the tunnel in your cellar?"
    Dr. Burrows gave a melodramatic "ahem" as the orb changed sides again. "Well, I knew that there was more for me... much more than my career in the museum back in..."
    Dr. Burrows's voice trailed off as he ground to a halt. He pocketed the orb, plunging himself into the shadows cast by the stones as he thought of his family and wondered how they were getting along without him. Shaking his bedraggled head, he slowly shuffled back into the circle and slumped down by his journal, staring blankly into the flickering flames, which grew more blurred as he watched them. Finally he removed his spectacles and rubbed the moisture from his eyes with the heels of his hands.
    "I have to do this," he said to himself as he put his spectacles back on and once again took up his pencil. "I have to."
    The firelight radiated out from between the stones in the circle, projecting shifting spokes of gentle light onto the floor and walls of the passage. In the center of this wheel, totally absorbed, the cross-legged figure grumbled quietly as he rubbed out a mistake in his journal.
    He didn't have a thought for anyone in the world at that moment; he was a man so obsessed that nothing else mattered, nothing at all.

     

28

    As a fire sputtered in the hearth, Mr. Jerome reclined in one of the wingback armchairs, reading his newspaper. From time to time, the heavily waxed pages flopped waywardly, and he flicked his wrists reflexively to straighten them up again. Will couldn't make out a single headline from his vantage point at the table; the blocky newsprint bled into the paper to such an extent that it looked as though a swarm of ants had dipped their feet in black ink and then stampeded across the pages.
    Cal played another card and waited expectantly for his brother's response, but Will was finding it impossible to keep his concentration on the game. It was the first time he'd been in the same room with Mr. Jerome without being on the receiving end of hostile glances or a resentful silence. This is itself represented a landmark in their relationship.
    There was a sudden crash as the front door was flung open, and all three looked up.
    "Cal, Will!" Uncle Tam bellowed as he blundered in from the hallway, shattering the scene of apparent domestic bliss. He straightened himself up when he saw Mr. Jerome staring daggers at him from his chair.
    "Oh, sorry, I..."
    "I thought we had an understanding," Mr. Jerome growled as he rose and folded the paper under his arm. "You said you wouldn't come here... when I'm at home." He walked stiffly past Tam without so much as a glance.
    Uncle Tam made a face and sat down next to Will. With a conspiratorial wave of his hand, he indicated to the boys to come closer. He waited until Mr. Jerome's footsteps had receded into the distance before he spoke.
    "The time has arrived," Tam whispered, extracting a dented metal canister from inside his coat. He flipped off the cap from one end, and they watched as he slid out a tattered map and laid it over their cards on the tabletop, smoothing out the corners so that it lay flat. Then he turned to Will.
    "Chester is to be Banished tomorrow evening," he said.
    "Oh, God." Will sat up as if he'd been shocked with an electric current. "That's too sudden, isn't it?"
    "I only just found