Tunnels 05 - Spiral

that he caught sight of the moss-covered roof of the crofter’s cottage through the trees, but he made no comment about it to his friend.
    “Half an hour?” Chester puffed, blinking as the drizzle fell into his eyes.
    “Yep. Why don’t we see where this leads?” Will said, glancing along the track. “Or maybe you’ve had enough? We could call it a day and go back to the house,” he offered.
    “No way. Not me,” Chester said with some indignation. He pointed at the sign on the gate. “But this says
Danger — Keep Out
.”
    “Danger? When did that ever stop us?” Will said, immediately climbing over the gate. Chester followed him reluctantly.
    “I’m just getting my second wind,” he lied.
    “OK then, race you over to that wood,” Will challenged, putting on a turn of speed as the rain grew even heavier.
    Chester struggled to keep up with his friend in the downpour. “I thought we
were
racing,” he grumbled.
    Drake had been away for almost a month, and in his absence Parry had been putting the boys through their paces, sending them off on runs and teaching them to use the weights in his antiquated gym in the basement. Parry’s idea of physical training harked back to his army days and he pushed them hard, but they didn’t complain because they wouldn’t have dared refuse the old man, and because it filled the hours as they hid from the Styx.
    Their feet slipping in the mud, they continued along the track until Chester gasped, “Time out. Weather stops play!”
    They took refuge under an old elm tree, its branches affording them some protection from the rain.
    “We look like a couple of escaped convicts in these.” Will chuckled as he examined the thick gray tracksuits that Parry had produced for them.
    “Too right,” Chester agreed. “And these sneakers are like something from the Stone Age.” He stamped his feet to try to remove the mud from his heavy black plimsolls, then looked around at the leaves on the trees, which were beginning to show the first signs of autumn. “Funny — all the time I was underground I didn’t have the foggiest idea where I was. But now I’m Topsoil again, I’m just as much in the dark.”
    “Well . . . ,” Will began thoughtfully, “the rainfall seems to be above average here — maybe because the wind is coming in over water, or even the sea.” He wiped the moisture from his face with a sleeve. “Yes, I think we might be close to the coast. Could be Wales or Scotland.”
    Chester was impressed. “Really? You can tell that?”
    Will laughed. “No,” he admitted.
    “You dipstick,” Chester said.
    “Maybe, but I’m a faster dipstick than you,” Will replied, breaking into a run again.
    “We’ll see about that!” Chester shouted at Will’s back. He was hard on Will’s heels as they thundered around a bend in the muddy path, only to come face-to-face with a man holding a shotgun.
    “Good afternoon,” the man said as Will slid to an abrupt halt, Chester bumping into him. The shotgun was broken over the man’s arm — the correct way to carry the weapon when not in use — so neither of the boys felt any particular alarm. To their eyes, the man looked ancient, his wrinkled skin burned a dark brown by the sun, and his sparse hair almost as white as Will’s.
    “You must be the Commander’s guests?” the man said. He was referring to Drake’s father, and Will realized right away that this had to be Old Wilkie, the groundsman employed on the estate.
    Will nodded slowly, not quite sure how he should respond. “And you must be . . . er . . . Mr. Wilkie?”
    “That’s the one, but please call me Old Wilkie. Everyone does,” the man said. “And this is my granddaughter, Stephanie.”
    “Steph,” a girl’s voice corrected him as she stepped into view. She was around fifteen or sixteen, and had striking red hair and a pale complexion dusted with freckles. She looked both boys up and down with a somewhat disdainful glance, but said nothing more, adjusting the brace of dead pheasants hanging from her arm as if they were more interesting to her.
    Old Wilkie was regarding the girl with a look of pride. “Stephanie comes to stay for the odd weekend. She goes to school at Benenden, you know. The Commander is a real gentleman — he’s always taken care of the school fees —”
    “Gramps!” Stephanie said sharply, spinning around on her slim legs and strolling away in the opposite direction.
    Old Wilkie leaned toward the boys