Page 154 of Tomb of the Sun King

Neil imagined climbing forever until the rope simply ran out. Or perhaps he might get caught in the increasingly tight space until he was no longer able to move.

Or the gap in the floor might open into a labyrinthine and inescapable cave system where Neil would slowly die of thirst.

“Couldn’t you drop the light down there first?” he suggested hopefully.

“Who would untie it so that we could bring the rope back up for you?” Zeinab returned. “And what if you kicked it over when you landed? We only have two lanterns. We cannot risk one getting broken.”

“I’m not going to kick it over!” Neil protested.

Zeinab answered him with a raised eyebrow.

With a resigned lurch in his gut, Neil took off his spectacles, tucking them carefully into the pocket of his waistcoat. He shuffled awkwardly around the two women until he was positioned above the fissure.

He slid his legs into the opening, then took the rope in both hands, pulling to test it. It held firm against whatever Adam had tied it to.

In all probability, there was very little chance that it would come loose and plummet him into an impenetrable abyss from which he would never escape.

“Get on with it already!” Constance hissed through the entrance slightly above him. “Some of us would like to know what’s down there before we die of old age!”

Neil flushed with embarrassment and lowered himself into the gap.

The space was tight. Stone scraped at the back of his waistcoat as he slid inside. He struggled to find footholds, as there was barely any room to maneuver his legs. He tried to brace himself with his back and his knees instead, quickly earning a few new scrapes.

A scarab took flight near his ear, buzzing an inch from his nose as it dove past him. The surprise of it nearly made him lose his grip on the rope.

He fell, skidding down the fissure. The fibers of the rope rasped against his palms as he tightened his grip and lurched to a stop.

A spill of dust showered down on him from above. The back of his waistcoat snagged against the rock.

He sneezed.

“Keep quiet!” Zeinab hissed.

She glared down at Neil from above, her sharp features lit by the soft glow of the lantern he had left behind. Constance joined her, her face framed by tendrils of dark hair that had come loose from her Gibson.

She frowned. “All I can see is Stuffy!”

“He’ll get out of the way in a minute,” Zeinab replied.

Little stones peppered his face as Neil dropped himself lower—and swung his boot out into nothing. It waved there helplessly, his efforts to find a foothold utterly failing.

He nearly let go of the rope in shock and dismay. He managed to stop himself after another short slide, his palms burning.

Neil’s other foot reached the nothingness. He flailed until he caught the rope between his boots, which took some of the weight from his aching shoulders.

Thick, silent darkness surrounded him.

His arms made another fiery protest, and he forced himself to climb, sliding awkwardly down until his soles struck the ground.

Neil planted them there, terrified to move lest he step over the edge of some hidden abyss and plummet to his doom.

“What is happening?” Zeinab demanded impatiently.

Neil could just make out her face overhead. “I think I found the bottom.”

“Then will you release the rope?” she pressed dryly.

Neil realized that he had been clinging to it like a lifeline. He hurriedly let go, and the rope slithered up in front of him like a quick-moving snake.

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