She hit the rocks at the bottom of the pit in a crumple. For a moment breathing was impossible, and then she lay wheezing for air in the darkness. Her palms stung from the impact. The tumble had bruised her knees. All she could see was darkness. She rolled over onto her back.
“Clara,” Theodore was shouting.
She could see a glow in the jagged fissure above the pit.
“I fell,” Clara shouted.
“Heavens,” Theodore shouted.
“I might be trapped,” Clara shouted.
“I’ll go fetch help,” Theodore shouted.
The glow in the jagged fissure above the pit became fainter as the lantern receded.
“I’m sorry,” Clara shouted.
“I’m going to get you out of there,” Theodore shouted, fading into the distance.
She touched her forehead, feeling a wet sticky smear. She licked her fingertips. The irony taste of blood. She rose from the rocks, sitting back against the stony wall of the pit. She could hear trickling water. She was thirsty. She was afraid to move from where she’d landed. She could feel a chilly draft of air on the skin of her arms through the rips in the sleeves of her shirt. Goosebumps. She patted her belt. Her knife and her flint were still strapped into the sheath. She suddenly remembered that she was carrying some corked vials of pigment and a corked vessel of oil and a tin container of turpentine in the pockets of her trousers. She slipped her hands into the pockets, feeling carefully. The container of turpentine was bent but otherwise had suffered no damage. The rest of her supplies were intact. She’d forgotten that she was also carrying a bundle of sketches. She removed her hands from the pockets, leaning back again against the stony wall of the pit. Her stomach gurgled with hunger. The daylight gleaming in the jagged fissure above the pit gradually faded. Eventually she fell asleep in the darkness.
When she woke again she could see daylight gleaming in the jagged fissure above the pit.
“Theodore,” Clara called.
All she could hear was trickling water.
“Theodore,” Clara screamed.
By the time darkness fell again she realized that something must have happened to him. She would have to find another way out of the cave.
Taking the bundle of sketches from the pockets of her trousers, she twisted the cap from the container of turpentine and poured a splash of turpentine onto the sketches and then struck her knife against her flint until a spark caught.
The sketches blazed on the rocks, a bright flicker of flames illuminating the crags in the stony wall of the pit.
Her heart leapt.
Just beyond the flames, she could see gold dust glittering beneath the shimmering surface of what appeared to be an underground stream.