wood?”
Lacey wrapped her arms around herself. “Maybe we missed it.”
Ethan stood with his arms akimbo. “I’ll figure it out later. You’re obviously in a hurry to run away.”
“I’m not trying to run away,” I said stiffly. “Anyway, you told me I should go.”
“Then go. Maybe I’ll figure out more without people around who think I’m a bad person.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t think you’re a bad person. This—coming down here—was supposed to be to find out more about Henry, or whatever it is that he knows.”
A furrow deepened in Lacey’s delicate forehead. “Maybe we should have copied everything Henry did exactly. Except Ethan threw the load of wood in the bottom of the water tank instead of bringing it down here...." Her voice trailed off.
His face tightened at the temples. “Are you saying I did that deliberately?”
I should have left when I said I was. Mentioning the wood had been a bad idea. I hated tension—it made me ball myself up inside. Ethan and Lacey were like a married couple who’d just let their long-held, bitter resentments fly loose on each other.
“The thing we didn’t do was to play the stupid pipe organ.” Ethan shrugged.
“That’s not sane,” Lacey shot back at him. “Henry will hear it.”
I couldn’t speak—just shook my head.
“He’s off chopping wood—far away,” said Ethan disdainfully. “Anyway—he might have had the entrance to the cave open that time we heard it. He probably thought there was no one about. Look at this place. How would you hear anything from above?”
Ethan strode over to the organ. He jabbed his fingers onto a few keys. The notes resounded around the spaces of the cave, mournful and disjointed.
Ethan dropped his head. “Okay, so that idea was all kinds of dumb.”
He seemed so lost, broken.
“Sounded better than Henry’s effort,” I offered. “Even if his was some kind of tune.”
Ethan stared around at me. “Yeah, he did play something.” He looked purposefully at Lacey. “Know what it was?”
Lacey crossed her thin arms. “What does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Probably doesn’t.”
She sighed—the kind of sigh a woman makes when dealing with a man who’s not making any sense. At least, I’d heard my mom make that sound when talking to my dad on the phone. A long series of resigned sighs.
With stiff steps she made her way onto the platform. She opened out the sheet music that sat on top of the organ. The faded title read
Chopin Nocturne No. 20 in C-sharp minor
. The pages were yellowed, crackly—she ran a finger along a section somewhere midway.
She began to play.
The sound wasn’t as beautiful as when Lacey played her own piano. The pipe organ had that over-the-top ‘circus’ kind of sound. But still, it sounded so different from the clumsy tune Henry had played. The melancholy, unearthly notes rose and fell—measures of sadness and grief.
Lacey’s hands moved lightly at the center of the organ. She brought her fingers down on the last, deep reverberating note.
A lock, or maybe a spring, released under high pressure.
I flinched, expecting something else to happen. But nothing did.
Ethan shone his torchlight in the direction of the sharp sound. A huge circular object was fixed on the dark recesses of a far wall. Metal spokes and tiny light bulbs ran around its perimeter. A faded blue and yellow star spanned the cracked wood.
“The original Wheel of Death,” mused Ethan. “They used to tie someone on these and have a knife thrower toss knives at the wheel.”
“Ugh.” Lacey took faltering steps over to see it.
A few of the bulbs flickered on, but the rest remained dead. We exchanged nervous glances. The light dimly illuminated an inscription in the wheel's center.
Moving close to the wheel, I strained to read the worn lettering:
Out of this wood do not desire to go,
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I turned back to Ethan. “More
Lacey wrapped her arms around herself. “Maybe we missed it.”
Ethan stood with his arms akimbo. “I’ll figure it out later. You’re obviously in a hurry to run away.”
“I’m not trying to run away,” I said stiffly. “Anyway, you told me I should go.”
“Then go. Maybe I’ll figure out more without people around who think I’m a bad person.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t think you’re a bad person. This—coming down here—was supposed to be to find out more about Henry, or whatever it is that he knows.”
A furrow deepened in Lacey’s delicate forehead. “Maybe we should have copied everything Henry did exactly. Except Ethan threw the load of wood in the bottom of the water tank instead of bringing it down here...." Her voice trailed off.
His face tightened at the temples. “Are you saying I did that deliberately?”
I should have left when I said I was. Mentioning the wood had been a bad idea. I hated tension—it made me ball myself up inside. Ethan and Lacey were like a married couple who’d just let their long-held, bitter resentments fly loose on each other.
“The thing we didn’t do was to play the stupid pipe organ.” Ethan shrugged.
“That’s not sane,” Lacey shot back at him. “Henry will hear it.”
I couldn’t speak—just shook my head.
“He’s off chopping wood—far away,” said Ethan disdainfully. “Anyway—he might have had the entrance to the cave open that time we heard it. He probably thought there was no one about. Look at this place. How would you hear anything from above?”
Ethan strode over to the organ. He jabbed his fingers onto a few keys. The notes resounded around the spaces of the cave, mournful and disjointed.
Ethan dropped his head. “Okay, so that idea was all kinds of dumb.”
He seemed so lost, broken.
“Sounded better than Henry’s effort,” I offered. “Even if his was some kind of tune.”
Ethan stared around at me. “Yeah, he did play something.” He looked purposefully at Lacey. “Know what it was?”
Lacey crossed her thin arms. “What does it matter?”
“I don’t know. Probably doesn’t.”
She sighed—the kind of sigh a woman makes when dealing with a man who’s not making any sense. At least, I’d heard my mom make that sound when talking to my dad on the phone. A long series of resigned sighs.
With stiff steps she made her way onto the platform. She opened out the sheet music that sat on top of the organ. The faded title read
Chopin Nocturne No. 20 in C-sharp minor
. The pages were yellowed, crackly—she ran a finger along a section somewhere midway.
She began to play.
The sound wasn’t as beautiful as when Lacey played her own piano. The pipe organ had that over-the-top ‘circus’ kind of sound. But still, it sounded so different from the clumsy tune Henry had played. The melancholy, unearthly notes rose and fell—measures of sadness and grief.
Lacey’s hands moved lightly at the center of the organ. She brought her fingers down on the last, deep reverberating note.
A lock, or maybe a spring, released under high pressure.
I flinched, expecting something else to happen. But nothing did.
Ethan shone his torchlight in the direction of the sharp sound. A huge circular object was fixed on the dark recesses of a far wall. Metal spokes and tiny light bulbs ran around its perimeter. A faded blue and yellow star spanned the cracked wood.
“The original Wheel of Death,” mused Ethan. “They used to tie someone on these and have a knife thrower toss knives at the wheel.”
“Ugh.” Lacey took faltering steps over to see it.
A few of the bulbs flickered on, but the rest remained dead. We exchanged nervous glances. The light dimly illuminated an inscription in the wheel's center.
Moving close to the wheel, I strained to read the worn lettering:
Out of this wood do not desire to go,
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I turned back to Ethan. “More
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