Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City by James Bow

the wall and almost fell. Peter caught her and held her close.
    “I hate being like this,” she mumbled into his shirt.
    “Maybe we should light the lanterns now?”
    She swallowed. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s do it.”
    Peter handed her his lantern and fumbled around for matches. He struck one. The air screeched and flared up. She blinked in the sudden brightness.
    He took the lantern and pulled open a panel. He touched the match to the wick. The light guttered low, then brightened and steadied. The air glowed around them. The brick pipe glistened red and black.
    Peter waved out the match and lit another from the lantern. He lit the other lantern while Rosemary held it. The light brightened until Rosemary was nearly dazzled.
    He smiled at her. “Better?”
    She felt the tightness ease from her shoulders. A little. She looked ahead. The tunnel stretched in either direction, ending in disks of darkness. “How much further?”
    “Not far.” Peter hefted his lantern. “I hear the big stream.”
    They started forward. The trickling sound beneath their feet was overlaid by a steady, rising rumble ahead of them. A breeze brushed their cheeks, cool as a cave.
    Then the ceiling of the brick pipe ended and they were in a cavern.
    They stood in a half-pipe, the rough rock walls vaulting above them. The cave glittered grey. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling. Peter and Rosemary stared, mouths agape.
    “This is under the city?” Rosemary breathed.
    “I’m surprised no one’s selling tickets.”
    The half-pipe stretched along the cavern floor, ending abruptly at a brick trench. Grey water rushed past.
    Peter handed his lantern to Rosemary, then he hauled himself over the pipe wall, staggering on the sandy ground. Turning, he grasped first the lanterns, then the gear, and then Rosemary to join him. They found, untouched, the footsteps they’d left in the sand when they arrived. They followed these tracks back, shining lantern light over the walls and the ceiling, looking for signs of a cave-in. Several minutes passed before Peter stopped and pointed. “There!”
    Rosemary looked. Across the gurgling trench, they saw scattered stones running down to the river. The scree led up to a dark hole in the ceiling. It wasn’t far for someone to fall. “We’ve got to cross that river.”
    “Good thing we’ve got the grappling hook.” He tied it to one end of the rope and began swinging it over his head. He cast it across the trench and dragged it back. It snagged on the brick edge of the trench and held tight. Peter passed the rope to Rosemary. “After you!”
    She looked at the stream — slower and shallowerthan when they’d first arrived, but still knee deep. “I’m going to get this dress wet.”
    “You could wash it at Theo’s place.”
    “Like I’m going to keep this dress!”
    “Well, aren’t you?”
    She stared at him. Then she broke into a grin. She turned back to the stream. Holding the rope, she jumped in and used it to pull herself against the current. A few minutes later, both she and Peter had arrived on the other side of the stream. They stumbled to the cavern wall.
    It was definitely a cave-in. Rosemary’s breathing quickened. “Theo!” she cried.
    Peter covered his ears. “He still can’t hear you! Different time speeds on either side, remember?”
    “Come on!” She scrambled up the scree. The wall sloped up and there were plenty of footholds. Adrenaline pushed Rosemary forward, even as Peter held back, bracing himself to catch her if she should fall.
    She poked her head into the hole and stopped short with a cry. Her lantern slipped from her fingers, fell past Peter, and exploded on the river’s brick lip. The flames licked the surface before dying out.
    “What is it?” Peter scrambled the rest of the way and caught her as she slumped. “Rosemary!”
    She clutched her forehead. “I hit my head!” She looked up and snatched at Peter’s lantern. “Give me light! Hurry!”
    “Careful!”
    He