tw.togreenangeltower2-第56节

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e；　an　instant　later　he　felt　himself　tumbling　downward　in　a　great　avalanche　of　loose　soil。　He　landed　heavily；　the　breath　he　had　held　so　long　pushed　out　of　him　in　a　painful　hiss。　He　gasped　and　swallowed　dirt。
　　　　　　　He　was　on　his　knees　for　long　moments；　choking　and　retching。　When　the　flashes　of　light　swarming　before　his　eyes　began　to　disperse；　he　lifted　his　head。　There　was　light　somewhere…not　much；　but　enough　to　show　him　the　vague　outlines　of　a　rounded　space　only　a　little　wider　than　he　was。　Another　tunnel？　Or　just　a　pit　down　in　the　depths；　a　grave　of　his　very　own　where　the　air　would　soon　give　out？
　　　　　　　A　small　flame　seemed　to　have　sprouted　from　the　loose　mound　of　soil　upon　which　he　crouched。　That　was　the　source　of　light。　When　he　could　force　his　trembling　limbs　to　move；　he　crawled　toward　it　and　discovered　that　it　was　the　tip　of　one　of　his　torches；　the　only　part　of　the　burning　brand　that　had　not　been　buried　in　the　great　fall　of　earth。　As　carefully　as　he　could；　he　worked　his　hand　into　the　loamy　earth　and　freed　the　torch；　then　flicked　off　the　clinging　dirt；　cursing　distractedly　when　he　scorched　his　fingers。　When　it　was　as　clean　as　he　could　get　it；　he　turned　it　upside　down　so　that　the　small　flame　could　spread；　soon　the　glow　widened。
　　　　　　　The　first　thing　Simon　saw　was　that　he　was　indeed　in　another　tunnel。　In　one　direction　it　led　downward。　Just　like　the　one　he　had　entered　from　the　barrow；　but　this　tunnel　had　no　opening　to　the　world　above：　the　end　was　just　beside　him；　a　featureless　spill　of　dirt；　a　great　blunt　nothingness　of　damp　clods　and　loose　soil。　He　could　see　no　light　or　anything　else　beyond　it；　whatever　gap　he　had　fallen　through　was　now　choked　with　earth。
　　　　　　　The　second　thing　he　saw　was　a　dull　glint　of　metal　in　the　pile　of　dirt　before　him。　He　reached　to　pick　it　up；　and　was　distractedly　disappointed　at　how　easily　it　came　loose；　how　small　an　object　it　was。　It　was　not　Bright…Nail。　It　was　a　silver　belt　buckle。
　　　　　　　Simon　lifted　the　mud…smeared　buckle　up　to　catch　the　torchlight。　When　he　wiped　the　dirt　away　with　his　fingers；　he　laughed；　a　harshly　painful　sound　that　died　quickly　in　the　narrow　confines。　So　this　was　what　he　had　risked　his　life　for…this　was　the　lure　that　had　dropped　him　into　the　prisoning　depths。　The　buckle　was　so　scratched　and　worn　that　the　markings　were　only　faintly　recognizable。　Some　kind　of　animal　head　was　at　the　center　of　it；　something　square…snouted　like　a　bear　or　pig；　around　it　were　a　few　slender　things　that　might　be　sticks　or　arrows。　It　was　old　and　meaningless。　It　was　worthless。
　　　　　　　Simon　plunged　his　torch　handle　into　the　ground；　then　abruptly　scrambled　up　the　mound　of　soil。　The　sky　must　be　somewhere　above。　His　terror　was　growing　strong。　Surely　Binabik　was　digging　for　him！　But　how　would　the　troll　find　him　if　Simon　did　not　help！？　He　slid　back　a　cubit　for　every　cubit　he　scrambled　at　first；　until　he　found　a　way　to　move　without　dislodging　so　much　soil。　At　last　he　climbed　far　enough　that　he　could　lay　his　hands　against　the　loose　earth　at　the　tunnel's　end。　He　dug　there　frantically；　freeing　a　shower　of　dirt；　but　more　dirt　kept　appearing　to　take　its　place。　As　long　moments　passed　his　movements　became　even　more　uncontrolled。　He　tore　at　the　unresisting　earth；　gouged　it　away　in　great　handfuls；　bringing　down　avalanches　of　soil　from　above；　but　all　to　no　effect。　Tears　streamed　down　his　face；　mixing　with　the　beads　of　sweat　until　his　eyes　stung。　There　was　no　end　to　it；　no　matter　how　he　dug。
　　　　　　　He　stopped　at　last；　shuddering；　covered　in　settling　dirt　almost　to　his　waist。　His　heart　was　racing　so　swiftly　that　it　took　him　a　moment　to　realize　that　the　tunnel　had　grown　darker。　He　turned　to　see　that　his　heedless　digging　had　almost　buried　the　torch　once　more。　Simon　stared；　suddenly　afraid　that　if　he　crawled　back　down　the　slope；　down　the　pile　of　loose　earth；　sliding　soil　would　cover　the　flame　pletely。　Once　extinguished；　there　would　be　no　relighting　it。　He　would　be　in　plete　and　utter　blackness。　
　　　　　　　He　carefully　freed　himself　from　the　small　landslide　that　prisoned　his　legs；　moving　as　delicately　as　he　once　had　while　stalking　frogs　across　the　Hayholt's　moat。
　　　　　　　Gently；　gently；　he　told　himself。　Not　the　dark；　no。　Need　the　light。　There　won't　be　anything　left　for　them　to　find　if　I　lose　the　light。
　　　　　　　A　tiny　avalanche　was　stirred。　Clods　of　dirt　went　tumbling　down　the　pile　and　a　small　slide　stopped　just　short　of　the　flame；　which　wavered。　Simon's　heart　nearly　stopped。
　　　　　　　Gently。　Gently。　Very　gently。
　　　　　　　When　his　hands　pushed　into　the　crumbly　soil　beneath　the　torch；　he　held　his　breath；　when　he　had　lifted　it　free；　he　let　the　breath　out　again。　There　was　such　a　narrow　line…really　only　a　fraying　edge　of　shadow…between　the　darkness　and　the　light。
　　　　　　　Simon　went　through　the　process　of　cleaning　the　torch　all　over　again；　singeing　the　same　fingers；　cursing　the　same　curses；　until　he　discovered　that　his　sheathed　Qanuc　knife　was　still　strapped　to　his　leg。　After　saying　a　prayer　in　gratitude　for　this；　what　seemed　his　first　piece　of　luck　in　some　time；　he　used　the　bone　blade　to　finish　the　task。　He　wondered　briefly　how　long　the　torch　would　continue　to　burn；　but　pushed　the　thought　away。　There　was　no　chance　of　clawing　his　way　out；　that　seemed　clear。　So　he　would　move　a　little　farther　down　the　tunnel　and　wait　for　Binabik　and　Miriamele　to　dig　down　from　above。　Surely　they　would　be　doing　so　soon。　And　there　was　plenty　of　air；　when　he　stopped　to　think　of　it。。。。
　　　　　　　As　he　tipped　the　torch　over　so　that　the　whole　head　caught　fire　once　more；　another　patter　of　dirt　came　tumbling　down　the　slope。　Simon　was　so　intent　on　what　he　was　doing　that　he　did　not　look　up　until　a　second　fall　of　earth　caught　his　attention。　He　held　up　the　torch　and　squinted　at　the　plugged　end　of　the　tunnel。　The　dirt　was　。。。　moving。
　　　　　　　Something　like　a　tiny　black　tree　pushed　up　from　the　soil；　flexing　flat；　slender　branches。　An　instant　later　another　sprouted　next　to　it；　then　a　small　lump　forced　its　way　up　between　them。　It　was　a　head。　Blind　white　eyes　turned　toward　him　and　nostrils　twitched。　A　mouth；　opened　in　a　terrible　semblance　of　a　human　grin。
　　　　　　　More　hands　and　heads　were　pushing　up　through　the　dirt。　Simon；　who　had　been　staring　in　shocked　terror；　lurched　up　onto　his　knees；　holding　his　torch　and　knife　before　him。　Bukken！　Diggers！　His　throat　clenched。
　　　　　　　There　were　perhaps　half　a　dozen　in　all。　As　they　freed　themselves　from　the　loose　earth　they　bunched　together；　twittering　quietly　among　themselves；　their　spindly；　hairy　limbs　so　intertwined　and　their　movements　so　twitchingly　sudden　that　he　could　not　count　them　accurately。　He　waved　the　torch　at　them　and　they　shrank　back；　but　not　far。　They　were　being　cautious；　but　they　were　certainly　not　frightened。
　　　　　　　Usires　Aedon；　he　prayed　silently。　I　am　in　the　earth　with　the　diggers。　Save　me　now。　Somebody　please　save　me。　They　advanced　in　a　clump；　but　then　suddenly　separated；　skittering　toward　the　walls。　Simon　shouted　in　fear　and　smacked　the　nearest　with　his　torch。　It　shrilled　in　agony　but　leaped　and　wrapped　its　legs　and　arms　about　his　wrist；　sharp　teeth　sank　into　his　hand　so　that　he　almost　dropped　the　torch。　His　shout　turning　to　a　wordless　rasp　of　pain；　he　smashed　his　arm　against　the　wall　of　the　tunnel；　trying　to　dislodge　the　thing。　Several　more；　heartened　by　the　removal　of　the　flame；　pranced　forward；　piping　eagerly。
　　　　　　　Simon　slashed　at　one　and　caught　it　with　his　knife；　tearing　at　the　moldy　bits　of　rags　the　diggers　wore　like　garments；　cutting　deeply　into　the　meat　beneath。　He　drove　his　other　hand　against　the　wall　again；　as　hard　as　he　could；　and　felt　small　bones　break。　The　thing　that　had　clutched　his　wrist　dropped　free；　but　Simon's　hand　was　throbbing　as　though　bitten　by　a　venomous　serpent。
　　　　　　　He　moved　back；　sliding　awkwardly　down　the　slope　on　his　knees；　struggling　to　keep　his　balance　on　the　loosely…packed　earth　as　the　diggers　ran　at　him。　He　swung　his　torch　back　and　forth　in　a　wide　arc；　the　three　creatures　still　standing　stared　back　at　him；　shriveled　little　faces　drawn　tight；　mouths　open　in　hatred　and　fear。　Three。　And　two　small　crumpled　forms　lying　in　the　dirt　where　he　had　kneeled　a　moment　before。　So　had　there　been　only　five？。。
　　　　　　　Something　dropped　from　the　tunnel　roof　onto　the　top　of　his　head。　Ragged　claws　scraped　at　his　face　and　a　hand　grabbed　his　upper　lip。　Simon　shrieked　and　reached　up；　grabbed　the　squirming　body　as　hard　as　he　could；　then　pulled。　After　a　moment's　struggle　it　came　free　with　several　tufts　of　his　hair　clutched　in　its　fists。　Still　screaming　in　disgust　and　terror；　he　smashed　it　down　against　the　ground；　then　flung　the　broken　body　toward　the　others。　He　saw　the　remaining　three　tumble　back　into　the　shadows　before　he　turned　and　crawled　away　down　the　tunnel　as　fast　as　he　could；　cursing　and　spluttering；　spitting　to　rid　his　mouth　of　the　vile　taste　of　the　digger's　oily　skin。
　　　　　　　Simon　expected　any　moment　to　feel　something　clutch　at　his　legs；　when　he　had　crawled　for　some　time　he　turned　and　raised　the　torch。　He　thought　he　saw　a　faint；　pale　gleam　of　eyes；　but　couldn't　be　sure。　He　turned　and　continued　scrambling　downward。　Twice　he　dropped　the　torch；　snatching　it　up　as　swiftly　and　fearfully　as　if　it　were　his　own　heart　tumbled　from　his　breast。
　　　　　　　The　diggers　did　not　seem　to　have　pursued　him。　Simon　felt