“How do you know which way to go?” I asked Theo as he scampered forward, the silver bell at his throat tinkling in the dark. Lifting his head, he indicated the arrows I had not noticed painted on the ceiling. Each chamber led to a dozen more. On and on we went through the tunnels, following the red arrows, discovering signs of habitation: bed frames with moldy covers, charcoal stoves, old wine flasks, barrels, rusty lanterns, and candle stubs.
“So people sleep down here, or are they hiding?” I thought of Metz locked in Annie’s cupboard and hoped they were both safe.
“This, my dear, is a veritable parallel universe.”
We came across crude pictures, graffiti scratched on the walls, and rough stone sculptures made perhaps by the quarrymen who had worked here decades ago. We splashed through
