I stared after it, then began to walk. After a few paces I stopped. Ahead of me the tunnel opened into a cave—and beyond that must be where the light was coming from. A way out! But my eye was drawn to something else.

Shapes, in the gloom. A dull glint. The cave was not empty.

… the different islands to a considerable extent are inhabited by a different set of beings.

—CHARLES DARWIN,
JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES

I scanned around the cave in the gloom. A coil of rope. A pile of wood. A jumble of rags and leather. A chest. The glint I’d first spotted was from old metal.

Humans had been here, in this cave.

The metallic gleam came from a knife. I picked it up, unable to believe my eyes or my luck. It was ancient, mostly tarnished to black, but with this I would be able to eat as many prickly pears as I wanted. I stopped still, remembering how Farthing had plucked them with her claw, then shook my head, trying not to think about it. Other items had moldered away and I couldn’t make out what they had once been. My eyes lingered on a heavy timber chest, coated in pitch with tarnished brass clasps.

Could I really have come across a buccaneer’s treasure hoard? After all, no dragon story was complete without gold. I found a sturdy rock and tapped against the catches to loosen them, visions of the glowing coins filling my head.

And what exactly are you going to do with gold?

“What does anyone do with gold?” I said. My voice didn’t echo here, as if the ancient items were sucking in the sound.

I wiped my brow on my ragged neckerchief and pried the knife into the edge of one of the clasps. Flakes of rust fell away. I worked at the other fastening and threw it open. The lid of the chest slammed back on its hinges—it was as empty as my stomach and my hope of rescue. I sighed, then ran my hand around the smooth dry interior of the box.

The floor shook again, and this time the tremors continued on and on. I crouched and covered my head with my hands as dust rained down on me. I didn’t know enough about volcanoes; I hadn’t listened hard enough when Mr. Darwin and the other gents had discussed the geology of these islands.

The earth gave a last shaky belch, then the rumbling stopped. The ceiling seemed intact at least, although how much longer it would hold in these earthquakes I didn’t want to think about.

I needed to be aboveground.

Behind the chest something caught my eye.

What now? Stay here any longer and we’ll be sharing a grave.

“I just need to look …” I muttered.

It was a mound, covered in rags, dust rising from it. I stepped over the moldering ropes and shifted aside canvas, stiff and blackened in places, to reveal wooden planks. No, not planks, curved wooden slats. It took a long moment to make sense of what I was seeing.