The pool was full of people. Some, undamaged, were already climbing out around the sides. Others, unable to swim, were thrashing wildly and uselessly. Some no longer thrashed.

Garnet pitched in first. She hooked a foot of the nearest flounderer and guided the woman to shallow water. Then she went after another. She was an excellent swimmer.

Those who were able followed her example. Soon all of the bodies had been recovered. But a terrible toll had been taken.

A hundred and sixty persons had entered the jelly-whale’s quiet dome; thirty-eight stood here now. Seven more were too badly injured to travel, and had to be euthanized—by the axe.

There was a cry from downstream. Weary heads turned to see what new danger threatened. But it was a cry of discovery.

On a flat section of rock a crude cairn had been erected—the work of intelligence. Beside it was scratched the letter B with an arrow pointing downstream.

Doc Bedside’s trail.

15

After that it was easier. Nineteen men and nineteen women survived, the fittest, by nature’s definition, of all the nether caverns.

The size of the party was manageable and efficient, and game was increasingly plentiful and less vicious. The air was sweet, the water clear, the temperature cool.

Bedside’s signs appeared at regular intervals, always pointing down. How he had come this far alone they never expected to know; but he obviously had, with his wits still about him, and that was enough. “What was he like?” Aton asked Garnet as they climbed over damp stone sculptures.

“Highbrow,” she said. “Small and smart. Weak eyes, but underneath, a mind like a scalpel. He had this thing for escape—”

“But if he got this far, what could have driven him mad?”

“Maybe he saw the chimera.” Men were still disappearing—not women—without a trace. It was assumed that the chimera still stalked the party (how had it gotten past the dome?) and brought down the unwary. The steady sound of the river would drown out a distant scream.

The days of marching continued. The river grew, fed by tributaries that no longer interested them, and with it grew the surrounding caverns. The wind tunnels ceased. Instead, the party traveled through carved formations, water deposits and erosions, treelike stalagmites, and caves of white crystal. At times the river split into several branches, winding through linked vaults with obscure ceilings and indefinite boundaries, only to regroup below.

At last it widened into a mighty, slow-moving lake. They paced the left bank. Fifty feet across, the water was terminated by a sheer cliff, arching into a three-dimensional labyrinth overhead. Their side was level, however, and by the shore was a beach of white sand. The lake itself was clear and cool, a swimmer’s delight—but one of Bedside’s signs labeled it with skull and crossbones. They took his word for it.

Once again the caverns of Chthon were showing their beauty and peace. But this time no one believed in paradise.