The Bone Room E-Book

R. L. Gemmill

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Doomsday
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 331

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

DECEIVED. AMBUSHED. LOST IN TIME. 

In 1938, teachers in Malta took a class on a field trip to see the ancient bones of thousands of people in a cave known as the bone room. The children and their teachers never returned from the cave. For days, screams could be heard all over the island country, but search efforts turned up nothing. 

The good news? This is the official beginning of the Doomsday series.

The bad news? It’s based on a true story.

READ WITH CAUTION

Leseprobe

THE BONE ROOM

Book #5 of the DOOMSDAY Series

R L Gemmill

Cottingham McMasters Publishing House LLC.

Copyright © 2018 R. L. Gemmill

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3051-5

ISBN-10: 978-0-9963731-6-6

Excerpt From: R. L. Gemmill. “The Bone Room.”

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

Printed in the USA by Cottingham McMasters Publishing House LLC.

For the Malta children and their teachers, who were lost in the cave that day and never seen again.

Books by R L Gemmill

The DOOMSDAY Series

DOOMSDAY 

THE DOOMSDAY SHROUD

DEVIL’S BITE

THE STREET WIZARD

THE BONE ROOM

DOCTOR NIGHTMARE

For up-to-date and behind-the-scenes information on all R. L. Gemmill’s books, visit rlgemmillfiction.com

Contents

1. Boys Don’t Matter

2. The Field Trip

3. The Oracle

4. What the English Woman Saw

5. The Rescuers

6. Mrs. Cassar’s Plan

7. The Storm Drain

8. Into the Bone Room

9. The Hallway

10. Minions of Moloch

11. Monster Jail

12. Escape Plan

13. Trapped

14. The Surgery Room

15. Mr. Deel

16. The Anatomy Lab

17. Freedom

18. Demons

19. The Barrier

20. The Farm

21. Debriefings

22. Lost Memories

23. Relocation

24. Berlin

25. Four-Thousand Miles

26. The Ride

27. Discovery

28. Faded Photographs

29. Monsters in the Night

30. Two Hands and a Head

Afterword

A Sample from Book #6 of the DOOMSDAY Series:

Character List of the Ill-Fated Field Trip

Author’s Note

About the Author

Chapter 1

Boys Don’t Matter

Malta, 1938

KLOKE

Kloke watched the old woman, waiting for the chance to make her move. She didn’t care about the woman, and she certainly had no feelings for the island country of Malta. Kloke had a job to do, and if things went according to plan, Concern Corporation would most likely offer her a generous bonus and more work. She needed all the work she could get, and this was just the kind of project that would show off her specialized skill sets. Nobody manipulated humans better than she did, and that included the project manager, Mogen Deel himself, no matter how important he thought he was.

Mrs. Valentina Cassar set a silver tray on the table next to where Kloke sat in a ladder-back chair that felt like a stool. Steam rose from a copper teakettle on the tray that was next to two china cups on saucers, a matching sugar bowl, and a pair of handcrafted silver spoons, one by each cup.

Mrs. Cassar was seventy, though she looked eighty with her pulled-back, wiry gray hair and wrinkled tan skin. Her arthritic knees made her waddle around the quaint little house like a duck. She poured tea for her guest, almost giddy about having a visitor.

“I only have sugar cubes,” she said, speaking her native Maltese in a husky, yet feminine, voice. “We can’t get the fancy powdered sugar here very often. One problem living on an island, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” said Kloke. “I prefer cubes. Do you have cream?”

“Certainly! I don’t use it myself, but I should have realized a guest might want some.” She hurried back to the small boxy kitchen.

As soon as Mrs. Cassar was facing the other way, Kloke brought out a metal box the size of a bar of soap and opened it. Inside were several sugar cubes, all identical. She snatched one up and closed the box, putting it back into a hidden pocket inside her white wool sweater. She checked to make sure her host wasn’t looking, then dropped the cube into the other woman’s cup of tea.

Mrs. Cassar returned with a pitcher of cream. As she added two additional lumps of sugar to her tea, Kloke poured cream into her cup and set the pitcher on the tray. She took up a spoon and stirred, noticing the delicate carving of a young child’s face in the spoon’s handle. The craftsmanship was crude, but the details around the eyes and mouth were authentic. She sipped the tea noisily, pretending to drink it. Kloke despised tea almost as much as she hated the flavor of white potatoes, and that was saying a lot.

“I rarely have guests,” said Mrs. Cassar. She grimaced as she sipped her tea. “It’s too sweet! Did I put sugar in twice?”

Kloke nodded around another pretended sip. “You must have a sweet tooth.”

Mrs. Cassar laughed and shook her head. “I rarely eat sweets, though I have a fondness for honey toast. Where did you say you were from, Miss Kloke?”

“Popeye Village,” replied Kloke. “On Anchor Bay. My father is a fisherman.” With her dark eyes, waist-length raven hair, and fluent Maltese, Kloke knew she could fool just about anyone on the island into believing she was one of them. Mrs. Cassar had no reason to think otherwise.

“Everybody’s father, uncle, son, and brother are fishermen in Malta,” said the old woman with a chuckle. “There isn’t much else to do for a living, I suppose. If only they saw educating their children as important as catching fish. We have thirty-one children enrolled in the school, you know. The entire school. There are many more children on the island than that, though I suppose I should be grateful to have any show up at all.”

“I totally agree. Thirty-one children? How many girls?”

“Seventeen. Some of them have had rather boorish upbringings, but we will turn them all into proper ladies before they graduate. That is, assuming they keep up their grades and manage not to…get married before they turn fifteen. A few may even attend universities in Europe.”

“Thirty-one children,” repeated Kloke. “You’re right, Mrs. Cassar. It’s far too few to be attending school these days.”

Mrs. Cassar lived in a two-story stone house that had been in her family for over a hundred years. Kloke knew all about it because she had read the old woman’s mind as soon as they’d met.

The house sat at the edge of a low bluff with an open view of the Mediterranean that most people would kill for. Kloke looked around at the simple furnishings. The woman had three tall bookshelves loaded with volumes on teaching and textbooks on a variety of subjects about languages, such as English, Italian, Maltese, and French. She also noted science and math books for kids from first grade through high school. A worn flower-print sofa that looked as old as the house was the only other seat in the room. Hung above the sofa was a seascape showing waves crashing on a rocky part of the island’s long coast.

“I understand you are the school’s headmistress?”

The old woman smiled with pride. “I am. I have one other teacher who helps me, Lena Schmidt. Her Maltese is quite good. She’s a German national who wanted to teach in a school where she could also practice speaking English. Her family is wealthy, I hear, and her uncle is a big-time general in the army, but we’ve never discussed it.”

Mrs. Cassar stirred her tea again before she sipped. “We have one young boy gifted in the speaking of languages. Dante Gallo. He’s spoiled, but I believe he may someday attend school in Germany or Italy. Maybe even England.”

“So, you teach English in the school?”

“Oh, yes. Every Tuesday the children must speak English the entire day.”

Kloke took a small watch from a different pocket in her sweater. It was time.

“Mrs. Cassar, you are now under my control. Nod if you understand.”

Mrs. Cassar became silent. Her eyes went blank as she stared at the wall behind Kloke. She nodded slightly.

“Good. This is important, so listen well. I want you to take your entire school to see the bone room next Tuesday.”

“We always go to the bone room,” said Mrs. Cassar in a lower voice. “It’s a field trip we take every year.”

“That’s good. Very good. When you go, make certain all the girls are present.”

“We usually let the girls who don’t want to go inside the cave remain on the bus. Girls tend to be frightened by the stories about the evil gods and that big roomful of old bones.”

“Not this time. The girls must go in. Make sure your other teacher goes in, too. It’s vital. You can make that happen, yes?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Cassar with a nod. “What about the boys?”

“Boys don’t matter.” Kloke got up, still holding her teacup, spoon, and saucer. She went to the door and took in the deep blue Mediterranean view beyond the seawall. The smell of the salt air was exhilarating. “In a moment, you’ll take a nice long nap and feel particularly refreshed when you wake up. You’ll be excited about the field trip to the bone room and begin planning for it right away. And you won’t remember anything about me; nothing at all. Have a good day, Mrs. Cassar.”

“You have a good day as well,” said the old woman with a yawn. “I believe I’ll take a nap now.”

As Mrs. Cassar lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes, Kloke took all her dishes to the kitchen, rinsing them in the sink. She found a dishtowel and dried them thoroughly before placing the cup and saucer on a shelf where they belonged. She set the spoon on the counter, then left the stone house and headed for the docks at the east end of the island. Seventeen girls and one young woman. Since Mogen Deel had requested only five females to complete the job, perhaps Kloke would get an additional bonus for bringing in so many. Bonus or not, he would certainly be impressed when she pulled this off. After all, a project as big as this was all about the girls.

Chapter2

The Field Trip

DANTE

Dante Gallo was so excited he couldn’t stay still in his seat on the 1932 Ford Model B school bus. He and his classmates were all excited. Old Mrs. Cassar and Fräulein Schmidt were taking them on a field trip to see the mysterious caves that stored ancient human bones. Lots of them! Though Dante had lived in Malta his entire life (nine years so far) and had heard all about the caves, he had never seen the bone room.

The students were shoulder to shoulder on the bus with three sitting in most seats. Dante sat with his best friend, Fernando Lopez, who at fifteen was the strongest boy in the school. Dante had a new Brownie camera, a Christmas present from his uncle, hung from a cord around his neck. Uncle Fabio lived in Rome and was very wealthy. He had told Dante that the 1938 camera was the newest and best one made. The camera was the most excellent gift Dante had ever gotten. He also had a brown crocodile-skin satchel for carrying the camera, film, and flashbulbs. His bag lunch was beside him on the seat. Momma had made his favorite sandwich: salted smelt and sliced olives. He could smell traces of the spiced fish and tried to keep his thoughts away from food since lunch was a long way off. He also caught the sweet scent of dried figs wrapped in a thin cloth. Dante’s mouth watered. He loved figs.

Dante wanted to take pictures of the group outside the cave before they went in, but he’d brought plenty of flashbulbs for inside, too. All the boys were hoping they could eat lunch in the bone room, but their teachers hadn’t confirmed that plan yet. The girls would call it gross, but Dante thought eating lunch with the dead would be terrific, and it was something he could tell his parents about later.

The bus parked in front of a gray stone building that contained five separate residences on the ground level. Nearby, several men worked to replace a drainage pipe beside the road. An old man wearing a black cap sat on a wooden bench in front of the house nearest to the cave. He smoked a cigarette and leaned back in comfort as he watched the kids with a smile.

Fräulein Schmidt rose from her seat at the front of the bus, holding a strange light that looked nothing like Mrs. Cassar’s kerosene lantern. Was it a flashlight? Dante had heard of them but had never seen one. The bus got quiet.

“Class, I vant everybody to get off zhe bus and follow Mrs. Cassar. You vill line up at zhe cave entrance.” She stooped forward and pointed out the bus window. The students all looked. “Mr. Zhora, our guide, will meet us. Single file, now go.” The kids unloaded.

Fräulein Schmidt was the most beautiful woman Dante had ever seen. She was tall and slender, with graceful hands and dark brown hair. Her eyes were the same color blue as the Mediterranean Sea on a bright summer day. Everybody loved her, but Dante felt he loved her the most. She was only twenty-two, which meant she was thirteen years older than he was. He secretly wanted to marry her, though he knew she’d most likely go back to her home in Germany in a few years and get another job teaching someplace else.

Dante got his camera and satchel and followed Fernando off the bus. They waited near their teachers, so they could be first in line. Dante listened as Fräulein Schmidt spoke quietly with the older teacher.

“If any of zhe girls are afraid to eat in zhe bone room, I’d be happy to stay on zhe bus with zhem. I heard what happened last year.”

Mrs. Cassar snorted loudly. “What happened last year will not happen this year. The girls will eat lunch in the bone room with the rest of the class.”

“Even zhe youngest ones? Carmella and Maria have vivid imaginations. Zhey might have nightmares tonight if zhe bones frighten zhem.”

Cour Petrone, who was fifteen, raised her hand and spoke before Mrs. Cassar could call on her. “I don’t see why we have to come to this silly cave every year. We’ve seen it a million times already.”

“It’s better than being in class,” whispered Fernando to Cour. She giggled but tried to hold her ground. She clearly didn’t want to eat lunch with a bunch of bones.

Fräulein Schmidt smiled and added, “Perhaps some of the older girls aren’t feeling well. Are you ill, Cour?”

Mrs. Cassar crossed her arms and frowned daring anyone else to speak up. “The older girls feel just fine. We will all eat lunch with the dead and enjoy it. I’ll hear no more about it.”

Fräulein Schmidt seemed taken aback. It surprised Dante to hear Mrs. Cassar speak harshly to her as if she were a student. The pretty young teacher looked at Dante, realizing he had overheard what was said, but Dante quickly glanced away. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed.

Carmella Alard, five-years-old and the youngest student in the school, chased Zbrowen Falzon and Amy Starita around the open area next to the cave entrance. Zbrowen was six, and Amy had just celebrated her ninth birthday last week. They squealed with delight and waved to the old man on the bench as they ran by him. He nodded and waved back, smiling around his cigarette.

Some teenagers were clowning around, too. Dante watched with interest as Tahima Farr walked up to Roxanne Palma and put his arm around her shoulders. She broke free and shoved him away from her, but a moment later she got close enough for him to try it again. Other kids pursued each other around the bus until Mr. Zhora arrived. He got everyone’s attention with a loud, throaty cough and gave them a stern look. They quickly lined up at the cave entrance, which was a gigantic hole in the ground next to a half-buried boulder surrounded by red flowers. Mr. Zhora spoke only in Maltese. He seemed a little nervous in front of the crowd.

“Hello, children. I’m Mr. Zhora, but you can call me Joe. I am here to show you the cave, but first I want to tell you about it. In 1909, workers were digging a well in this very spot. They were standing right over there by the entrance when the ground beneath them caved in. After careful exploration of the many underground chambers, it became clear from the remains that this was some kind of religious burial ground. It may also have been a secret meeting place. We still do not know the full purpose of the chambers, other than for burial spaces, and we do not know who made them.”

Tahima, who was sixteen, raised his hand, apparently hoping to impress Roxanne. He spoke in Maltese. When he had finished his question, the other students made fun of him.

“It’s Tuesday, Tahima,” said old Mrs. Cassar, who spoke English almost with no accent at all. “What language do we always speak on Tuesday?”

The young man grinned, embarrassed. “English, Mrs. Cassar.”

“Ask your question again.”

“Mr. Zhora, I saw the bone room when we came here lasd year. How many people did you say had been buried there?”

Mr. Zhora nodded, speaking in Maltese. “First, Mrs. Cassar, I apologize that I do not speak English so well. I did not know it was English Tuesday.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Zhora,” said Mrs. Cassar, also in their native tongue. Some younger children covered their mouth and pointed at her like she’d said curse words. “We all understand our own language.”

He nodded and continued. “We estimate that the bones of over 33,000 people are in that room, stacked like firewood.” The children murmured excitedly. A few girls looked frightened. “It’s a very big room. Are we ready?”

Mrs. Cassar took charge. “Line up behind me, Children!” She clapped her hands three times and stood at the edge of the cave as everyone lined up. Dante figured she must have been teaching for a hundred years. Fernando had once told him she would probably die teaching, just drop dead in front of the whole school. She continued. “Mr. Zhora will lead us. He will carry a lantern, and so will I. Fräulein Schmidt will be at the other end of the line with a flashlight. Hold on to the rope whether you think you need to or not. The chasm is deep.”

Dante raised his hand. “Fräulein Schmidd! Can I dake a picdure of the class?” He said “class,” but it would really be a picture of every student in his school, all thirty of them.

Mr. Zhora smiled. Mrs. Cassar looked at her wristwatch. Fräulein Schmidt quickly gathered everybody together into a group pose with the teachers and Joe behind the center of the group.

“Is zhis good?”

Dante stood back to where he could get everyone in view. “Say cheese!”

The group collectively said, “Cheeeeese!” Some said it in English, and some in Maltese. Dante took the shot and ran back in line.

The old man on the bench got up and ambled over to them. He also spoke in Maltese. “Show me how to work that camera of yours, boy. I’ll take another photograph with you in it too. You should be in the picture with the rest of your school, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.” Dante gave the man the camera, showed him how it worked, then ran to join the group.

“Everybody ready? Okay, smile big!”

The old man took the picture and returned the camera to Dante, who thanked him. He laughed and waved goodbye. Most of the younger kids waved back. Dante was about to return to his place in line behind Fernando until Fräulein Schmidt moved to the rear. At once, Dante became a true gentleman and let everyone step in front of him, so he could be in the back near Fräulein Schmidt. He wanted to call her Lena. If he called her by her first name, though, the other kids would probably laugh at him. She was a teacher and an elder. Nobody would tolerate such behavior from a nine-year-old.

“Dante,” said Fräulein Schmidt. “Didn’t you bring a lunch?”

When he realized he didn’t have his lunch with him, he panicked. He looked all around. The kids were moving into the cave.

“Waid! Id’s on the bus!” He ran back to the bus where the driver was sitting behind the wheel reading a book.

“Hurry!” Fräulein Schmidt went with him.

Dante got to his seat and grabbed his lunch. He got off the bus and noticed Fräulein Schmidt posed with her arms cocked like she was at a starting line for competition.

“Race you back!” she said playfully. Dante grinned from ear to ear and lined up with her. “Ready,” she said. “Set. Go!”

Dante sprinted as fast as he could to impress his favorite teacher. His camera, case, and lunch bag flopped in different directions as he ran. She beat him by only three steps.

“You’re so fast!” she said, rubbing his coal black hair.

“You bead me,” he replied, a little upset he hadn’t won.

“Ja, but I’m a good runner, and you’re only nine. I bet you’ll be zhe fastest boy in Malta when you’re older.”

Dante beamed with pride. Fräulein Schmidt took up the flashlight she had set by the cave entrance and checked to make sure it worked. She motioned for him to go inside first. It thrilled Dante to be with her, but now he was on full alert as they entered the darkness. He inched along the narrow path, tightly gripping the long rope they used as both a guide and safety rail. Somebody had fastened one end of the rope to an iron ring just inside the cave entrance, and it ran from there through dozens of iron rings bolted to the wall all the way down into the cave. The rope was thicker than his arm and had been worn smooth with the wear of many gripping hands. They followed the rope and slowly descended into the dank-smelling, mysterious cave. As they rounded a short turn, Dante glanced back to take a last look at the gray morning sky. He smiled at Fräulein Schmidt as they caught up with the others.

“You spoil these children, Lena,” said Mrs. Cassar, looking back from the middle of the group. As the light quickly faded, she focused her gaze on Dante. “Especially that one.”

Dante pretended not to notice, but Fräulein Schmidt laughed softly, so he knew she wasn’t upset. Mrs. Cassar was acting extra old and crabby today. He decided to ignore the old woman and learn more about Lena.

“Fräulein Schmidd, where did you live in Germany?” he asked.

“Berlin,” she replied, directing her beam of light so he, Andrew Romolo and Tano Violante could see the path better.

Andrew glanced over his shoulder at Fräulein Schmidt. He smiled. “Fräulein Schmidd, are you married?”

Dante bristled when he realized Andrew must have a crush on Fräulein Schmidt, too. He quickly reminded her who was the smarter of them.

“Whad do you think, Andrew?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. “We call her Fräulein Schmidd. If she had a husband, she would be called Frau Schmidd.”

Andrew might have blushed, but it was too dark to tell. “Oh, I knew thad. I was jusd making conversation.”

Fräulein Schmidt laughed again, her voice musical. “No, Andrew. I’m not even dating anyone.”

Not dating anyone? Dante smiled so big he felt the corners of his mouth sting from the extra stretching. Then he saw Andrew when the light caught him just right. Andrew was also smiling. Dante fumed. Maybe Andrew would take a wrong step and fall into the chasm.

ANDREW ROMOLO

Andrew would graduate from high school in another month and then go to work on his father’s fishing vessel. That was all he had ever wanted to do for a living, and the prospect excited him. He would work on the boat, save some money, get married, and raise a family; he had his entire life mapped out and was eager to take the first real steps. His father wanted him to go to a university in Italy or France, but Andrew was tired of school. He liked hard physical work and imagined himself having his own fishing boat, maybe a fleet of them like Cour Petrone’s father who owned nine boats. He looked back at Fräulein Schmidt and smiled confidently. If she was still teaching at the school after he got a job, he might ask her out on a date. He could explain what his ambition was and maybe convince her she should spend the rest of her life with a fisherman who owned an entire fleet like Captain Petrone. Except that Andrew wanted twenty boats. He tried to exude bravery and calmness when he smiled, but he stumbled over a bump in the path and nearly fell. Still, she returned his smile, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. Her beauty in the glowing light forced him to alter his goals a bit. For a lovely woman like her, he might need to own thirty boats.

Dante seemed to be her favorite student, but Andrew didn’t see the little boy as a rival. He was just cute and very bright for nine years old. Bright? No, he was much more than that. Andrew had to admit that Dante was probably the smartest kid in the class, except for maybe Valentina Costa, who was a couple years older but with a memory like there was a chalkboard inside her head. Both those kids spoke three or four languages, plus Fräulein Schmidt had been teaching Dante German for most of the year.

He noticed the fancy camera that hung around Dante’s neck and the croc-skin bag he used to carry the film. If he somehow decided not to work the water, Andrew thought he might want to be a photographer. He read everything he could find about cameras and how to use them and even recognized Dante’s camera

“Dande, is thad the 620 Brownie-B camera?” he asked. “Can you dake picdures in the dark?”

“Sure,” replied the younger boy, his pride-of-ownership showing. “I’ve god enough film do dake ninedy more picdures. But I only have thirdy flashbulbs.”

“Thad’s a lod of picdures.” Andrew nodded appreciatively. “You have much more film than you’ll need on this field drip.”

“I think so, doo. Do you have a camera?”

“No, but I read aboud them. I can’ decide whether do be a big dime phodographer or capdain of my own fishing fleed. I don’ know where I could learn aboud daking picdures here in Malda.”

“I can deach you,” said Dante with a grin. “I know plendy. I have a darkroom and everything.”

“You develop your own phodographs?” Andrew was impressed. “We can dalk lader. I’d like do learn more.”

“You can learn photography at some of zhe universities,” said Fräulein Schmidt from behind them. “Zhe University of Berlin has an excellent program. You can’t get a degree in it, but many students take zhe classes, anyway. Dr. Hofheimer teaches philosophy, but he also has zhree classes in how to use cameras and develop film, among other zhings.”

“Universidy of Berlin?” Andrew frowned. If he went to a university in Germany, he wouldn’t be able to work on the boats. Not only that, he’d have to learn German, while he had enough trouble trying to speak English. It almost sounded as if Fräulein Schmidt wanted him to go to the University of Berlin. Would she move back to Germany if he did? Was it a hint that she liked him?

“Stay together, Children!” shouted Mr. Zhora from the front of the group. “Do not stray from the path. Stay close to me and your teachers and hold the rope. If you fall in the crevasse, we might never find you.”

Chapter3

The Oracle

DANTE

Dante tried not to laugh as he watched Roxanne Palma hold the guide rope with both hands, almost like she thought she might fall into the chasm at any moment. Her best friend, Rachel Battaille, looked equally terrified. Rachel kept one hand on the rope and the other clamped to Roxanne’s left arm. This section of the path was plenty wide; they’d have to fall and roll over twice just to reach the edge. Why were they so afraid?

Andrew Romolo nudged Rachel in the back. “Ged moving. We’re falling behind.” Mrs. Cassar and the rest of the kids were well down the path. Most of the remaining light came from Fräulein Schmidt’s flashlight.

Rachel snapped at Andrew. “Do nod push me again, Andrew!” Her voice was convincing, but she wasn’t about to let go of the rope or Roxanne.

“You’re hurding my arm, Rachel,” said Roxanne. “My fingers are numb.”

“I have do hold on,” Rachel replied. “I’m so afraid.”

“I’m kind of afraid, doo,” said Dante, trying to make the girls feel better. “I don’ like the hole.”

Roxanne shot him a quick smile and lowered her voice to a whisper. “If I had known Mrs. Cassar would make us come in here, I would have sdayed home. Lasd year, she led us sday on the school bus.”

Dante had been visiting his grandparents in Versailles last year when the school had gone on the field trip, and the year before that he’d been sick. Admittedly, walking on the path at the edge of a deep, dark hole made him nervous, but how could anyone not want to be there? The cave was too exciting.

“I hade this,” said Rachel. “I hope my brothers are all righd. Colin is afraid of darkness, like me.” She stretched her neck to look around Roxanne, trying to see Colin and Jake. “Jake? Colin? Are you okay?”

Colin Battaille was just seven and thrived on making his big sister happy. He spoke in a small voice. “I’m fine, Rachel.”

Jake snickered at his younger brother. “Why wouldn’ we be, Rachel?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. The twelve-year-old took the rope with one hand and leaned back over the crevasse. He waved at his sister. “Id’s only a cave.”

Dante gasped. If Jake’s hand slipped, he’d fall into the crevasse and die. Jake was a showoff and not a very good one. He had hurt himself several times, pretending to be braver than he really was. Colin ducked away from his brother in terror. He wrapped both arms around the rope and held on tightly.

Fräulein Schmidt shined the light Jake’s way and gave him one of her do-what-I-say glares. Jake ended his moment of bravery and returned to the path. Even so, he couldn’t resist mock-bowing to his sister, hands-free.

“I’m delling Momma,” said Rachel.

“See if I care.”

“Keep your hands on zhe rope, Jake,” said Fräulein Schmidt, calmly. Jake grinned, grabbed the rope, and continued along the path.

It took a moment for Dante to realize he was still holding his breath in fear for Jake. He relaxed and breathed again. In his opinion, Jake was less brave and more foolish. The kid could be such an idiot. It was never wise to tempt death like that.

Roxanne picked up the pace, and soon they had caught up with the others. Dante saw Maria LaPorta skipping along the edge of the crevasse with one hand lightly tapping the rope as if playing some daring game. What she did was dangerous, but not as frightening as what Jake had done. Maria could walk backward wearing a blindfold with her hands tied behind her, and she would be safe. She was strange like that, climbing trees faster than all the boys and wading through ditches, trying to catch frogs and minnows for bait. She didn’t need to show off; Maria did things because they were fun for her.

Fräulein Schmidt wisely changed the topic to distract the girls from their fears. “Roxanne, don’t you have a birzhday next month? You’ll be seventeen?”

“Yes, Fräulein Schmidd,” replied Roxanne, her voice still shaky. “I’ll be graduading with Tahima and Andrew.”

“Have you decided what to do next?”

“My uncle and aund live in Paris. They dold me I could board with them if I wanded do go do the universidy there. I mighd go.”

“You should,” urged Fräulein Schmidt. “Paris is a lovely city and zhere are so many zhings to do.”

“Yes, bud…” Roxanne cut herself off.

“But what?”

Rachel answered for her. “Roxanne is afraid if she leaves Malda, Francesca will marry Tahima.”

“Rachel! Shush!” Embarrassed, Roxanne shook her arm free of her friend’s grip. “Don’ hold my arm anymore.”

Rachel frowned and quickly caught the rope. “Id’s drue. I’m only drying do help. You should go do Paris; id would be a wonderful experience. I wish I could go do school in Paris, bud all my reladives live here. I’ll probably never leave the island.”

“I’ll go if you come with me,” said Roxanne.

Rachel smiled hopefully; she liked the sound of that idea. “But I don’ graduade undil nexd year. Will you waid for me?”

“I could, maybe. I jusd don’ want do live in Paris by myself.”

“I doubt you’d be by yourself for long,” said Fräulein Schmidt. “You make friends quickly, and you’re such a pretty girl. Zhere are many handsome young men in Paris.”

Dante liked the idea of going to college in Paris, but for him, that was a long time off. As they descended deeper into the cave, the path widened. A foul-smelling odor stung his nostrils.

“It stinks!” said Maria LaPorta, crinkling her nose. “Phew!”

“What is id?” asked Dante.

“It’s moldy here,” said Mrs. Cassar ahead of them. She held young Martina Dalmas’ hand as they walked. Martina looked as if she might throw up at any moment. “This is a damp part of the cave. It will get better.”

Mrs. Cassar was right, and Dante was glad. The further down they went, the less rank it smelled. Either that or he got used to it. He saw pictures on the walls in the lantern light.

“Who drew those?” he asked.

Mr. Zhora stopped the group. “Those are ancient murals,” he explained from the front. He and Mrs. Cassar held their lanterns toward the murals for everyone to see better. Fräulein Schmidt directed her flashlight beam on the wall, too. “We think they were painted with red ochre and probably have some importance to the artists.”

“Whad do they mean?” asked fifteen-year-old Cour Petrone, brushing her long auburn hair out of her face. Few people on the island had reddish hair, and Dante thought Cour’s was the most beautiful hair he had ever seen, next to Fräulein Schmidt’s lighter shade of brown.

Mr. Zhora shook his head. “I doubt we’ll ever know what they mean.”

They all ducked low to move through a narrow opening with a dropped ceiling. Dante liked to touch the wall with his fingertips because the stone had a light, gritty feel to it. The passage led downward into a room that was about the size of his family room at home. Again, Mr. Zhora held up the line and spoke loudly from the front.

“They carved these rooms in solid sandstone all the way back to the Stone Age. There is a legend that says a powerful Oracle is in this room, and if you know how to use it, then all your wishes will come true.”

“Where’s the Oracle now?” asked Adam Ricca. “How can we ged in douch?”

“If I knew that,” replied Mr. Zhora, “I wouldn’t be a guide. I’d live in a large house on the north end of the island where I could look at the sea and drink French wine.”

They entered an even larger chamber where a circular table made of stone stood in the center. All around the room, somebody had cut over twenty mini-chambers into the walls, like small sleeping areas; the ceiling of each mini-chamber was high enough for an adult to sit on the bed comfortably without bumping his head. Bed portions of each chamber had a hollowed-out area resembling the shape of an Egyptian sarcophagus that Dante had seen in a National Geographic magazine. The head end of every chamber had been scooped out wider for the shoulders and narrower for the feet.

“They musd have been small people,” said Daniela Arena, following closely behind Fernando. Dante marveled at how her voice echoed off the walls in this room.

“These chambers were for children, we believe,” said Mr. Zhora. “Probably resting places for them and for small adults. Or they might have been burial chambers, though the people who discovered this room found no bones in them.”

A short tunnel led into another room. Dante heard Mrs. Cassar grunting as she crawled through the passage, but apparently the old woman got through okay. When it was Andrew Romolo’s turn, he dropped to his knees and crawled through the tunnel. Dante and the other young children stooped slightly and walked through. Little Carmella laughed and ran since there was no chasm here.

This room had slit-like openings cut into the wall on their left, almost like vertical blinds left partly open. The slits were uniform, as if the stone cutter had carefully measured and marked each gap before cutting. An adjoining room shared that wall, and fluctuating stripes of lantern light fell on whatever was in the other room. It was hard to see anything in there until Mr. Zhora stopped and held his lantern still.

Daniela cried out from the front of the line. “The bone room! Look! There musd be hundreds of bones in there!”

Tahima laughed at her. “You’re wrong.”

She turned and stuck her tongue out at him. “Whad do you know, Tahima? You forgod id was English Duesday!”

“I know thad’s nod the bone room.”

Of course, Tahima was right.

Mr. Zhora tried to explain. “That’s a burial chamber, true, but there are only a few hundred bodies in there.”

“Only a few hundred?” said Claire Nicolas in a sarcastic voice. Even at twelve, Claire was outspoken much of the time. Her identical twin sister, Angele, nodded in agreement, but remained quiet, as usual.

“This isn’d the bone room?” Andrew Filetti scratched his head. Dante liked Andrew, but at thirteen, the boy should have been at a higher level than fourth grade. Where Dante remembered everything, Andrew Filetti had trouble remembering the simplest information. He also didn’t read well; nobody expected him to graduate.

Mrs. Cassar held up her lantern so everyone in her section of the line could see the bones within the other room. Fräulein Schmidt did the same with her flashlight, only she aimed her bright beam directly at specific bones. Dante gasped when the light revealed a white skull that stared at him with dark, empty sockets. It was the first human skull he’d ever seen, and he didn’t like it.

Dante noticed movement on his side of the wall. A pale, almost skeletal hand reached between the slits. His eyes grew wide in terror as the ghostly hand groped for Daniela, touching her on the shoulder. Daniela shrieked and jumped back. The hand quickly retracted into the darkness of the mini-bone room. Mr. Zhora spun about to see what the matter was. Mrs. Cassar moved forward.

“Are you okay?” asked Mr. Zhora, looking around for whatever might have frightened her. Daniela pointed helplessly toward the slits in the wall. “Id douched me!”