[Child of the 7th Age]

Gamba scurried along the edge of the cave, hiding in the grey shadows, which threw distorted images onto the opposing wall. He darted in and out of hidden clefts seeking to escape the scrutiny of all who passed by. Whether guard or friendly hobbit, those who made their way down the dark corridor failed to note a slender youth on a secret errand.

It was dinner hour, but the boy had excused himself from the meal line with a mumbled excuse of not feeling well. Now, Gamba sped towards the Locks to scrutinize something that had caught his attention earlier in the day. Just as he suspected, the sole guard on duty lay sprawled at the table, his feet propped up, and head hanging awkwardly to one side. He was snoring loudly, unlikely to stir in the next few moments. The other guard stationed in the Locks had taken his leave a few minutes before to return to the central guardhouse and pick up their evening meals. In only a short time, he would return. Gamba knew he must be quick if he hoped to complete his task.

That afternoon, the guards had again ordered him into the musty storeroom where he had stumbled onto the old set of prison keys only a few days before. Now they bellowed that he was to clean the walls and shelves of the storeroom and begin stacking provisions inside. Heaped against the wall were sacks and barrels containing grain and other foodstuffs. Gamba had spent a good part of his day scrubbing out the storage room and lugging the overloaded bags back inside.

In the course of his explorations, he had run his hands over the rough walls and floors. What he discovered startled him. The wall was old, with huge cracks running through it. At one point the supporting beams had actually begun to tumble, exposing what was underneath. It seemed to be a narrow tunnel filled with dirt and small stones. He’d dug through the rubble in one section and stuck his hand clear through to the other side. It had to be an open space of some sort. Gamba could not be sure what was there, but he had his suspicions.

The boy knew that hobbits were not the only prisoners held in the tombs. The king had also imprisoned a number of Men here. Gamba had seen a few of them on the outside work squads. Most were felons or brigands, rough fellows with little respect for anyone. But Loremaster had once told him that there were others who fell into a much different category, members of the Faithful who opposed the rash policies of the king. Many were dead or gone, but a few, Loremaster suspected, were still being detained in hidden cells which backed onto the Locks.

Gamba slipped into the storeroom and pulled out a small digging instrument, which he’d concealed under his shirt. He pulled the sacks out from in front of the hidden enclosure, and began digging fiercely but quietly to enlarge the hole. Soon it was just large enough for an adroit hobbit to slip inside.

The darkness on the other side assailed the boy’s eyes. There was eeriness in this place, surpassing even that which he’d seen and felt in the caverns. He squinted in the darkness. He could just make out the shapes of Men locked inside a bleak pit that looked little better than a pen meant for cattle. His heart caught in his throat. This forgotten remnent must surely be the Men whom Loremaster had described.

Gamba quietly backed out of the hole and replaced the rubble as best he could. Heavy sacks of grain were again set over the opening. Then, he quickly ran out and hurried back towards the place where the others were joined to play Candlesticks.

[ October 23, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]