Amanderella and the Marduk Affair Chapter 9

Chapter Nine.

 

The Rescue.

 

The Library was still open. Dotty was at her desk, sorting a small pile of returned books. She looked up as Amanderella strode in, unruffled but purposeful.

Dotty stood so fast her chair scraped. “Did you find anything?”

“Marduk is alive,” Amanderella said.

Dotty sat down again in a hurry. “Where, what, how.”

“He’s trapped in a cave on the hill,” Amanderella said, calm but brisk. “Apart from being hungry, he sounded in good spirits.”

Dotty let out a shaky breath, half‑laugh, half‑sob.

Amanderella held out the rucksack. “This is his. He asked me to keep it safe. And I can think of nowhere safer than with you. Don’t open it.”

Dotty took it as though it were made of glass. “I won’t. I promise.” She glanced around the Library. “No one here. They can sack me if they want to, I’m locking up.”

Amanderella and Dotty hurried across the square, Dotty clutching the rucksack as though it might vanish. The police house stood at the corner, a neat stone cottage with a small office attached, its blue lamp glowing faintly.

The office door was ajar.

Inside, Dai Pugh, the village’s sole policeman, was polishing his helmet with great seriousness. A half‑completed form lay on the desk beside him, headed Report of Missing Chicken (Possibly Stolen).

He looked up, startled. “Oh. Evening, Miss Danebred, Lady Gottsnobbler. Everything all right.”

“No,” said Amanderella crisply. “A man is trapped in a cave on the hill. We need help at once.”

Dai Pugh blinked. “A cave.”

“Yes,” Amanderella said. “A cave. With a man in it.”

Dotty nodded so hard her glasses nearly slipped. “It’s Marduk. He’s alive, Dai, but he can’t get out.”

Dai Pugh set down his helmet very carefully, as though afraid it might bruise. “Right. Well. That’s… more serious than usual.”

“It is,” Amanderella agreed.

“Right,” said Dai. “We’ll need the retired miners. They’ll know the geometry of a collapse.”

Instead of leaping into action, he stood with quiet, ceremonial gravity. “If you’ll give me a moment.”

He crossed to the peg where his tunic hung, brushed it with the side of his hand, and encased himself in it. Every button was fastened with the precision of a man preparing for a royal inspection. Finally, he settled his helmet squarely on his head, checked the chin‑strap, and drew his truncheon just enough to ensure it hadn’t rusted into the scabbard since breakfast.

“Right,” he said, chest expanding. “Now I’m fit to be seen.”

Amanderella opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and closed it again.

Dotty whispered, “He always does this.”

Dai stepped out into the square, took a deep breath, and blew a long, piercing note.

Almost immediately, three men appeared from different directions, as though summoned by instinct: Bryn the Younger (not young), Old Ianto (not old), and Mr Griffiths (exactly as old as he claimed).

“What’s the trouble then,” Bryn asked, already rolling up his sleeves.

“Man stuck in a cave,” Dai Pugh said importantly.

The miners exchanged a look of professional interest.

“Right,” said Old Ianto. “We’ll need lamps.”

“And ropes,” said Mr Griffiths.

“And tea,” said Bryn.

Dotty clutched the rucksack tighter. “Please hurry.”

Amanderella nodded. “He’s been there since Friday.”

That did it. The three miners moved as one, calm, competent, and quietly pleased to be needed for something more dramatic than a blocked chimney.

“Lead the way, miss,” Bryn said.

And the rescue began.

Lady Amanderella took the lead with a brisk, determined stride that left the miners, and certainly the heavily‑uniformed Dai Pugh, puffing slightly in her wake. She navigated the treacherous, gorse‑thickened sheep paths with the confidence of someone who had spent her life striding through difficult terrain. Dotty trailed behind them all.

Bryn the Younger, despite his name and silver hair, laboured under the weight of heavy timber shoring‑props. “She’s got a fair bit of steam in her boiler, hasn’t she?” he wheezed to Old Ianto.

“Heritage, Bryn,” Old Ianto replied, not even slightly out of breath. “That’s the sort of walk that built an empire. Or at least a very large garden.”

Finally, they reached the site. The cave mouth was little more than a dark hole in the grass‑covered hillside.

Amanderella stepped right to the edge. “Marduk! We’re here!” she called, her voice echoing into the crevice.

“So am I,” came the reply, with a weak attempt at humour.

The miners immediately fanned out. They didn’t rush. They began a careful, wordless inspection, their eyes instinctively scanning the rock face for faults and fissures.

Old Ianto knelt by the opening, his knees cracking like dry kindling. He pressed a calloused hand against the stone. “Hmm. Limestone. We’ll need to shore up the lintel before we shift a pebble, or the whole lot’s coming down to join him for tea.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly from frantic rescue to workplace. While Dai Pugh stood at a dignified distance, adjusting his chin strap and looking “official”, the miners fell into a well‑practised routine.

Bryn hammered a piton into a nearby outcrop with rhythmic, musical strikes. Mr Griffiths set out the lamps in a semi‑circle, creating a stage of amber light against the encroaching evening grey.

“He’s pinned by the legs,” Old Ianto said after peering in with a long‑necked mirror. “It’s a nasty bit of business, but the water’s the blessing. Kept the dust down so he could breathe. Bryn, give us the small crowbar. We’ll start from the top left and work clockwise. Don’t tickle the keystone until the very end.”

The rescue became a slow, deliberate conversation between the miners and the mountain.

Bryn lit the first lamp with a practised flick, and the others followed, their flames trembling in the draught. Shadows stretched and shrank across the hillside as the men took their positions.

Amanderella stepped back to give them room. Dotty hovered beside her, clutching the rucksack, her breath coming in tiny, uneven bursts.

A faint voice drifted from the darkness.

“Dotty? Is that you?”

Dotty’s hand flew to her mouth. “Yes! Yes, Marduk, I’m here!”

“Good,” he called back, tired but steady. “I knew you’d find someone sensible.”

Old Ianto grunted approvingly. “He’s got his wits about him. That’s half the battle.”

The final stone shifted with a gritty sigh. Bryn eased it aside while Mr Griffiths slid a timber into place. Old Ianto leaned in, both arms disappearing into the darkness.

“I’ve got him. Mind his leg, steady now.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then a soft scrape as Marduk was eased forward, inch by inch, until his shoulders appeared in the lamplight. Bryn took hold of him under the arms, and together the two miners drew him out of the narrow opening like a cork from a bottle.

Marduk blinked against the sudden brightness, pale and dusty, one trouser leg torn where the rock had pinned him. For a moment he stayed on his knees, breathing hard.

Old Ianto patted his shoulder. “Take your time, lad. Cave’s let go of you now.”

With Bryn on one side and Amanderella on the other, Marduk managed to stand, wobbly, but upright.

Dotty let out a choked little sound and rushed forward. “Oh, Marduk!”

He gave her a tired smile. “Hello, Dotty.”

Amanderella adjusted her grip. “Right. Let’s get him down the hill before the mountain thinks better of it.”

Bryn nodded. “Aye. We’ll take him steady between us.”

And with the miners bearing most of his weight, they began the careful walk back to Pentegfawr.