DISCLAIMER: Well, the Mines of Moria belong to Tolkien, as does the concept of swan ships. Other than that, it's mostly mine.
Geography
"This is stupid!"
"What, do you want to give up and go home?"
"Well, yeah. Why are we following the orders of some dead guy anyway?"
"Don't you know the meaning of the word 'honour'?"
"Don't you know the meaning of the word 'profit'? It's what we're not making out here!"
"Enough." Bob stood up from where he had been using his laptop to try and pinpoint the location of the doorway they sought, and glared at the two girls. "First off, Sandra, we are not losing any money by being here. This is an authorised expedition to follow up on information found at an archaeological site. Understood?"
Sandra nodded, subdued. Beside her, Mary smirked. Her triumphant expression vanished, however, when Bob continued speaking.
"As for you, Mary, you know better than to argue over things like this. We are here as a team, you understand?" At her nod – as subdued as Sandra's had been – he continued. "Good. Now, where is Joe?"
Mary looked at Sandra and, seeing she wasn't going to answer, said, "He's gone off that way." She pointed towards a nearby hill, and added, "I think he decided you weren't going to find it, and just started walking around yelling."
At that moment they heard the faint sound of Joe Nesmith's voice. He was obviously shouting, but from quite some distance away. "Makalaurë antanë nyen sina quetta... ai!" A brief cloud of dust rose over the top of the hill, and a low rumble reached the three archaeologists. They looked at each other, and then, as if by silent agreement, ran towards the hill.
As he struggled up the hill after Mary and Sandra, Bob dreaded what he might see. The mere thought of his old friend lying dead at the bottom of a pit was enough to make his blood run cold.
It was quite a relief, therefore, when he crested the mound to see Joe standing beside a six-foot-wide circular hole in the soil, staring into its depths. Looking up, he saw the trio and waved them down.
"I was calling the words out every hundred yards or so – I'm surprised you didn't hear me – while walking towards that hill," explained Joe, once they were all gathered around the hole. "I'd just about decided to head back and bring the car over when this great beam of some sort of energy shot out of the ground, knocking me back a bit, and leaving this hole. If you look at the sides, you can see it's almost as well-formed as that one you people use to get down to that room beneath St. Paul's. If I had to guess, I'd say the soil was melted and solidified again in an instant, although how, I don't know."
"Interesting," commented Bob, staring into the hole. "You say this happened in response to you saying those words?" At Joe's nod, he continued. "I'd say this is our spot, then. Mary, be a dear and run back and get the car, will you?"
Mary rolled her eyes. "Yes, milord," she replied, and dashed off. Bob looked at the other two.
"Did I do something wrong?"
Joe looked at Sandra, and then back at Bob. "You have many virtues, Bob," he said, "but talking to women is not one of them."
Bob sighed. "I suppose you're right. Computers are much easier to handle." He sat down on the edge of the hole and, in a fit of childishness, started dropping bits of rock in to see if he could hear them hit the bottom.
A few minutes later, Mary arrived in the car. Working with practiced speed, the archaeologists set up the car-mounted winch and tested the depth of the hole. Seeing the numbers, Joe whistled in disbelief. "That's a long way down."
Bob nodded. "It's been a long time. The soil builds up. Did you never watch Time Team as a kid? I know it was still running."
Joe shook his head. "Not my kind of thing, I'm afraid. So you're saying dirt piles up over time? Kind of like the way dust collects under a bed?"
"Ah... something like that," replied Bob diplomatically. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, "Mary, have you got that winch ready for me?"
"Yes, Bob," she replied. He nodded, and quickly put the harness on.
"Torch? Ah, thank you, Sandra. Camera? Thank you. Now, I'll film all the way down, and call you when I reach the bottom." He stepped over to the hole, sat down on the edge, and lowered himself in. Turning back to the group, he waved at Mary. "All set. Lower away."
The hole stretched away below him, but Bob did not look down. Instead, he studied the sides of the hole, seeing the strata of millennia pass him by. He knew there were things here he could never hope to identify, but that was what the camera was for.
Suddenly the light of his torch stopped reflecting off the melted stone of the shaft and instead stabbed into the darkness of a vast cavern. Moments later, his feet touched the floor, and he signalled for Mary to stop the winch. Before unfastening the harness, however, he whispered "Makalaurë antanë nyen sina quetta" into the darkness. Sure enough, a section of the wall, which he had come down near through something probably not a coincidence, crumbled away. In the cavity behind it sat a ship of silver-grey wood, carved in the likeness of a swan, lit by the soft light of a wall on which the now-familiar glowing shapes of the tengwar surrounded what seemed to be a starscape.
"Guys," he said into the radio, "We've found it." And he turned the camera to point at the ship.
The time between updates may grow slightly longer - this is the last chapter I have written so far, so I'll probably be posting as I finish them.
Cloaked Eagle