I really wanted to use this chapter to get into the heads of the rest of the team, and to try to get a handle on their characters. Originally, all their scenes were going to be pretty short...then I started writing for Mole, and couldn't stop, which probably isn't a good sign. But there's something about trying to write a character who thinks eating pottery is acceptable behavior that is weirdly fun.

Chapter 3

At some point in the night Doctor Sweet must have stumbled in and fallen asleep without waking anyone, as when Milo opened his eyes and stretched himself out, he could make out his bulk slumbering across the room. With the practised fingers of the short-sighted, he fumbled for his glasses, slid them over his eyes, and blinked as the world came into sharper focus. They had been put up in a large spare room, in little makeshift beds on the floor. To avoid arguments, the single bed had been used to store their luggage, although it hadn't stopped Mole from crawling under it, and curling up into a filthy little blanket cocoon.

Kida stirred beside him, her hair frizzy from sleep, and wrapped her arms around his skinny waist. Near his feet, Obby whined and rolled over, sleeping off his meal of cutlery and crockery. Next to him, he could hear the others stirring, as light poured in through the window, and made sleep difficult. At the far corner of the room, Audrey stretched, and kicked off her blankets, pushing aside the neatly folded dress that had been left at the end of her bed.

"So, what's everybody's plans for today?" She said, half-yawning. "Hit the beach? Climb the cliffs?"

"I was thinking of taking a walk along the coast." Milo said. "Show Kida the view."

"That sounds nice." Kida mumbled, still half-asleep, still with her arms around him.

"Me, I want to see these beaches." Vinny spoke without moving from his current position, lying on his back with the blankets pulled over his face. "I've been to Norway. I've been to Iceland. I missed going to the desert. I need a chance to work on my tan."

"I'm with you on the beach." Audrey said, starting to pull her overalls on over the shirt she'd worn to bed. "I haven't been swimming in ages."

There was a horrified gasp from the corner of the room. Milo turned to see Mole, dressed in his garish striped pyjamas, peering with utmost horror at a small folded pile placed beside his bed.

"She has cleaned my clothes!" He squeaked, eyes wide behind his goggles. "Look at zhem! She has come in ze night, and washed away all ze protective layers of dirt!" He gingerly lifted his trousers from the pile, between thumb and forefinger, and sniffed them, retching. "She has filled zhem with unspeakable chemicals!" He shuddered. "…Zhey smell of lavender."

Audrey smirked.

"I'm liking this Mrs Murrain more and more."

"…Now zhey are going to be all itchy…"

The floorboards creaked as Doctor Sweet rolled over, propping himself up on one arm.

"Sounds like y'all have some exciting plans for the day. Wish I could come join you."

"How's it going?" Milo asked. "How are the horses?"

Sweet's face fell a little.

"Well, the worst one didn't make it. He was in bad shape. Never seen anything quite like it. Should'a called me sooner. But the others, I think they stand a fighting chance with me around."

"She has put soap and a little towel next to zhem! Ze woman is mad!"

"Are you alright then, doc?" Milo said. "You were out pretty late. Is there anything we can help you with?"

"Only if any of you happen to have a medical degree you're not telling me about. Y'all relax and enjoy the sun. I daresay you deserve it."

"Are you sure? We can't do anything? Anything at all."

"Well, perhaps one thing…"

"Uh huh?"

"You can all get out and enjoy the sun, and let a man get 15 more minutes of peace."

The day was, if possible, hotter than before. The air had the stifling, tense feeling of a brewing storm, the breezeless sort of weather that clung to the skin. In one corner of the sky, bruise-coloured clouds piled themselves up in anticipation. Even on the beach, with the sea breathing rhythmically in and out, there was little relief.

"So, we meet back here around sunset, then head back to the house together?" Milo said.

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good to me. "Audrey cast an eager glance at the sea, already stripped down to her pants and vest. "Can we go now?"

"Okay. Just remember, sunset. Kida and me are going to be walking on the cliffs, if anyone needs us."

"Yeah, I think we'll manage without you. Just the once."

Milo knelt down in the sand, and scratched Obby's head gently.

"You stay down here with everyone. Kida and me are going for a long walk up some cliffs, one that I don't think a chubby little lava-dog like you would appreciate."

Obby gave a low whine.

"We'll be back soon, Obby. I just don't think we'd enjoy carrying you up a rock-face."

"Don't worry. We'll take good care of your dog…whale… lizard…thing." Vinny said, pulling his jumper off.

"See you at sunset, then."

Mole crept along the base of the cliffs, bathed in the shade they cast down, moving from rock to rock with a wide smile on his face. How could anyone feel sad, after all, when they were right in the heart of the Old Red Sandstone belt, rich with red iron oxides, replete with sedimentary mudstones and conglomerates? The cliffs arched high above him, rugged sandstone, shaped by wind and waves, their crevices only serving to enhance the beauty of their natural stratification. Under his feet, the fine sand (a mixture of eroded sandstones and crushed sea shells, mainly P. vulgata, some M. edulis, with a salty tang and deep iodine aftertaste) crunched.

Obby lumbered along in his footsteps, panting happily. The lava-dog had taken a liking to him, the two having a considerable lot in common: neither were very concerned about what they put in their mouths, or when they had last bathed.

"Hello my little rock-licking friends." Mole crooned, kneeling down at the base of a beautiful Aeolian formation. He peered, setting his goggles to a high magnification, at the life encrusting the sandstone, at the sharp barnacles, the pointed limpets, and the glossy black mussels. They were wonderful creatures, he mused: clinging to rock, making rock-hard shells, they were the closest that animals could get to actually being rock. Rock was always something to aspire to.

He tore his gaze away from the limpets, and the beautiful microscopic patterns their sharp little teeth carved into the rock. There was so much more to explore! So many rocks! So much dirt! Even the odd, stiff itch of clean clothes against his skin couldn't dampen his mood or enthusiasm.

A scattering of pebbles (sandstone again, undertones of coriander), slowly gave way to a mound of boulders, piled up at the base of the cliff. A thin trickle of water spilled down from the pile, gurgling over Mole's boots. Curious, he stuck a finger into the water and licked. Fresh. He looked back up at the cliffs. The history of the place was obvious at a glance: part of the cliff had slid down, probably weakened by a savage storm, and cut off the entrance to some wonderful subterranean cave, carved by an underground stream. As stunning as the rock-pile was, this blockage could not be allowed to continue.

He clambered up the pile. Calloused but sensitive fingers found hand-holds, sought out weaknesses and wobbles. Here. Here was the place to dig, clear as day. His grin stretched ear-to-ear at the prospect, and he pulled a folding pickaxe from his sleeve, his other hand holding him steady. He struck the rock hard and clean, cleaving it exactly as he'd predicted, the fragments spilling down the slope. Obby had awkwardly climbed up too, watching him quizzically as he worked, splitting large rocks, pulling out smaller ones with strong, blunt fingers. It didn't take long before he was half-submerged in the hole, only his rhythmically wriggling rear protruding, muffled scraping coming from within.

"Aha! I have done it!"

He pulled the rest of his stubby body through the finished hole, falling the last few feet into darkness, landing face-down on sand-strew rock. He lay there for a few minutes in utter bliss, entombed safely in cool blackness, surrounded by rock and grit on every side. Then he pulled himself into a sitting position, and flicked on his headlamp, blinking in the sudden light.

"Mon dieu…"

Illuminated in the faint light his lamp, and the faint sunlight from the entry hole, was the cave. It was not the cave that Mole, for all his expertise, had expected. For one thing, it was much larger than the damp little hole he'd been expecting, large enough for multiple people to stand comfortably in. For another, the freshwater stream that had led him inside came spilling over from a still pool at the back of the cave, carving a small channel in the rocky floor. Lastly, and most surprisingly, were the sides of the cave. They had been carved. Not expertly, he noted, but they had certainly been carved, making small artificial indentations into the cave walls. Getting to his feet, he shuffled over to them, and peered at the contents.

"Empty. Empty. Fine coating of ash, likely preserved by still subterranean air. Pottery fragments, dating from…" Lick. "…Ze mid 18th century. Empty. Rusty iron fragments, some decomposed wood…" He peered down at Obby, who had followed him through the hole, and was also looking quizzically at the carved holes. "It looks like zhis cave was once a place of great significance." He sniffed the air quizzically. The cool air held no clues, just the musty, earthy scent of caves.

He patted Obby on the head, and padded over to the still freshwater pool. He reached into his pocket and removed a spare headlight, lying on his belly beside the pool and lowering the light as far as his stubby arm would reach. He had long since made all his light-sources water-proof: you never knew when something, water or not, was going to drip on you, and having an un-insulated battery pack strapped to your head in those circumstances was…painful. The light from the torch carved through the clear water. In the distance, Mole could make out a tunnel, stretching off into the water until it was swallowed by darkness. He pulled the torch out, and wiped it dry on his coat. To his satisfaction, the material was swiftly gaining a new crusting of grime.

"Don't worry. I am not crazy." He reassured Obby, patting him again. "I am not going to dive into some unknown, underwater tunnel. Zhat would be suicide. Zhere's no telling where it would come out." Obby licked him affectionately.

He climbed to his feet, and wandered back over to where sunlight was streaming through the hole. He hefted Obby up, and carefully heaved the chubby creature up and out of the cave, pulling himself out after. The sun was piercingly bright after the sweet gloom of the subterranean. It was a long time until sunset.

"Come." He said, making his way down the mound. "Zhere is still plenty of time! More caves await!"

Vinny lay out on the warm sand, the sun toasting his pale skin, his clothes balled up into a pillow behind his head. It was impossible for him to pinpoint the moment where peaceful dozing had slipped into deep dreaming, but at some point it must have happened, because now he was floundering awake, his nose and lungs filled with acrid smoke. He flailed for a moment, rising into a sitting position, squinting with stinging eyes. Had he left the powder too close to the heater? Gotten the caesium wet? Had someone jolted the nitro-glycerine again? He clambered to his feet with a wheezy cough, beginning to get his bearings back. He was on the beach. He hadn't exploded anything recently…nothing large enough to count, anyway. And the smoke wasn't coming from any charred wreckage this time, but billowing down from further up the beach.

He cast an irritated glance at the source of the smoke: off in the distance, men were toiling around smoking pits in the sand. He turned his gaze upwards: despite the heat, the sun had been swallowed up by cloud, the sky turning to a bruised grey. Clearly, today was not the day to get a tan. With a sigh, Vinny pulled his jumper and trousers back on, and trudged over to the source of the smoke.

"Eh, I think your breakfast is done."

At the sound of Vinny's voice, the boy tending the nearest pit jumped slightly, his head jerking upright.

"What you got in that, anyways?" Vinny continued. "Bacon? Sausages? Those little minty things on skewers?"

"Oh, nothing like that."

"Shame. I could go for sausages right about now."

"You wouldn't want to eat this, trust me." The boy looked up into Vinny's impassive face, and felt the need to elaborate. "It's seaweed. We're burning seaweed down for kelp-ash. You just dig a pit, line it up with stones, cover it all over, and leave it overnight. And in the morning, you've got kelp-ash!"

"Ah, of course. Kelp-ash. Everyone loves kelp-ash. …What do you do with kelp-ash?"

"We sell it off to the glass-makers overseas. Brings in a bit of extra money over the summer. We were the first island in the Orkney's to burn seaweed, y'know, and now we're bringing it back. Fell out of fashion a while ago, sadly."

Vinny looked down at the smoking, whitish ash, and gave a faint cough.

"Can't for the life of me think why." He muttered.

The sun was sinking low, the horizon tinting blood-red where the sky met the ocean, the sky mottled over with roiling storm clouds. Sure, it was probably sunset by now. And hey, she had said that she'd meet on the beach by then. But for the moment, Audrey didn't particularly care. It wasn't like they were in a rush to get anywhere, after all.

She took a deep breath, and submerged herself in the cool, grey water, ploughing through it with strong kicks. Her pappy had always encouraged outdoor pursuits. Spending the day baking on the sands when there was a great big sea waiting seemed like madness to her.

She surfaced with a sharp little gasp, and dived again.

Below the water, everything had a weird dim blurriness, the murky sea only letting her see a few inches in front of her face. It didn't matter: there wasn't much to see down here, just rocks and stray seaweeds. What really mattered was feeling the seawater on her face. And, to her horror, something else colliding with her face, something small and slimy. She jerked her head out of the water with a gasp, finding her footing on the wet sand, and looked down at the slimy thing she'd swum in to.

It was a dead and bloated fish.

Perhaps it was time to go meet everyone, after all.