Sinkhole
Fluorescent yellow bellowed its presence. It strode brashly into places of visual silence, the kind of places in which the eye finds nothing see no matter how hard it tries, and it unleashed a roar to announce itself. Interleaved with bars of mirror-silver it demanded all the attention that could be paid to it and more. It wasn’t enough to be noticed. It wasn’t enough to be acknowledged. It needed to be attended to and doted upon, the subject of fixation by anything and everything capable of sight. It was high visibility but had tunnel vision and lacked scope.
Jeremy respected the work of the high-vis vest, but couldn’t help feeling that its mission was misguided. It was all he could focus on thanks to the magnetic draw of the fluorescing fabric, but that defeated the object of the discussion. If anything it was the hazard itself that should have worn the vest. It probably wouldn’t have fit properly anyway though, so the only course of action had been for the inspector to take on the mantle of vest-hanger while he spoke to Mr Salton, and for Jeremy to be uncomfortably aware of where the inspector was at all times.
“Well, Mr Salton, you definitely should have sought planning permission for it. I can tell you that much with confidence.” Lectured the inspector. Both hands were on his hips, one of them still clutching a clipboard to record any salient details about the hazard.
“Are you being serious with me right now?” Mr Salton asked with flared nostrils. “I didn’t put the bloody thing there did I?” He angrily indicated towards the hazard with one arm.
Following Mr Salton’s arm as a temporary focus to tear himself away from the high-vis vest, Jeremy extrapolated from the line of Mr Salton’s fingers and peered again into the chasm where his rectangular garden used to be. A set of patio doors led onto the remains of wooden decking, which now extended down a steep scree-slope where the lawn had been. Just under where the rotary washing line should have been was a sheer drop, and the bird-feeder had been lost to rocky depths below. A well-tended flowerbed had shattered after plummeting, and the less said about Mr Salton’s previously prized petunias the better.
“Well it’s on your property, sir. I don’t know how someone would have snuck in to dig this for you.” The inspector observed.
“You think I dug a thirty foot pit by myself, overnight, and then called the council to investigate it? That’s really what you think is it?” Mr Salton questioned. He’d been providing far more queries than responses in the exchange thus far, and they were all centred around the same topic of incredulity.
Jeremy wasn’t surprised. He was in agreement with Mr Salton regarding the likelihood that he could have single-handedly excavated his entire garden overnight. Unfortunately the inspector thought it was equally unlikely that a cavity the size of Mr Salton’s house had been lurking underneath a suburban garden and waiting to strike, so they’d reached something of an impasse.
“The evidence is all I have to go on…” the inspector explained with a frown. It was his thinking face, if thinking, as distinct from following planning guidelines to the letter, was something he could ever be accused of doing.
"I have a semi-detached house and a hole where my garden used to be, not a digger and a full ground crew; that sounds like reasonable evidence to me."
"There are other ways of digging a hole, Mr Salton. I'm sure a keen gardener like yourself has a spade available." The inspector accused.
"A spade?! You think I could dig and build this by hand?” Mr Salton queried, less for the sake of clarity and more to contextualise his next comment. “You're a moron."
"Now, now. There's no need for name-calling. I just think you're being very agitated and defensive about this."
"Because you're accusing me of creating a sinkhole in my own garden using my hand tools! I obviously didn't make this happen myself."
"What about your neighbours then? One of them may have crept in and done this to settle a feud over the bins or a noisy garden party." The inspector speculated.
"I doubt that Mrs Flint got out of her armchair, climbed over the fence with her walking stick and then undertook a night of back- breaking labour with her barely functional spine." Mr Salton seethed through gritted teeth.
"Look, Mr Salton, if you keep shooting down every possible explanation without offering an alternative then I will be forced to conclude that you did this without planning permission and are trying to cover it up. You’re not helping yourself here."
"I’ve already told you it’s a sinkhole! Covering it up is exactly what I want you to do! I want it filled back in, because I have an abyss where my garden is supposed to be. That's what it bloody is, and it's your job to help me fix it."
"Is that... is that part of a building?" Jeremy asked, cutting across the argument unceremoniously. He was peering into the sinkhole through squinted eyes. Squinting did nothing to help him see what was in the hole, but it stopped him getting distracted by the high visibility vest and was therefore indispensable. Mr Salton and the inspector paused their argument for a moment. "Right down at the bottom, towards the petunias and just this side of the marigolds."
Jeremy's directions, based on the local landmarks available, led the inspector and Mr Salton to the spot. From the rubble which had previously been the pristine lawn of Mr Salton's garden there emerged a pale stony corner, cresting through fallen turf and topsoil. Once the eye had been trained upon it, a definite series of straight lines was evident through the soil, tracing the shape of a roughly rectangular structure sunk into the ground.
"Aha! An unplanned development! That's a finding! Good work Jeremy." The inspector said gleefully. He started to scribble a note on his clipboard.
"It is not a finding!" Mr Salton bellowed. He didn't know what a finding really was in the context, but felt assured that he didn’t want any. Anything which was able to get the inspector so excited was definitely undesirable.
"This is an unregulated building work carried out within the boundary of your property, about as much of a finding as something can be! Did you obtain planning permission for this?"
"No, but-"
"Then it is a finding!" Beamed the inspector.
"But no-one sought my permission to build it either!"
"What your contractors do is yours to manage." The inspector informed Mr Salton bluntly.
"That's not even slightly true." Jeremy clarified to Mr Salton.
"This guy's got more of an idea than you do.” Mr Salton grumbled, pointing towards Jeremy with an open hand. “If you for one second try to imply that I dug this twice as deep, built something, buried it, and then dug it up again for your benefit all in a night without a jot of noise then I will lose my temper with you." Mr Salton threatened.
"That's very specific." The inspector said, suspiciously. "That all just came from the top of your head did it?"
"I swear to God..."
"And if I leave out the noise part then you won't lose your temper?”
Mr Salton's fist clenched.
"OK, OK. Mr Salton it's pretty obvious that it would be impossible for you to do that. We can't write that up against him." Jeremy placated. “Can we?” He added upon seeing the inspector's defiant expression.
"I’d certainly give it a go."
"It goes against all logic!" Jeremy protested.
"What does logic have to do with it?"
Jeremy was stumped.
"Fine. We can just get evidence instead. Clearly it's ludicrous to suggest that Mr Salton did this."
Mr Salton nodded in aggressive agreement with Jeremy, to the inspector’s visible chagrin.
"It's unprofessional to make those kinds of sweeping judgements in front of the suspe- er, the member of public." He reprimanded Jeremy. “We might still find evidence that he variously dug, built, filled in and re-excavated this last night, and if you’ve already told him that we think it’s not his fault then it makes us look stupid. Worse still it could give him grounds for proceedings against us for misleading him.”
The inspector almost had a point. Given his position of authority over Jeremy, that was probably reason enough to stop mediating and just join in with harassing Mr Salton. When he tried to think about it, however, he just couldn’t shake the obvious truth that the cement holding that building together would never have set overnight. Even if it was above ground rather than smothered by damp peat it would have taken over well over a day.
“Fine. Point taken about pre-judging. But I’m going to take a look at the structure so that we know what we’re dealing with.”
The inspector’s eyes widened and he rose a few inches like a startled meerkat.
“You can’t do that!”
“Erm… why?”
“Because… because we don’t have a warrant or the land owners permission.”
“He can jump down that hole if it’ll make you take me seriously.” Mr Salton said without hesitation.
“I can assure you that I take unplanned developments very seriously, and we most certainly did not plan for Jeremy here to leap into a pit today. We don’t have the appropriate risk assessments for standing near a hole, let alone entering it.”
“It's OK; I have a hard hat.” Jeremy replied, tapping the plastic helmet he’d been forced to wear. “And good, strong boots with plenty of ankle support. Goodness knows I’ve needed them for the preceding car journeys around town, not to mention that walk over flat pavement, and now they’ll get a chance to sample even more treacherous terrain.”
“I’ve got a ladder as well, if you want.” Mr Salton added, displaying the most aggressive form of helpfulness that Jeremy had seen in a long time. It clearly wasn’t just to help him; it was to spite the inspector.
“You’re not insured for that.” The inspector warned.
“Thanks Mr Salton, that’d be great. I’ll take the risk, inspector. Hard hat, remember?” Jeremy pointed out.
“I’ll grab it right now.” Mr Salton sneered, ostensibly replying to Jeremy but looking the inspector in the eye. He stalked away to the rear door of his garage and started rummaging in his pocket for the right key.
“This is highly unusual, Jeremy.” The inspector told him scornfully, in his best shouted whisper.
“Finally! I know! There’s no way a pit like this just opens up of-“
“You know full well I mean your behaviour. Offering disposition to a suspect before gathering complete evidence, using equipment from an outside agency, changing elevation without a warrant or full risk assessment, the list goes on! This is renegade behaviour.”
“Inspecting the thing we were sent here to inspect is renegade behaviour, you say?” Jeremy asked flatly, staring the inspector in the eye.
“When you’re doing it like this, yes! We have protocols for a reason.”
“And that reason is?”
The inspector desperately wanted to say that it was just because someone said so, someone with the appropriate authority to make a decision on whether or not protocols were needed, and that that alone was good enough. He suspected, however, that Jeremy wouldn’t take well to that line of logic.
“That reason is not as important as you not breaking the protocols, alright?” he settled on.
“No. That’s not really alright.” Jeremy decided as he saw Mr Salton reappear with a set of ladders. “Perfect, thank you Mr Salton.”
Indistinctly grumbled protests dribbled out of the inspector as each stage of the ladder clanked into position, descending slowly into the pit. He shifted uncomfortably all the while and racked his brain for any reason to prevent Jeremy from pursuing his nonsensical desires.
“I keep this for doing the gutters.” Mr Salton explained, just in case Jeremy thought he kept it for the washing up, instead. “Saves me paying out for someone to do it every autumn. Lets me clean the windows, too.”
Jeremy nodded politely as he tested the ladder’s stability. As a teen he probably would have made a snarky comment, mostly about feeling surprised that Mr Salton had bought an item to allow access to high places and then used it to access high places for purposes other than the joy of their access alone. Now he just let silence imply the withering-eyed disdain instead, without having to go to the effort of speaking or dealing with offended replies. Besides, there was already better game in his sights.
“I’m sure he’s insured and risk assessed to do that for himself.” Jeremy told the inspector.
“You aren’t wearing a high-visibility vest. You can’t go down there without one.” The inspector declared in response, as haughtily as he could manage.
“Afraid I might get hit by a passing bus?” Jeremy enquired sweetly. The inspector’s pursed-lipped frown said that he was not, in fact, afraid of accidents involving public transport. “You can see the entirety of the hole from where you are. If you lose track of me then it’s not due to camouflage.”
Following a few test pokes with his foot and satisfied that he wasn’t going to be flung off the ladder in a twisting or slipping accident, Jeremy prepared to descend.
“Jeremy! Look at my vest! Give me your attention!” The inspector tried, gyrating his torso in one final desperate attempt to assert his authority or hypnotise Jeremy with fluorescence, whichever one happened first. Jeremy glanced towards him and was once again uncomfortably aware of the inspector’s practically glowing body. Every other colour in the garden was dull, flat, and drab by comparison. A blue sky was washed out, blooming flowers fell to wintry decay, and even the sun itself was obscured by fogged glass when compared to just how distinctly noticeable the inspector’s tabard was.
“Yes. Good. The vest is this way, away from the pit and the non-approved ladder. Step back from the hazard.”
Non-approved. The words carried such a weight of sheer boredom that they forced any attention right back away from the speaker. Despite the efficacy of his vest, the inspector had spelled his own downfall and Jeremy’s focus was levered back away from the high-vis.
“Ugh. Nice try.” He said, shaking his head free of the waking nightmare. “I’m only going to take a quick look to confirm, without any confusion, whether this structure was built last night or sometime earlier.”
Without leaving any time for argument Jeremy stepped onto the ladder and started to descend. Quiet metallic rattles accompanied each footfall as he thumped downwards, feeling the lightweight frame bow and shake slightly with every motion.
“Three points of contact at all times! Don’t rush or take any unnecessary risks.” The inspector shouted, walking briskly but carefully to the minimum safe distance from the pit’s edge.
“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he knows how to use a ladder.” Mr Salton tutted.
“Without having completed the mandatory training day on ladder etiquette and conduct, and without having that certification counter-signed by a member of the inspectorate, he is very much not deemed to be competent to indulge in such a risk-prone activity.” The inspector decreed with the misguided confidence of someone who believes bureaucratic authority to extend even slightly beyond the bounds of its own paperclip. Mr Salton was unmoved.
Bereft of the armour bestowed by a desk-based training course, Jeremy still managed to climb downwards without coming to serious injury. There was an unpleasant scraping of one knuckle against the earth wall behind the rungs of the ladder, but that wasn’t on the syllabus of the training anyway.
His employer-mandated steel-toed boots met softly with the dirt at the bottom of the pit and Jeremy released his remaining points of contact. Standing at the bottom of the cavity he felt a new appreciation for just how deep it really was. A whole house could have been just about tucked into the vacant ground, with perhaps a television aerial or a chimney poking out like a snorkel. As expected, he didn’t see any tell-tale scrapes or impressions left by digging equipment; everything about the ground and the walls had the settled and unkempt look of nature’s hand. If Mr Salton really had dug the pit, and there was no doubt in Jeremy’s mind that he hadn’t, then it would had to have been dug several years ago. If anyone was going to try to con the council into… well, he wasn’t sure exactly what the inspector thought Mr Salton was trying to defraud them into doing, but if they were to try to con them into anything then living with a secret cavity where their rotary washing line should be for half a decade was a high price to pay.
Another detail which struck Jeremy as he scanned the hole into which he’d flung himself was the lack of dirt. On some level the lack of dirt was what defined it as a hole in the first place; had there been a full complement of earth occupying the cavity then it wouldn’t have been a cavity at all, and the climb to the bottom of the ladder would have ended as soon as it had begun. To remove the volume of earth that would have previously filled such a hole would have left evidence scattered across and pressed into the remnants of the lawn at surface level, or at least tyre tracks where the vast quantity of displaced soil had been transported. What Jeremy saw instead was the displaced surface level, turf and all, mostly upturned and lying in disarray at the bottom of the pit, where it could never have fallen had it been dug freshly. Whichever way he looked at it, the hole could now have been dug by Mr Salton recently. Cursory observation of the turf fragments also revealed that it hadn’t been mowed properly, which in the interest of balance Jeremy took as a point in the inspector’s favour.
“Are you OK, Jeremy?” The inspector called down.
“Fine thanks.” Jeremy replied. “How are you?”
“Oh… I … yes fine.” He replied, taken off-guard. “Is there evidence of Mr Salton digging the hole?”
“I don’t see a pack of invoices for a construction firm, nor a signed confession.”
There was an audible sigh from the garden above.
“It looks like the garden collapsed down rather than being dug up. It must be a sinkhole of some kind.” Jeremy called up.
“I told you!” Mr Salton gloated.
“And when was the last time you used your lawnmower, Mr Salton?” Jeremy accused. Mr Salton remained quiet.
“This area isn’t typically renowned for its minor geological catastrophes.” The inspector correctly observed. But then a thought dawned on him. “Can you see evidence of improperly or illegally installed drainage or waterworks? Maybe a black market run-off gone wrong that led to gradual hydro-excavation?” he asked with mounting excitement.
“No pipe ends or gullies that I can see from here. But then again the black marketers of garden plumbing always cover their tracks so well. If you didn’t already know for sure that they existed then you might be forgiven for thinking that there was no such thing. You might even think that it was the raving of an overzealous inspector with nothing better to do with his time.” Jeremy responded.
“Don’t think that being on an unwarranted trip into a hazard makes you above the law.” The inspector chastised. Jeremy had no idea why he would ever think that. If anything he was far further below the law than normal.
“What are you going on about?” he questioned, for understanding’s sake.
“I’m going on about you getting back up here with something useful, rather than just taking an unnecessarily perilous course of action.”
“My garden is not perilous.” Mr Salton protested.
“According to your version of events, Mr Salton, the whole thing suddenly collapsed into a thirty foot sinkhole overnight. I think that’s very perilous indeed, so you might wish to reconsider your protest.” Jeremy recommended.
“Very perilous indeed.” Mr Salton agreed begrudgingly. “As long as it’s useful.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What about the structure then? It could be some kind of pumping station to move moisture from Mr Salton’s garden to one of the neighbours.” The inspector persisted, pursuing any avenue which might lead to Mr Salton’s culpability.
“Pretty sure that would require some degree of moisture down here. There’s no evidence of running or standing water at all, which does make the whole sinkhole angle a bit peculiar.” Jeremy thought out loud, moving towards the rectangular outcrop.
From down here he could see that it was very clearly a stone structure. Pale grey-green blocks the length of three shoes lined up heel-to-toe with a fourth shoe side-on at the end were piercing through the loam, emerging at about hip height. Jeremy wondered if he was unduly worried about his footwear, deep down.
"It's made of stone blocks." Jeremy relayed upwards. "Don't know what kind, though."
"Noted. Any idea of purpose? We need to know if there's been an improper change of land usage remember."
Jeremy heard Mr Salton growl something indistinct.
Running a hand over the surface of the structure Jeremy brushed away loose soil. There were no clear markings or signage on the building to betray its purpose, nor what the purpose of the land had been prior to its installation. If he'd had to hazard a guess then he would have settled on a previous general earth usage of 'holding the lawn up', and in that regard things had certainly changed.
With his foot acting as a rudimentary bulldozer to scrape away the clinging mud, Jeremy traced along the edges of the stonework. It extended backwards along the pit’s floor and eventually disappeared into one of the sides, stretching away for goodness only knew how long after that point.
“It’s bigger than the hole.” Jeremy called up. “Doesn’t look like the earth around where it disappears has been disturbed recently. Mr Salton’s innocent of subterranean construction in the last few years.”
“Ha!”
“But you still might have dug it out, as far as we know.” The inspector reminded.
“Quiet now. It looks like the stone thing has a roof.” Jeremy interrupted. He’d heaved one leg onto the surface of the stone to keep clearing away the dirt without getting his hands muddy. It gave him the aspect of a deranged flamingo. “Or maybe it’s a floor, I don’t really know.”
“Is there building below it or on top of it?” The inspector asked. “That’s how I normally tell. Tiles can be a good indicator too, although some floors are also tiled. The tiles are different in each case.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.”
“Do you want a broom or something?” Mr Salton offered, watching Jeremy’s one-legged dance of clearance. “It’ll probably work better to clear away the dirt than your foot.”
“Yeah, please. Anything to reduce the risk of groin strain is fine with me.”
“This is dangerously close to further excavation!” the inspector warned. “Jeremy, don’t you get involved in this unlicensed activity as well. He’s playing you for a fool and getting the council to keep digging for him.”
“I don’t think so. I reckon he just wants to know what this thing down here is.”
“Well it’s not your job to dig it up. You said yourself that it looks like he wasn’t involved in the original excavation or construction and I’ll take your testimony into consideration, now please get out of that pit before this gets any further out of hand.” The inspector seemed to be somewhere between deeply uncomfortable and terribly miffed. Jeremy didn’t mind.
“I need to thoroughly inspect this so that I know what kind of violation Mr Salton has potentially made by having it on his property without declaring it.” Jeremy informed his colleague. “It would be far too much of a hazard to climb down here a second time, wouldn’t it?”
“You don’t think that at all!”
“I’m hurt that you’d say so. Besides, it only matters that you think it so that you’ll stop arguing with me.”
Mr Salton appeared at the lip of the pit with a broad, stiff-bristled broom dangling from one hand, before the inspector could respond.
“OK, look out below. Dropping the broom for you.” He announced.
Exactly as threatened he allowed the broom to plummet into the soft layer of fallen turf, nearby to the bottom of the ladder.
“Thanks very much Mr Salton.” Jeremy said.
“You can call me Barry.”
“Will do.”
“Whilst we appreciate your help Barry-“
“Not you. You can call me Mr Salton still.” Snapped Barry, interrupting the inspector with a single raised finger. It was only the second-most inflammatory single-finger gesture that he could have made.
“Ugh, fine. We appreciate your help Mr Salton, but this really isn’t appropriate.”
“Looks like Jeremy’s alright with it.”
“Yep, doesn’t bother me!” he called up. Carefully he plucked the broom from its turfy bed and brushed away clinging patches of loose soil and grass with one hand. Cleaning it by hand sort of defeated the object of getting the broom in the first place, but Jeremy told himself it was a small penance to earn the right for further sweeping. Fully armed with soil redistribution equipment, he returned to the stone structure and continued his business of clearing it for better inspection.
In their droves, clumps of fallen lawn were dispersed from the buried structure by the bristled machinations of Jeremy’s sweeping. Thin stalks of plastic dived into cracks and crevices, flexing themselves against any resistance, and burst forth again to catapult detritus out of their way. Nowhere was safe for the invasive topsoil and grass; wherever it hid the bristles would follow, and they would clear away whatever displeased them. Dispassionately Jeremy watched the purge he was orchestrating, wielding the broom without any concern for the brutality of its methods. Results were all he wanted, and they were all he heeded.
As suddenly as a falcon diving for the kill Jeremy’s broom jerked downwards, seemingly through the stone at the end nearest to Barry Salton’s house. With a dull clack the handle impacted against a stone corner, and the head hung in empty space. Once the initial shock and reflexive consideration of ghost-brooms had subsided, Jeremy recognised that he was looking at an aperture in the structure. Hidden by years of earth and a fresh layer of Mr Salton’s weed-ridden lawn, an opening had been left in the blockwork. Eagerly Jeremy lifted the broom out and started to sweep and probe for the outline of the opening, half brushing and half digging the soil out of his way.
“There’s an entrance!” he shouted up excitedly to Barry and the inspector.
“Where does it go?” Barry replied quickly.
“I don’t know yet. Once I clear some more of the dirt away I’ll be able to take a look.”
“Be careful!” the inspector shouted. “You’re already at risk of putting your back out by using that un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tool.”
Jeremy looked upwards slowly, wearing a pinched frown, and faced the sound of the inspector’s voice. To his surprise he actually saw a face looking back, peering downwards at ground level with hands on the lip of the hole, flanking his cheeks.
“You can call it a broom.” Jeremy said, with a voice that sounded like eyeballs rolling.
“Specificity is unimportant here.” The inspector countered. “What matters is that you don’t get yourself into a hazardous situation.”
“The next time I get a debilitating sweeping injury you’ll be the first to know.”
“Of course I will; I’m watching you closely.” The inspector responded. Despite watching Jeremy’s moves like a hawk, he’d still managed to miss the point.
Bristles arced downwards into the dirt and re-emerged in a spray of soil as Jeremy continued clearing the entrance. Every time the broom impacted there was a minor landslide inwards to match the bough wave of displaced earth that took to the air, revealing ever more of a lightless chasm among the stones. Jeremy stood in front of the opening as he swept the wreckage away, a cool and gentle breeze bringing stale odours up to his nose from the depths.
“Can you see anything?” Mr Salton asked.
“It’s pretty dark in there. Not sure if it’s an old coal store or something…” Jeremy speculated out loud. He didn’t think that coal was traditionally stored in completely subterranean storerooms but he also wasn’t an expert on historical fuel storage, so he couldn’t really rule it out. “Hang on, I think I have a torch on me.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Well the thing about inspecting is that you need to be able to see things. And the thing about buildings is that they often block the sun on account of being opaque.”
Mr Salton bristled more than his broom did.
“That’s an accurate assessment of the situation.” The inspector softly informed Mr Salton by way of apology. The bristling continued unabated.
A quiet click on an unassuming black button brought forth an artificial sunbeam, carving through the black opening and delivering bright illumination whether it was welcome or not. Deep shadows shrank back into the joins and cracks between the stones, their territory stolen away by the unstoppable invasion of light, and unveiled something that Jeremy hadn’t entirely expected.
“There… there are stairs leading down from here.” He stammered.
“Stairs?” Mr Salton repeated.
“A secret basement? That’s very clever, Mr Salton, but not clever enough. You can’t get away with a secret sub-level extension to your house just because it’s been disconnected from the bulk of the domicile.” The inspector accused, leaping bodily into a conclusion far deeper than the pit and running with it as fast as he could.
“Barry, do you have any idea what this could be?” Jeremy asked. There was no mockery or sarcasm in his voice anymore.
“How many times do I have to tell you people?! I called you here. I wanted you to look into this sinkhole and resolve it! This wasn’t anything to do with me, so no, I do not have any idea what this could be.” Mr Salton barked.
Jeremy washed torchlight over every surface inside the structure. The walls were without decoration or fixtures, the steps were even and pale, and there was nothing to offer any indication of what stone building really was. Beyond the muddy opening it was simply an unbounded descent into the ground.
“Come back up, Jeremy.” Came the inspector’s quivering voice. “We don’t know what that is, and we don’t know if it was built in accordance with the contemporary health and safety regulations governing outbuildings.”
It was true. They didn’t have the slightest clue of what they were looking at, nor did they know whether or not it was safe to be this close to it, let alone how risky it would be to enter. Then again, taking a few steps inside was guaranteed to wind the inspector up something rotten, which was largely what Jeremy considered his job there to be.
“I’ll just take a quick peek about.” He said, stepping down onto the first stair.
“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” The inspector bellowed, his voice cracking slightly. “Look at the high vis, Jeremy! Look at it!” he was waving the shoulder of his tabard as best he could whilst prone at the edge of the pit, but the efforts were futile. Jeremy wasn’t even facing in his direction. He was shin-deep in the mysterious undeclared development with nothing more than an informal declaration of intent for the landowner.
“It’s just an unlisted building that’s appeared in a sinkhole with an unknown risk of subsidence or collapse. What could possibly go wrong?” Jeremy asked innocently. He’d now disappeared up to the waist, taking step by slow step.
“Anything you find down there is technically mine, right?” Barry asked the inspector.
“Wrong.” The inspector snapped. “Jeremy, I mean it. I’ll give you your first informal warning if you keep walking.”
“I’m surprised that it’ll only be my first.” Jeremy’s head replied, the only part of him still visible outside of the structure. It looked back up with a grin, and then dropped down by one more stair. He was gone.
“Jeremy!” the inspector shouted, but there was no response.
“You don’t need the broom with you, probably.” Mr Salton added, watching his garden tools disappear under the ground. It wasn’t enough to tempt Jeremy back out.
Uncanny silence was busy filling Jeremy’s ears and muffling the aggravated shouts from above. It flowed in and pooled wherever sound would normally sit. He still knew that the inspector was trying to get his attention, but the deep, isolated quietness of the underground stairway resisted the ingress of any disturbance; it had been sitting there for goodness only knew how long and therefore had squatter’s rights. Cushions of mud on the underside of Jeremy's boots seemed to be in on the act, and conspired with his slow, gentle paces to create a near silent descent. If any badger had turned this into a makeshift sett then they would be most surprised when Jeremy turned up without warning. Jeremy would also have been surprised in such circumstances so there was a sense of common ground to look forward to.
Cold air brushed soundlessly along Jeremy’s cheeks as he moved, his torch still scanning across every surface for any sign of what the stairs might lead to. As damp as the air smelled the stonework was still matte and dry under illumination, and aside from small clumps of mud that Jeremy had knocked in, the steps underfoot were clean of any dust or dirt. Whatever this was, he didn’t think it had been used much, if at all. Then again it had been buried up until the night before, which was a definite inhibitor to clear access.
Shouts from above were growing fainter and Jeremy was fairly sure that he’d proved his point, whatever it actually was. Probably something about not treating him like a child and telling him what to do, or maybe something more along the lines of teaching the inspector not to be such a stickler for the regulations. Whatever the lesson turned out to be, his job was done and he could dish out a solid sassing when he was back above ground. When he thought about turning around, however, something in his chest and his stomach held him still. If he and the inspector went back and reported this now then it would be investigated properly for sure, but it wouldn’t be him doing it. This was his chance to explore a genuinely unknown place, small as it might be. He’d be seeing something which had been undisturbed for years, centuries maybe, and that was a once in a lifetime possibility.
The inspector could afford to sweat for a little while longer. He probably got this worked up about whether it was more in line with regulations to brush his top or bottom teeth first, so there was no real reason to feel guilt. Flashing his torch over the next steps, Jeremy proceeded further into the darkness.
Piercing through the dark abyss below, and growing brighter with every stair Jeremy took, came a spot of pale, reflected torchlight through a hard-edged rectangular doorway of some kind. It was made of the same washed out stonework as the rest of the building, and extended away beyond the limits of what the doorway would reveal. The muddy boots padded onwards with Jeremy in tow, who had started to stoop a little and was lowering his head to see underneath the top of the doorway fractions of second earlier. It didn’t gain him very much.
Once on level ground again Jeremy swished his torch around, which was rapidly becoming one of his favourite pastimes. His broom arm swung sympathetically to counter-balance him, also providing some cursory cleaning work as a show of good will. What he found himself to be cleaning by insufficient torchlight was an enclosed chamber of similar width to the pit, but with an arched ceiling that stretched upwards and disappeared into shadow whenever the torch was directed elsewhere. The ceiling, as ceilings tend to be, was held up by a series of vertical walls, and these particular examples were bereft of any distinguishing features. As with the stairway there were no brackets for torches, no plaques, no signage, and no artwork for the entertainment of the prospective visitor. The walls were serving their primary purpose of containing a space, and they served that cause exclusively.
As he scanned the torch beam across the back wall in all its featureless glory, a burst of reflected light struck Jeremy’s eyes, appearing suddenly from the distant blackness and looming like a midnight bus with a score to settle. Reflexively Jeremy lurched backwards, swinging the broom up in front of himself as an intimidating defence mechanism. Slim as it was, there as a chance that any lurking assailant would be terrified of garden cleaning equipment, and that terror could buy Jeremy sufficient time to take appropriate action.
Against even Jeremy’s own expectations, the bright shape which had loomed from the blackness stayed still when faced with the broom. It had been a long shot at best, and belief of the positive result didn’t require so much a pinch of salt as a significant-inland-sea’s-worth. Through the bristles Jeremy examined his assailant, ever so slowly panning his torch across its pale chest. Not only pale, in fact, but incredibly broad, and also entirely flat. Jeremy had never known anyone to be assaulted by a subterranean chest of drawers before, but that was about the only thing to fit the bill of what he was seeing.
It took a good few moments of scanning across the thing’s enormous chest to reach the other side, which was perfectly straight and vertical down to the floor. To Jeremy’s surprise and horror he saw that the creature had no legs of which to speak; the rectangular torso joined directly to the floor like it was just another piece of white stone…
He dropped the broom and cursed himself. He was looking at a rectangular sarcophagus, not a mystical beast or enchanted bedroom storage solution. There was no immediate danger to him at all, aside from the crippling embarrassment of anyone finding out that he’d tried to fend off a tonne of static stonework using an old garden broom.
A little disappointed in himself Jeremy stood himself up straight and approached the sarcophagus, returning the broom to its interim application as a walking stick and leaving neat rectangular mud smears with every step.
Deep shadows and contours sat between raised sculptures that decorated the sarcophagus’ lid. A peak here, a valley there, and a distended torchlight shadow between them displayed the features to Jeremy but obscured their overall form; the contrast between brightly reflected light and deep, impenetrable shadow rendered the sculpted works incomprehensible. It was likely that the sculptor hadn’t intended the artwork to be viewed at glancing incidence with an extremely bright and localised spot of illumination.
Jeremy leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus and stated at the series of raised shapes. He moved the torch around, holding it to the sides, above, around, and generally anywhere that it wasn't blocked by stone in an attempt to work out what was being represented, but learned nothing new. Deciding that visual sense alone wasn't cutting the mustard, even the really old mustard that has been sitting at the back of the cupboard for time immemorial, Jeremy enlisted the help of touch, the greatest detective of all. Leaning the broom respectfully against what seemed to be someone's final resting place, Jeremy ran his free hand across the stonework and felt the contours and topology.
No sooner had cold stone touched his hand than a booming thud echoed around the chamber. Jeremy snatched his hand away, his heart gave up on beating for a while, and he stood staring in frozen horror at the sarcophagus. There was no such thing as mummies, or so he would have protested to the death at literally any other time of his life, but at that moment he watched the stone lid with a hawk's eyes and pleaded for it not to crack open.
Another thud boomed out. It came from the direction of the staircase.
Was it a trick to make him look away from the sarcophagus, so that the mummy could ambush him? Jeremy didn’t trust anything. He snatched glances from one direction to the other, never letting his back turn for long enough for an undead monster to rise from a sarcophagus or emerge from the shadows.
More thudding echoed around him, establishing a slow, persistent rhythm. Underneath it, though, there was something else. A muffled sound.
“Jmmm” it swelled, bouncing down every stair.
The broom swept up into the air again and Jeremy held it like a staff, ready to fend off any assailant.
“Jmmmm” the sound repeated, pounding downwards and closing in.
From sarcophagus to staircase Jeremy’s eyes ricocheted.
“Jmmy” the sound demanded. It echoed from the chamber walls and reverberated through the ceiling with a ghostly cadence. It sounded somehow familiar.
“Jeremy!” it bellowed, finally emerging with some clarity at the foot of the stairs. Jeremy lowered his broom once again. It was the bloody inspector. Jeremy would have preferred the reanimated dead; at least a shambling corpse wouldn’t have been shining an ultra-bright torch in his face.
“Jeremy! Are you hurt? Don’t try to move.” The inspector asked.
“Why not? Do you have a gun? Are you going to shoot me if I make any funny moves?” Jeremy answered through a squint. “Please stop shining that in my face.”
“Hmph. It seems that you're fine.” The inspector said, sounding a little disappointed as he lowered the torch. Blessed darkness overflowed into Jeremy’s vision again. “Why didn't you answer me? I was calling to you for ages!”
“I couldn’t hear you properly. The staircase muffles sound oddly.” Jeremy answered with an honesty that surprised himself as torchlight afterimages played around in his vision. “Also I thought you might have been a mummy, and I didn’t want to discuss details of an ongoing investigation with a third party.” He added to bring himself back to an acceptable level of disregard for the inspector.
“Hmph. Well, if you’re alive and well, then what is all this?”
“Looks like a mausoleum of some sort.” Jeremy told him. “We’ve got a sarcophagus or something in here.”
“With an eagle on top.” The inspector observed, peering casually over to the stone shape.
“Oh! That’s what it is! How did you work it out so quickly?” Jeremy demanded, affronted by how easily the inspector had seen the elusive shapes.
“I’m an inspector. I inspect things. Just like you were supposed to be doing on only the outside of this mausoleum because of the unknown risks! Goodness only knows how old or unstable it is, Jeremy. We could both be crushed if we don’t get out of here immediately.”
“Surely rushing would shake it about more and cause an actual problem?” Jeremy speculated, laying out the bait for the inspector to wait there a bit longer.
“Well… maybe. We don’t have any other choice except trying to leave though. We should make a brisk but careful retreat.”
“Just hang on a minute. I want to take a better look at this sarcophagus. This is an incredible find!”
“And the appropriate authorities should take a look at it, not us.” The inspector finally snapped. “We’ve done our job and fulfilled our remit here. Clearly this constitutes a change of usage for which Mr Salton required permission, whether this stays as a hole or becomes an archaeological dig site. The exact nature of the archaeology is immaterial.”
“Can you hear yourself? We’ve stumbled across an ancient tomb and you’re concerned with land usage? You’re even entertaining the possibility of this being Barry’s responsibility somehow?!” Complained Jeremy, bewildered at the inspector’s priorities.
“Mr Salton self-notified. He wants our help so he accepts our jurisdiction.”
“Oh, whatever. I won’t be long.”
“No! Not whatever, and not long at all! We are leaving right now, Jeremy. You’ve disobeyed and disrespected me consistently through our last few days together and I’ll not stand for it a moment longer, not when it’s putting both of us in danger.” The inspector shouted, a hoarse edge breaking into his voice. “You’ve even taken us to a place where high-visibility vests mean almost nothing. It’s arrogant, it’s careless, and it is not on.” He inspector ranted, his voice growing louder and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling to assault Jeremy from every side.
Jeremy had no idea of what to say or do. The inspector had been annoyed before, but never properly angry. It was like the rage of a grocery receipt or bus timetable bearing down on him.
“OK, I get it. I can be a bit churlish sometimes but-”
“You are decidedly churlish all of the time.”
“Matter of opinion.” Jeremy persisted. “But the point is that this is way more important than building regs or health and safety guidance. It’s a relic!”
“Nothing is more important than health and safety guidance! And it is not your place to decide otherwise. We are being paid to come here and do a job, and a part of that job is to abide by the rules laid out in the contract we both signed. It’s as simple as that, Jeremy. Every time you act like this, be it wearing the wrong colour of high vis jacket, ignoring training about un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tools, or flagrantly ignoring common sense regarding getting into a hole and walking into an unearthed tomb, you are failing to do the work for which you are being paid. It is not good enough.”
Jeremy looked towards the dark space where the inspector’s face should logically have been, and heard the heavy breathing that always follows a good rant. Trying to summon a snarky remark, all he could think about what how the inspector really believed what he’d said. The guy really thought all the guidance and rules and bureaucracy were important, and for once he failed to think of anything witty. He just felt bad for making a mockery of him all the time. Making a mockery of him some of the time was inevitable, but always must have been a bit of a burden.
“I’m sorry, Patrick.” Jeremy said. He didn’t like the way it tasted to humanise the inspector by saying his name, but under the circumstances it was deserved. “I know I’m not easy to work with all the time, and you’re right; I should take these things more seriously.”
Silence joined the darkness once again. Jeremy’s un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tool scratched against the stonework and he hastily steadied it again; the inspector didn’t need another reminder of Jeremy’s recent transgressions at a time like this.
“I… appreciate you saying that, Jeremy.” The inspector finally responded. “It’s one step back on the path to professionalism. Another would be for us to go back up to the surface right now.”
"But wouldn't you rather be the inspector to identify an ancient mausoleum than the inspector to find it and give it to someone else? This is a once in a lifetime discovery." Jeremy pleaded quietly.
"We aren't historians, we're bureaucrats." The inspector pointed out, not incorrectly.
"We can be both. Just at least take a closer look with me for one minute. If this hasn't collapsed in goodness knows how long then another minute won't hurt."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"Because... there are no stress cracks anywhere or signs of shrinkage. No evidence of subsidence, unless this whole thing was originally above ground I mean, and I don't see mortar crumbling away from anywhere. The stonework is un-corroded and solid. There are no hollow sounds from beyond the walls, as far as I’ve heard, so there has likely been either minor or non-existent cavitation behind them. We are safe." Jeremy blurted, almost lost in a surveying fugue state.
"Well look at that! You actually did your job! Good work, Jeremy."
"I thought it WAS pretty good work to be honest. Fully assessed an underground structure with only a handheld torch." Jeremy pouted, surreptitiously turning around to sneak another look at the sarcophagus. Apart from what the inspector had identified as an eagle, however, there was nothing to see. “Can you spot anything else with your eagle-fresco eyes?”
The inspector’s face was still invisible in the darkness, mostly because Jeremy was showing him the basic courtesy of not blinding him with a torch, but for once Jeremy didn’t like to think it was displaying exasperation.
“I’m not an archaeologist, Jeremy. I don’t know what to look for in an ancient artefact.”
Jeremy sighed audibly.
“Fine. Well I’m going to at least check the rest of the room for anything else interesting before we go. People always used to be buried with treasure and stuff so there could be anything hanging around in the corners.”
“You’re not going to listen if I tell you not to, are you?”
“I’ll listen to what you say, but I probably won’t take any action on it until I’m done looking around.” Jeremy clarified.
“Fine. I suppose, given your assessment of the integrity of our surroundings, that the risks of remaining here for a few more minutes are acceptably low.”
With a smile that the inspector couldn’t see, Jeremy moved away from the disappointing sarcophagus and shone his torch along the remainder of the floor at the back of the room. Surveying as best he could, he scanned across the corner of floor and wall for anything interesting which may have been left there, wondering if he was about to stumble across a hoard of gold or ancient gemstones. Although he couldn’t see anything at all, let alone a mountain of treasure, he still crept gradually closer just in case something miniscule caught his eye at the last moment. With every step, however, his aspirations shrank a little further, and dreams of treasure chests deflated into hopes of chalices, and then to optimistic notions of spare change. Even unlikely prospects of bounced cheques found themselves disappointed as the narrow spot of light passed along bare stone after bare stone.
“There’s some writing on this sarcophagus.” The inspector stated casually from behind him.
Jeremy nearly tripped over his own broom.
“What?! Where?!”
“Just underneath the eagle, right here.” He said, shining his torch on two rows of angular lettering. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it, to be honest.”
Jeremy staggered over, leaning on his broom for emotional support and staring at the letters he had somehow glossed over. Having looked for them in the dark probably hadn’t helped matters, but it didn’t fully explain his total failure to detect anything other than the eagle.
“How on earth…”
“Hic jacet optimum aquilae”. The inspector said in slow, disjointed tones. Jeremy wondered if a mummy had possessed him after all.
“Pardon?”
“That’s what the writing says.”
"What does it mean? Do you know?"
"No. I don't know much Latin, other than et cetera. But having said that..." The inspector started, trailing off enticingly.
"Yeah?"
"Doesn't aquila mean something to do with eagles? Is it eagle? It might just be bird but I think it's eagle." The inspector debated, mostly with himself.
"That sounds familiar. I think you're right about eagle, and it would tie in pretty well with the eagle fresco, but I don't really know for sure either."
"Hm... optimum seems reasonably self-explanatory. I have no idea on the other two words though."
"So it's something about-"
"It’s probably about." the inspector corrected.
"What? Oh, yeah fine. It's probably something about the optimum eagle. They buried the optimum eagle here?" Jeremy proposed.
"Or it was the optimum place to bury an eagle." The inspector countered.
"Or it was the optimum thing to do to bury this particular eagle."
They both stood in the silent consideration of those who wilfully use too few facts to draw conclusions in which to put their full confidence.
“If you don’t know Latin, then how do you know the writing is in Latin in the first place?” Jeremy asked with hidden puzzlement.
The inspector shrugged.
“I don’t know how bricks are made, but I know them when I see them.” He said. Jeremy didn’t think that was strictly analogous, but also didn’t have the will to argue.
“So we're just standing about in a bird grave. A pretty grand bird grave.” Jeremy observed instead.
“Yes. Which means it’s definitely a change of land use.” The inspector decided.
“I mean… yes, but needs to be a dig site and to go into a museum!”
“Then those will be even more of a change to the use of the land!” The inspector declared with finality and boyish excitement. Jeremy didn’t want to rain on that parade after he’d been allowed to stay and look around. He himself could be excited about the discovery, and the inspector could be excited about writing someone up for circumstances entirely out of their control. It was as fine a time as any to live and let live.
“Come on, Jeremy.” Said the inspector, the sounds of his footsteps moving towards the staircase, where a spotlight from his torch was waiting for him. “Let's go and press charges against Mr Salton.”
Jeremy respected the work of the high-vis vest, but couldn’t help feeling that its mission was misguided. It was all he could focus on thanks to the magnetic draw of the fluorescing fabric, but that defeated the object of the discussion. If anything it was the hazard itself that should have worn the vest. It probably wouldn’t have fit properly anyway though, so the only course of action had been for the inspector to take on the mantle of vest-hanger while he spoke to Mr Salton, and for Jeremy to be uncomfortably aware of where the inspector was at all times.
“Well, Mr Salton, you definitely should have sought planning permission for it. I can tell you that much with confidence.” Lectured the inspector. Both hands were on his hips, one of them still clutching a clipboard to record any salient details about the hazard.
“Are you being serious with me right now?” Mr Salton asked with flared nostrils. “I didn’t put the bloody thing there did I?” He angrily indicated towards the hazard with one arm.
Following Mr Salton’s arm as a temporary focus to tear himself away from the high-vis vest, Jeremy extrapolated from the line of Mr Salton’s fingers and peered again into the chasm where his rectangular garden used to be. A set of patio doors led onto the remains of wooden decking, which now extended down a steep scree-slope where the lawn had been. Just under where the rotary washing line should have been was a sheer drop, and the bird-feeder had been lost to rocky depths below. A well-tended flowerbed had shattered after plummeting, and the less said about Mr Salton’s previously prized petunias the better.
“Well it’s on your property, sir. I don’t know how someone would have snuck in to dig this for you.” The inspector observed.
“You think I dug a thirty foot pit by myself, overnight, and then called the council to investigate it? That’s really what you think is it?” Mr Salton questioned. He’d been providing far more queries than responses in the exchange thus far, and they were all centred around the same topic of incredulity.
Jeremy wasn’t surprised. He was in agreement with Mr Salton regarding the likelihood that he could have single-handedly excavated his entire garden overnight. Unfortunately the inspector thought it was equally unlikely that a cavity the size of Mr Salton’s house had been lurking underneath a suburban garden and waiting to strike, so they’d reached something of an impasse.
“The evidence is all I have to go on…” the inspector explained with a frown. It was his thinking face, if thinking, as distinct from following planning guidelines to the letter, was something he could ever be accused of doing.
"I have a semi-detached house and a hole where my garden used to be, not a digger and a full ground crew; that sounds like reasonable evidence to me."
"There are other ways of digging a hole, Mr Salton. I'm sure a keen gardener like yourself has a spade available." The inspector accused.
"A spade?! You think I could dig and build this by hand?” Mr Salton queried, less for the sake of clarity and more to contextualise his next comment. “You're a moron."
"Now, now. There's no need for name-calling. I just think you're being very agitated and defensive about this."
"Because you're accusing me of creating a sinkhole in my own garden using my hand tools! I obviously didn't make this happen myself."
"What about your neighbours then? One of them may have crept in and done this to settle a feud over the bins or a noisy garden party." The inspector speculated.
"I doubt that Mrs Flint got out of her armchair, climbed over the fence with her walking stick and then undertook a night of back- breaking labour with her barely functional spine." Mr Salton seethed through gritted teeth.
"Look, Mr Salton, if you keep shooting down every possible explanation without offering an alternative then I will be forced to conclude that you did this without planning permission and are trying to cover it up. You’re not helping yourself here."
"I’ve already told you it’s a sinkhole! Covering it up is exactly what I want you to do! I want it filled back in, because I have an abyss where my garden is supposed to be. That's what it bloody is, and it's your job to help me fix it."
"Is that... is that part of a building?" Jeremy asked, cutting across the argument unceremoniously. He was peering into the sinkhole through squinted eyes. Squinting did nothing to help him see what was in the hole, but it stopped him getting distracted by the high visibility vest and was therefore indispensable. Mr Salton and the inspector paused their argument for a moment. "Right down at the bottom, towards the petunias and just this side of the marigolds."
Jeremy's directions, based on the local landmarks available, led the inspector and Mr Salton to the spot. From the rubble which had previously been the pristine lawn of Mr Salton's garden there emerged a pale stony corner, cresting through fallen turf and topsoil. Once the eye had been trained upon it, a definite series of straight lines was evident through the soil, tracing the shape of a roughly rectangular structure sunk into the ground.
"Aha! An unplanned development! That's a finding! Good work Jeremy." The inspector said gleefully. He started to scribble a note on his clipboard.
"It is not a finding!" Mr Salton bellowed. He didn't know what a finding really was in the context, but felt assured that he didn’t want any. Anything which was able to get the inspector so excited was definitely undesirable.
"This is an unregulated building work carried out within the boundary of your property, about as much of a finding as something can be! Did you obtain planning permission for this?"
"No, but-"
"Then it is a finding!" Beamed the inspector.
"But no-one sought my permission to build it either!"
"What your contractors do is yours to manage." The inspector informed Mr Salton bluntly.
"That's not even slightly true." Jeremy clarified to Mr Salton.
"This guy's got more of an idea than you do.” Mr Salton grumbled, pointing towards Jeremy with an open hand. “If you for one second try to imply that I dug this twice as deep, built something, buried it, and then dug it up again for your benefit all in a night without a jot of noise then I will lose my temper with you." Mr Salton threatened.
"That's very specific." The inspector said, suspiciously. "That all just came from the top of your head did it?"
"I swear to God..."
"And if I leave out the noise part then you won't lose your temper?”
Mr Salton's fist clenched.
"OK, OK. Mr Salton it's pretty obvious that it would be impossible for you to do that. We can't write that up against him." Jeremy placated. “Can we?” He added upon seeing the inspector's defiant expression.
"I’d certainly give it a go."
"It goes against all logic!" Jeremy protested.
"What does logic have to do with it?"
Jeremy was stumped.
"Fine. We can just get evidence instead. Clearly it's ludicrous to suggest that Mr Salton did this."
Mr Salton nodded in aggressive agreement with Jeremy, to the inspector’s visible chagrin.
"It's unprofessional to make those kinds of sweeping judgements in front of the suspe- er, the member of public." He reprimanded Jeremy. “We might still find evidence that he variously dug, built, filled in and re-excavated this last night, and if you’ve already told him that we think it’s not his fault then it makes us look stupid. Worse still it could give him grounds for proceedings against us for misleading him.”
The inspector almost had a point. Given his position of authority over Jeremy, that was probably reason enough to stop mediating and just join in with harassing Mr Salton. When he tried to think about it, however, he just couldn’t shake the obvious truth that the cement holding that building together would never have set overnight. Even if it was above ground rather than smothered by damp peat it would have taken over well over a day.
“Fine. Point taken about pre-judging. But I’m going to take a look at the structure so that we know what we’re dealing with.”
The inspector’s eyes widened and he rose a few inches like a startled meerkat.
“You can’t do that!”
“Erm… why?”
“Because… because we don’t have a warrant or the land owners permission.”
“He can jump down that hole if it’ll make you take me seriously.” Mr Salton said without hesitation.
“I can assure you that I take unplanned developments very seriously, and we most certainly did not plan for Jeremy here to leap into a pit today. We don’t have the appropriate risk assessments for standing near a hole, let alone entering it.”
“It's OK; I have a hard hat.” Jeremy replied, tapping the plastic helmet he’d been forced to wear. “And good, strong boots with plenty of ankle support. Goodness knows I’ve needed them for the preceding car journeys around town, not to mention that walk over flat pavement, and now they’ll get a chance to sample even more treacherous terrain.”
“I’ve got a ladder as well, if you want.” Mr Salton added, displaying the most aggressive form of helpfulness that Jeremy had seen in a long time. It clearly wasn’t just to help him; it was to spite the inspector.
“You’re not insured for that.” The inspector warned.
“Thanks Mr Salton, that’d be great. I’ll take the risk, inspector. Hard hat, remember?” Jeremy pointed out.
“I’ll grab it right now.” Mr Salton sneered, ostensibly replying to Jeremy but looking the inspector in the eye. He stalked away to the rear door of his garage and started rummaging in his pocket for the right key.
“This is highly unusual, Jeremy.” The inspector told him scornfully, in his best shouted whisper.
“Finally! I know! There’s no way a pit like this just opens up of-“
“You know full well I mean your behaviour. Offering disposition to a suspect before gathering complete evidence, using equipment from an outside agency, changing elevation without a warrant or full risk assessment, the list goes on! This is renegade behaviour.”
“Inspecting the thing we were sent here to inspect is renegade behaviour, you say?” Jeremy asked flatly, staring the inspector in the eye.
“When you’re doing it like this, yes! We have protocols for a reason.”
“And that reason is?”
The inspector desperately wanted to say that it was just because someone said so, someone with the appropriate authority to make a decision on whether or not protocols were needed, and that that alone was good enough. He suspected, however, that Jeremy wouldn’t take well to that line of logic.
“That reason is not as important as you not breaking the protocols, alright?” he settled on.
“No. That’s not really alright.” Jeremy decided as he saw Mr Salton reappear with a set of ladders. “Perfect, thank you Mr Salton.”
Indistinctly grumbled protests dribbled out of the inspector as each stage of the ladder clanked into position, descending slowly into the pit. He shifted uncomfortably all the while and racked his brain for any reason to prevent Jeremy from pursuing his nonsensical desires.
“I keep this for doing the gutters.” Mr Salton explained, just in case Jeremy thought he kept it for the washing up, instead. “Saves me paying out for someone to do it every autumn. Lets me clean the windows, too.”
Jeremy nodded politely as he tested the ladder’s stability. As a teen he probably would have made a snarky comment, mostly about feeling surprised that Mr Salton had bought an item to allow access to high places and then used it to access high places for purposes other than the joy of their access alone. Now he just let silence imply the withering-eyed disdain instead, without having to go to the effort of speaking or dealing with offended replies. Besides, there was already better game in his sights.
“I’m sure he’s insured and risk assessed to do that for himself.” Jeremy told the inspector.
“You aren’t wearing a high-visibility vest. You can’t go down there without one.” The inspector declared in response, as haughtily as he could manage.
“Afraid I might get hit by a passing bus?” Jeremy enquired sweetly. The inspector’s pursed-lipped frown said that he was not, in fact, afraid of accidents involving public transport. “You can see the entirety of the hole from where you are. If you lose track of me then it’s not due to camouflage.”
Following a few test pokes with his foot and satisfied that he wasn’t going to be flung off the ladder in a twisting or slipping accident, Jeremy prepared to descend.
“Jeremy! Look at my vest! Give me your attention!” The inspector tried, gyrating his torso in one final desperate attempt to assert his authority or hypnotise Jeremy with fluorescence, whichever one happened first. Jeremy glanced towards him and was once again uncomfortably aware of the inspector’s practically glowing body. Every other colour in the garden was dull, flat, and drab by comparison. A blue sky was washed out, blooming flowers fell to wintry decay, and even the sun itself was obscured by fogged glass when compared to just how distinctly noticeable the inspector’s tabard was.
“Yes. Good. The vest is this way, away from the pit and the non-approved ladder. Step back from the hazard.”
Non-approved. The words carried such a weight of sheer boredom that they forced any attention right back away from the speaker. Despite the efficacy of his vest, the inspector had spelled his own downfall and Jeremy’s focus was levered back away from the high-vis.
“Ugh. Nice try.” He said, shaking his head free of the waking nightmare. “I’m only going to take a quick look to confirm, without any confusion, whether this structure was built last night or sometime earlier.”
Without leaving any time for argument Jeremy stepped onto the ladder and started to descend. Quiet metallic rattles accompanied each footfall as he thumped downwards, feeling the lightweight frame bow and shake slightly with every motion.
“Three points of contact at all times! Don’t rush or take any unnecessary risks.” The inspector shouted, walking briskly but carefully to the minimum safe distance from the pit’s edge.
“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he knows how to use a ladder.” Mr Salton tutted.
“Without having completed the mandatory training day on ladder etiquette and conduct, and without having that certification counter-signed by a member of the inspectorate, he is very much not deemed to be competent to indulge in such a risk-prone activity.” The inspector decreed with the misguided confidence of someone who believes bureaucratic authority to extend even slightly beyond the bounds of its own paperclip. Mr Salton was unmoved.
Bereft of the armour bestowed by a desk-based training course, Jeremy still managed to climb downwards without coming to serious injury. There was an unpleasant scraping of one knuckle against the earth wall behind the rungs of the ladder, but that wasn’t on the syllabus of the training anyway.
His employer-mandated steel-toed boots met softly with the dirt at the bottom of the pit and Jeremy released his remaining points of contact. Standing at the bottom of the cavity he felt a new appreciation for just how deep it really was. A whole house could have been just about tucked into the vacant ground, with perhaps a television aerial or a chimney poking out like a snorkel. As expected, he didn’t see any tell-tale scrapes or impressions left by digging equipment; everything about the ground and the walls had the settled and unkempt look of nature’s hand. If Mr Salton really had dug the pit, and there was no doubt in Jeremy’s mind that he hadn’t, then it would had to have been dug several years ago. If anyone was going to try to con the council into… well, he wasn’t sure exactly what the inspector thought Mr Salton was trying to defraud them into doing, but if they were to try to con them into anything then living with a secret cavity where their rotary washing line should be for half a decade was a high price to pay.
Another detail which struck Jeremy as he scanned the hole into which he’d flung himself was the lack of dirt. On some level the lack of dirt was what defined it as a hole in the first place; had there been a full complement of earth occupying the cavity then it wouldn’t have been a cavity at all, and the climb to the bottom of the ladder would have ended as soon as it had begun. To remove the volume of earth that would have previously filled such a hole would have left evidence scattered across and pressed into the remnants of the lawn at surface level, or at least tyre tracks where the vast quantity of displaced soil had been transported. What Jeremy saw instead was the displaced surface level, turf and all, mostly upturned and lying in disarray at the bottom of the pit, where it could never have fallen had it been dug freshly. Whichever way he looked at it, the hole could now have been dug by Mr Salton recently. Cursory observation of the turf fragments also revealed that it hadn’t been mowed properly, which in the interest of balance Jeremy took as a point in the inspector’s favour.
“Are you OK, Jeremy?” The inspector called down.
“Fine thanks.” Jeremy replied. “How are you?”
“Oh… I … yes fine.” He replied, taken off-guard. “Is there evidence of Mr Salton digging the hole?”
“I don’t see a pack of invoices for a construction firm, nor a signed confession.”
There was an audible sigh from the garden above.
“It looks like the garden collapsed down rather than being dug up. It must be a sinkhole of some kind.” Jeremy called up.
“I told you!” Mr Salton gloated.
“And when was the last time you used your lawnmower, Mr Salton?” Jeremy accused. Mr Salton remained quiet.
“This area isn’t typically renowned for its minor geological catastrophes.” The inspector correctly observed. But then a thought dawned on him. “Can you see evidence of improperly or illegally installed drainage or waterworks? Maybe a black market run-off gone wrong that led to gradual hydro-excavation?” he asked with mounting excitement.
“No pipe ends or gullies that I can see from here. But then again the black marketers of garden plumbing always cover their tracks so well. If you didn’t already know for sure that they existed then you might be forgiven for thinking that there was no such thing. You might even think that it was the raving of an overzealous inspector with nothing better to do with his time.” Jeremy responded.
“Don’t think that being on an unwarranted trip into a hazard makes you above the law.” The inspector chastised. Jeremy had no idea why he would ever think that. If anything he was far further below the law than normal.
“What are you going on about?” he questioned, for understanding’s sake.
“I’m going on about you getting back up here with something useful, rather than just taking an unnecessarily perilous course of action.”
“My garden is not perilous.” Mr Salton protested.
“According to your version of events, Mr Salton, the whole thing suddenly collapsed into a thirty foot sinkhole overnight. I think that’s very perilous indeed, so you might wish to reconsider your protest.” Jeremy recommended.
“Very perilous indeed.” Mr Salton agreed begrudgingly. “As long as it’s useful.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What about the structure then? It could be some kind of pumping station to move moisture from Mr Salton’s garden to one of the neighbours.” The inspector persisted, pursuing any avenue which might lead to Mr Salton’s culpability.
“Pretty sure that would require some degree of moisture down here. There’s no evidence of running or standing water at all, which does make the whole sinkhole angle a bit peculiar.” Jeremy thought out loud, moving towards the rectangular outcrop.
From down here he could see that it was very clearly a stone structure. Pale grey-green blocks the length of three shoes lined up heel-to-toe with a fourth shoe side-on at the end were piercing through the loam, emerging at about hip height. Jeremy wondered if he was unduly worried about his footwear, deep down.
"It's made of stone blocks." Jeremy relayed upwards. "Don't know what kind, though."
"Noted. Any idea of purpose? We need to know if there's been an improper change of land usage remember."
Jeremy heard Mr Salton growl something indistinct.
Running a hand over the surface of the structure Jeremy brushed away loose soil. There were no clear markings or signage on the building to betray its purpose, nor what the purpose of the land had been prior to its installation. If he'd had to hazard a guess then he would have settled on a previous general earth usage of 'holding the lawn up', and in that regard things had certainly changed.
With his foot acting as a rudimentary bulldozer to scrape away the clinging mud, Jeremy traced along the edges of the stonework. It extended backwards along the pit’s floor and eventually disappeared into one of the sides, stretching away for goodness only knew how long after that point.
“It’s bigger than the hole.” Jeremy called up. “Doesn’t look like the earth around where it disappears has been disturbed recently. Mr Salton’s innocent of subterranean construction in the last few years.”
“Ha!”
“But you still might have dug it out, as far as we know.” The inspector reminded.
“Quiet now. It looks like the stone thing has a roof.” Jeremy interrupted. He’d heaved one leg onto the surface of the stone to keep clearing away the dirt without getting his hands muddy. It gave him the aspect of a deranged flamingo. “Or maybe it’s a floor, I don’t really know.”
“Is there building below it or on top of it?” The inspector asked. “That’s how I normally tell. Tiles can be a good indicator too, although some floors are also tiled. The tiles are different in each case.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.”
“Do you want a broom or something?” Mr Salton offered, watching Jeremy’s one-legged dance of clearance. “It’ll probably work better to clear away the dirt than your foot.”
“Yeah, please. Anything to reduce the risk of groin strain is fine with me.”
“This is dangerously close to further excavation!” the inspector warned. “Jeremy, don’t you get involved in this unlicensed activity as well. He’s playing you for a fool and getting the council to keep digging for him.”
“I don’t think so. I reckon he just wants to know what this thing down here is.”
“Well it’s not your job to dig it up. You said yourself that it looks like he wasn’t involved in the original excavation or construction and I’ll take your testimony into consideration, now please get out of that pit before this gets any further out of hand.” The inspector seemed to be somewhere between deeply uncomfortable and terribly miffed. Jeremy didn’t mind.
“I need to thoroughly inspect this so that I know what kind of violation Mr Salton has potentially made by having it on his property without declaring it.” Jeremy informed his colleague. “It would be far too much of a hazard to climb down here a second time, wouldn’t it?”
“You don’t think that at all!”
“I’m hurt that you’d say so. Besides, it only matters that you think it so that you’ll stop arguing with me.”
Mr Salton appeared at the lip of the pit with a broad, stiff-bristled broom dangling from one hand, before the inspector could respond.
“OK, look out below. Dropping the broom for you.” He announced.
Exactly as threatened he allowed the broom to plummet into the soft layer of fallen turf, nearby to the bottom of the ladder.
“Thanks very much Mr Salton.” Jeremy said.
“You can call me Barry.”
“Will do.”
“Whilst we appreciate your help Barry-“
“Not you. You can call me Mr Salton still.” Snapped Barry, interrupting the inspector with a single raised finger. It was only the second-most inflammatory single-finger gesture that he could have made.
“Ugh, fine. We appreciate your help Mr Salton, but this really isn’t appropriate.”
“Looks like Jeremy’s alright with it.”
“Yep, doesn’t bother me!” he called up. Carefully he plucked the broom from its turfy bed and brushed away clinging patches of loose soil and grass with one hand. Cleaning it by hand sort of defeated the object of getting the broom in the first place, but Jeremy told himself it was a small penance to earn the right for further sweeping. Fully armed with soil redistribution equipment, he returned to the stone structure and continued his business of clearing it for better inspection.
In their droves, clumps of fallen lawn were dispersed from the buried structure by the bristled machinations of Jeremy’s sweeping. Thin stalks of plastic dived into cracks and crevices, flexing themselves against any resistance, and burst forth again to catapult detritus out of their way. Nowhere was safe for the invasive topsoil and grass; wherever it hid the bristles would follow, and they would clear away whatever displeased them. Dispassionately Jeremy watched the purge he was orchestrating, wielding the broom without any concern for the brutality of its methods. Results were all he wanted, and they were all he heeded.
As suddenly as a falcon diving for the kill Jeremy’s broom jerked downwards, seemingly through the stone at the end nearest to Barry Salton’s house. With a dull clack the handle impacted against a stone corner, and the head hung in empty space. Once the initial shock and reflexive consideration of ghost-brooms had subsided, Jeremy recognised that he was looking at an aperture in the structure. Hidden by years of earth and a fresh layer of Mr Salton’s weed-ridden lawn, an opening had been left in the blockwork. Eagerly Jeremy lifted the broom out and started to sweep and probe for the outline of the opening, half brushing and half digging the soil out of his way.
“There’s an entrance!” he shouted up excitedly to Barry and the inspector.
“Where does it go?” Barry replied quickly.
“I don’t know yet. Once I clear some more of the dirt away I’ll be able to take a look.”
“Be careful!” the inspector shouted. “You’re already at risk of putting your back out by using that un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tool.”
Jeremy looked upwards slowly, wearing a pinched frown, and faced the sound of the inspector’s voice. To his surprise he actually saw a face looking back, peering downwards at ground level with hands on the lip of the hole, flanking his cheeks.
“You can call it a broom.” Jeremy said, with a voice that sounded like eyeballs rolling.
“Specificity is unimportant here.” The inspector countered. “What matters is that you don’t get yourself into a hazardous situation.”
“The next time I get a debilitating sweeping injury you’ll be the first to know.”
“Of course I will; I’m watching you closely.” The inspector responded. Despite watching Jeremy’s moves like a hawk, he’d still managed to miss the point.
Bristles arced downwards into the dirt and re-emerged in a spray of soil as Jeremy continued clearing the entrance. Every time the broom impacted there was a minor landslide inwards to match the bough wave of displaced earth that took to the air, revealing ever more of a lightless chasm among the stones. Jeremy stood in front of the opening as he swept the wreckage away, a cool and gentle breeze bringing stale odours up to his nose from the depths.
“Can you see anything?” Mr Salton asked.
“It’s pretty dark in there. Not sure if it’s an old coal store or something…” Jeremy speculated out loud. He didn’t think that coal was traditionally stored in completely subterranean storerooms but he also wasn’t an expert on historical fuel storage, so he couldn’t really rule it out. “Hang on, I think I have a torch on me.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Well the thing about inspecting is that you need to be able to see things. And the thing about buildings is that they often block the sun on account of being opaque.”
Mr Salton bristled more than his broom did.
“That’s an accurate assessment of the situation.” The inspector softly informed Mr Salton by way of apology. The bristling continued unabated.
A quiet click on an unassuming black button brought forth an artificial sunbeam, carving through the black opening and delivering bright illumination whether it was welcome or not. Deep shadows shrank back into the joins and cracks between the stones, their territory stolen away by the unstoppable invasion of light, and unveiled something that Jeremy hadn’t entirely expected.
“There… there are stairs leading down from here.” He stammered.
“Stairs?” Mr Salton repeated.
“A secret basement? That’s very clever, Mr Salton, but not clever enough. You can’t get away with a secret sub-level extension to your house just because it’s been disconnected from the bulk of the domicile.” The inspector accused, leaping bodily into a conclusion far deeper than the pit and running with it as fast as he could.
“Barry, do you have any idea what this could be?” Jeremy asked. There was no mockery or sarcasm in his voice anymore.
“How many times do I have to tell you people?! I called you here. I wanted you to look into this sinkhole and resolve it! This wasn’t anything to do with me, so no, I do not have any idea what this could be.” Mr Salton barked.
Jeremy washed torchlight over every surface inside the structure. The walls were without decoration or fixtures, the steps were even and pale, and there was nothing to offer any indication of what stone building really was. Beyond the muddy opening it was simply an unbounded descent into the ground.
“Come back up, Jeremy.” Came the inspector’s quivering voice. “We don’t know what that is, and we don’t know if it was built in accordance with the contemporary health and safety regulations governing outbuildings.”
It was true. They didn’t have the slightest clue of what they were looking at, nor did they know whether or not it was safe to be this close to it, let alone how risky it would be to enter. Then again, taking a few steps inside was guaranteed to wind the inspector up something rotten, which was largely what Jeremy considered his job there to be.
“I’ll just take a quick peek about.” He said, stepping down onto the first stair.
“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” The inspector bellowed, his voice cracking slightly. “Look at the high vis, Jeremy! Look at it!” he was waving the shoulder of his tabard as best he could whilst prone at the edge of the pit, but the efforts were futile. Jeremy wasn’t even facing in his direction. He was shin-deep in the mysterious undeclared development with nothing more than an informal declaration of intent for the landowner.
“It’s just an unlisted building that’s appeared in a sinkhole with an unknown risk of subsidence or collapse. What could possibly go wrong?” Jeremy asked innocently. He’d now disappeared up to the waist, taking step by slow step.
“Anything you find down there is technically mine, right?” Barry asked the inspector.
“Wrong.” The inspector snapped. “Jeremy, I mean it. I’ll give you your first informal warning if you keep walking.”
“I’m surprised that it’ll only be my first.” Jeremy’s head replied, the only part of him still visible outside of the structure. It looked back up with a grin, and then dropped down by one more stair. He was gone.
“Jeremy!” the inspector shouted, but there was no response.
“You don’t need the broom with you, probably.” Mr Salton added, watching his garden tools disappear under the ground. It wasn’t enough to tempt Jeremy back out.
Uncanny silence was busy filling Jeremy’s ears and muffling the aggravated shouts from above. It flowed in and pooled wherever sound would normally sit. He still knew that the inspector was trying to get his attention, but the deep, isolated quietness of the underground stairway resisted the ingress of any disturbance; it had been sitting there for goodness only knew how long and therefore had squatter’s rights. Cushions of mud on the underside of Jeremy's boots seemed to be in on the act, and conspired with his slow, gentle paces to create a near silent descent. If any badger had turned this into a makeshift sett then they would be most surprised when Jeremy turned up without warning. Jeremy would also have been surprised in such circumstances so there was a sense of common ground to look forward to.
Cold air brushed soundlessly along Jeremy’s cheeks as he moved, his torch still scanning across every surface for any sign of what the stairs might lead to. As damp as the air smelled the stonework was still matte and dry under illumination, and aside from small clumps of mud that Jeremy had knocked in, the steps underfoot were clean of any dust or dirt. Whatever this was, he didn’t think it had been used much, if at all. Then again it had been buried up until the night before, which was a definite inhibitor to clear access.
Shouts from above were growing fainter and Jeremy was fairly sure that he’d proved his point, whatever it actually was. Probably something about not treating him like a child and telling him what to do, or maybe something more along the lines of teaching the inspector not to be such a stickler for the regulations. Whatever the lesson turned out to be, his job was done and he could dish out a solid sassing when he was back above ground. When he thought about turning around, however, something in his chest and his stomach held him still. If he and the inspector went back and reported this now then it would be investigated properly for sure, but it wouldn’t be him doing it. This was his chance to explore a genuinely unknown place, small as it might be. He’d be seeing something which had been undisturbed for years, centuries maybe, and that was a once in a lifetime possibility.
The inspector could afford to sweat for a little while longer. He probably got this worked up about whether it was more in line with regulations to brush his top or bottom teeth first, so there was no real reason to feel guilt. Flashing his torch over the next steps, Jeremy proceeded further into the darkness.
Piercing through the dark abyss below, and growing brighter with every stair Jeremy took, came a spot of pale, reflected torchlight through a hard-edged rectangular doorway of some kind. It was made of the same washed out stonework as the rest of the building, and extended away beyond the limits of what the doorway would reveal. The muddy boots padded onwards with Jeremy in tow, who had started to stoop a little and was lowering his head to see underneath the top of the doorway fractions of second earlier. It didn’t gain him very much.
Once on level ground again Jeremy swished his torch around, which was rapidly becoming one of his favourite pastimes. His broom arm swung sympathetically to counter-balance him, also providing some cursory cleaning work as a show of good will. What he found himself to be cleaning by insufficient torchlight was an enclosed chamber of similar width to the pit, but with an arched ceiling that stretched upwards and disappeared into shadow whenever the torch was directed elsewhere. The ceiling, as ceilings tend to be, was held up by a series of vertical walls, and these particular examples were bereft of any distinguishing features. As with the stairway there were no brackets for torches, no plaques, no signage, and no artwork for the entertainment of the prospective visitor. The walls were serving their primary purpose of containing a space, and they served that cause exclusively.
As he scanned the torch beam across the back wall in all its featureless glory, a burst of reflected light struck Jeremy’s eyes, appearing suddenly from the distant blackness and looming like a midnight bus with a score to settle. Reflexively Jeremy lurched backwards, swinging the broom up in front of himself as an intimidating defence mechanism. Slim as it was, there as a chance that any lurking assailant would be terrified of garden cleaning equipment, and that terror could buy Jeremy sufficient time to take appropriate action.
Against even Jeremy’s own expectations, the bright shape which had loomed from the blackness stayed still when faced with the broom. It had been a long shot at best, and belief of the positive result didn’t require so much a pinch of salt as a significant-inland-sea’s-worth. Through the bristles Jeremy examined his assailant, ever so slowly panning his torch across its pale chest. Not only pale, in fact, but incredibly broad, and also entirely flat. Jeremy had never known anyone to be assaulted by a subterranean chest of drawers before, but that was about the only thing to fit the bill of what he was seeing.
It took a good few moments of scanning across the thing’s enormous chest to reach the other side, which was perfectly straight and vertical down to the floor. To Jeremy’s surprise and horror he saw that the creature had no legs of which to speak; the rectangular torso joined directly to the floor like it was just another piece of white stone…
He dropped the broom and cursed himself. He was looking at a rectangular sarcophagus, not a mystical beast or enchanted bedroom storage solution. There was no immediate danger to him at all, aside from the crippling embarrassment of anyone finding out that he’d tried to fend off a tonne of static stonework using an old garden broom.
A little disappointed in himself Jeremy stood himself up straight and approached the sarcophagus, returning the broom to its interim application as a walking stick and leaving neat rectangular mud smears with every step.
Deep shadows and contours sat between raised sculptures that decorated the sarcophagus’ lid. A peak here, a valley there, and a distended torchlight shadow between them displayed the features to Jeremy but obscured their overall form; the contrast between brightly reflected light and deep, impenetrable shadow rendered the sculpted works incomprehensible. It was likely that the sculptor hadn’t intended the artwork to be viewed at glancing incidence with an extremely bright and localised spot of illumination.
Jeremy leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus and stated at the series of raised shapes. He moved the torch around, holding it to the sides, above, around, and generally anywhere that it wasn't blocked by stone in an attempt to work out what was being represented, but learned nothing new. Deciding that visual sense alone wasn't cutting the mustard, even the really old mustard that has been sitting at the back of the cupboard for time immemorial, Jeremy enlisted the help of touch, the greatest detective of all. Leaning the broom respectfully against what seemed to be someone's final resting place, Jeremy ran his free hand across the stonework and felt the contours and topology.
No sooner had cold stone touched his hand than a booming thud echoed around the chamber. Jeremy snatched his hand away, his heart gave up on beating for a while, and he stood staring in frozen horror at the sarcophagus. There was no such thing as mummies, or so he would have protested to the death at literally any other time of his life, but at that moment he watched the stone lid with a hawk's eyes and pleaded for it not to crack open.
Another thud boomed out. It came from the direction of the staircase.
Was it a trick to make him look away from the sarcophagus, so that the mummy could ambush him? Jeremy didn’t trust anything. He snatched glances from one direction to the other, never letting his back turn for long enough for an undead monster to rise from a sarcophagus or emerge from the shadows.
More thudding echoed around him, establishing a slow, persistent rhythm. Underneath it, though, there was something else. A muffled sound.
“Jmmm” it swelled, bouncing down every stair.
The broom swept up into the air again and Jeremy held it like a staff, ready to fend off any assailant.
“Jmmmm” the sound repeated, pounding downwards and closing in.
From sarcophagus to staircase Jeremy’s eyes ricocheted.
“Jmmy” the sound demanded. It echoed from the chamber walls and reverberated through the ceiling with a ghostly cadence. It sounded somehow familiar.
“Jeremy!” it bellowed, finally emerging with some clarity at the foot of the stairs. Jeremy lowered his broom once again. It was the bloody inspector. Jeremy would have preferred the reanimated dead; at least a shambling corpse wouldn’t have been shining an ultra-bright torch in his face.
“Jeremy! Are you hurt? Don’t try to move.” The inspector asked.
“Why not? Do you have a gun? Are you going to shoot me if I make any funny moves?” Jeremy answered through a squint. “Please stop shining that in my face.”
“Hmph. It seems that you're fine.” The inspector said, sounding a little disappointed as he lowered the torch. Blessed darkness overflowed into Jeremy’s vision again. “Why didn't you answer me? I was calling to you for ages!”
“I couldn’t hear you properly. The staircase muffles sound oddly.” Jeremy answered with an honesty that surprised himself as torchlight afterimages played around in his vision. “Also I thought you might have been a mummy, and I didn’t want to discuss details of an ongoing investigation with a third party.” He added to bring himself back to an acceptable level of disregard for the inspector.
“Hmph. Well, if you’re alive and well, then what is all this?”
“Looks like a mausoleum of some sort.” Jeremy told him. “We’ve got a sarcophagus or something in here.”
“With an eagle on top.” The inspector observed, peering casually over to the stone shape.
“Oh! That’s what it is! How did you work it out so quickly?” Jeremy demanded, affronted by how easily the inspector had seen the elusive shapes.
“I’m an inspector. I inspect things. Just like you were supposed to be doing on only the outside of this mausoleum because of the unknown risks! Goodness only knows how old or unstable it is, Jeremy. We could both be crushed if we don’t get out of here immediately.”
“Surely rushing would shake it about more and cause an actual problem?” Jeremy speculated, laying out the bait for the inspector to wait there a bit longer.
“Well… maybe. We don’t have any other choice except trying to leave though. We should make a brisk but careful retreat.”
“Just hang on a minute. I want to take a better look at this sarcophagus. This is an incredible find!”
“And the appropriate authorities should take a look at it, not us.” The inspector finally snapped. “We’ve done our job and fulfilled our remit here. Clearly this constitutes a change of usage for which Mr Salton required permission, whether this stays as a hole or becomes an archaeological dig site. The exact nature of the archaeology is immaterial.”
“Can you hear yourself? We’ve stumbled across an ancient tomb and you’re concerned with land usage? You’re even entertaining the possibility of this being Barry’s responsibility somehow?!” Complained Jeremy, bewildered at the inspector’s priorities.
“Mr Salton self-notified. He wants our help so he accepts our jurisdiction.”
“Oh, whatever. I won’t be long.”
“No! Not whatever, and not long at all! We are leaving right now, Jeremy. You’ve disobeyed and disrespected me consistently through our last few days together and I’ll not stand for it a moment longer, not when it’s putting both of us in danger.” The inspector shouted, a hoarse edge breaking into his voice. “You’ve even taken us to a place where high-visibility vests mean almost nothing. It’s arrogant, it’s careless, and it is not on.” He inspector ranted, his voice growing louder and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling to assault Jeremy from every side.
Jeremy had no idea of what to say or do. The inspector had been annoyed before, but never properly angry. It was like the rage of a grocery receipt or bus timetable bearing down on him.
“OK, I get it. I can be a bit churlish sometimes but-”
“You are decidedly churlish all of the time.”
“Matter of opinion.” Jeremy persisted. “But the point is that this is way more important than building regs or health and safety guidance. It’s a relic!”
“Nothing is more important than health and safety guidance! And it is not your place to decide otherwise. We are being paid to come here and do a job, and a part of that job is to abide by the rules laid out in the contract we both signed. It’s as simple as that, Jeremy. Every time you act like this, be it wearing the wrong colour of high vis jacket, ignoring training about un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tools, or flagrantly ignoring common sense regarding getting into a hole and walking into an unearthed tomb, you are failing to do the work for which you are being paid. It is not good enough.”
Jeremy looked towards the dark space where the inspector’s face should logically have been, and heard the heavy breathing that always follows a good rant. Trying to summon a snarky remark, all he could think about what how the inspector really believed what he’d said. The guy really thought all the guidance and rules and bureaucracy were important, and for once he failed to think of anything witty. He just felt bad for making a mockery of him all the time. Making a mockery of him some of the time was inevitable, but always must have been a bit of a burden.
“I’m sorry, Patrick.” Jeremy said. He didn’t like the way it tasted to humanise the inspector by saying his name, but under the circumstances it was deserved. “I know I’m not easy to work with all the time, and you’re right; I should take these things more seriously.”
Silence joined the darkness once again. Jeremy’s un-regulated brush-tipped pole-tool scratched against the stonework and he hastily steadied it again; the inspector didn’t need another reminder of Jeremy’s recent transgressions at a time like this.
“I… appreciate you saying that, Jeremy.” The inspector finally responded. “It’s one step back on the path to professionalism. Another would be for us to go back up to the surface right now.”
"But wouldn't you rather be the inspector to identify an ancient mausoleum than the inspector to find it and give it to someone else? This is a once in a lifetime discovery." Jeremy pleaded quietly.
"We aren't historians, we're bureaucrats." The inspector pointed out, not incorrectly.
"We can be both. Just at least take a closer look with me for one minute. If this hasn't collapsed in goodness knows how long then another minute won't hurt."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"Because... there are no stress cracks anywhere or signs of shrinkage. No evidence of subsidence, unless this whole thing was originally above ground I mean, and I don't see mortar crumbling away from anywhere. The stonework is un-corroded and solid. There are no hollow sounds from beyond the walls, as far as I’ve heard, so there has likely been either minor or non-existent cavitation behind them. We are safe." Jeremy blurted, almost lost in a surveying fugue state.
"Well look at that! You actually did your job! Good work, Jeremy."
"I thought it WAS pretty good work to be honest. Fully assessed an underground structure with only a handheld torch." Jeremy pouted, surreptitiously turning around to sneak another look at the sarcophagus. Apart from what the inspector had identified as an eagle, however, there was nothing to see. “Can you spot anything else with your eagle-fresco eyes?”
The inspector’s face was still invisible in the darkness, mostly because Jeremy was showing him the basic courtesy of not blinding him with a torch, but for once Jeremy didn’t like to think it was displaying exasperation.
“I’m not an archaeologist, Jeremy. I don’t know what to look for in an ancient artefact.”
Jeremy sighed audibly.
“Fine. Well I’m going to at least check the rest of the room for anything else interesting before we go. People always used to be buried with treasure and stuff so there could be anything hanging around in the corners.”
“You’re not going to listen if I tell you not to, are you?”
“I’ll listen to what you say, but I probably won’t take any action on it until I’m done looking around.” Jeremy clarified.
“Fine. I suppose, given your assessment of the integrity of our surroundings, that the risks of remaining here for a few more minutes are acceptably low.”
With a smile that the inspector couldn’t see, Jeremy moved away from the disappointing sarcophagus and shone his torch along the remainder of the floor at the back of the room. Surveying as best he could, he scanned across the corner of floor and wall for anything interesting which may have been left there, wondering if he was about to stumble across a hoard of gold or ancient gemstones. Although he couldn’t see anything at all, let alone a mountain of treasure, he still crept gradually closer just in case something miniscule caught his eye at the last moment. With every step, however, his aspirations shrank a little further, and dreams of treasure chests deflated into hopes of chalices, and then to optimistic notions of spare change. Even unlikely prospects of bounced cheques found themselves disappointed as the narrow spot of light passed along bare stone after bare stone.
“There’s some writing on this sarcophagus.” The inspector stated casually from behind him.
Jeremy nearly tripped over his own broom.
“What?! Where?!”
“Just underneath the eagle, right here.” He said, shining his torch on two rows of angular lettering. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it, to be honest.”
Jeremy staggered over, leaning on his broom for emotional support and staring at the letters he had somehow glossed over. Having looked for them in the dark probably hadn’t helped matters, but it didn’t fully explain his total failure to detect anything other than the eagle.
“How on earth…”
“Hic jacet optimum aquilae”. The inspector said in slow, disjointed tones. Jeremy wondered if a mummy had possessed him after all.
“Pardon?”
“That’s what the writing says.”
"What does it mean? Do you know?"
"No. I don't know much Latin, other than et cetera. But having said that..." The inspector started, trailing off enticingly.
"Yeah?"
"Doesn't aquila mean something to do with eagles? Is it eagle? It might just be bird but I think it's eagle." The inspector debated, mostly with himself.
"That sounds familiar. I think you're right about eagle, and it would tie in pretty well with the eagle fresco, but I don't really know for sure either."
"Hm... optimum seems reasonably self-explanatory. I have no idea on the other two words though."
"So it's something about-"
"It’s probably about." the inspector corrected.
"What? Oh, yeah fine. It's probably something about the optimum eagle. They buried the optimum eagle here?" Jeremy proposed.
"Or it was the optimum place to bury an eagle." The inspector countered.
"Or it was the optimum thing to do to bury this particular eagle."
They both stood in the silent consideration of those who wilfully use too few facts to draw conclusions in which to put their full confidence.
“If you don’t know Latin, then how do you know the writing is in Latin in the first place?” Jeremy asked with hidden puzzlement.
The inspector shrugged.
“I don’t know how bricks are made, but I know them when I see them.” He said. Jeremy didn’t think that was strictly analogous, but also didn’t have the will to argue.
“So we're just standing about in a bird grave. A pretty grand bird grave.” Jeremy observed instead.
“Yes. Which means it’s definitely a change of land use.” The inspector decided.
“I mean… yes, but needs to be a dig site and to go into a museum!”
“Then those will be even more of a change to the use of the land!” The inspector declared with finality and boyish excitement. Jeremy didn’t want to rain on that parade after he’d been allowed to stay and look around. He himself could be excited about the discovery, and the inspector could be excited about writing someone up for circumstances entirely out of their control. It was as fine a time as any to live and let live.
“Come on, Jeremy.” Said the inspector, the sounds of his footsteps moving towards the staircase, where a spotlight from his torch was waiting for him. “Let's go and press charges against Mr Salton.”