The Fallen World

The Moon City - Part 3

     Matthew finished putting the finishing touches to the small piece of ironwood he’d been carving and carefully inserted it into the lock.

     It fit, he knew it fit. He could feel the way the carefully shaped teeth fit the levers of the lock, and if it had been made of good solid steel all he’d have had to do was turn it, putting all his strength into it, and eventually the stubborn tumblers would have given way and the door would open.

     This key was made of wood, though. Ironwood, true, but wood nonetheless, and its teeth were dangerously thin. For several minutes he was too scared to try it in case one of them broke off in the lock, jamming it forever. Still, a door one was too scared to open might as well be jammed forever for all the good it was, so he summoned all his nerve to put a little pressure on it, praying that it was meant to be turned in the same direction as modern locks.

     The levers remained stubbornly immobile, though, so the young soldier gently increased the pressure, a little at a time, dreading to hear the brittle snap that would mean that the key had broken. His fingers became slippery with sweat and his hand began to shake as the fear mounted in him, almost making him stop and go find the others, wanting one of them to take over and accept the responsibility. Another part of him rose up in anger, though, cursing him as a coward. It made him put still more pressure on the key. Stop dithering, he told himself angrily. Just do it. Something’s going to give, and if it’s the key, that’s just too bad. At least I’ll have had the courage to try.

     Not afraid any longer, he turned the key, treating it as though it were as strong and solid as steel. It refused to turn at first, but then there was a dry, brittle click and the end of the key was suddenly turning freely. Matthew was so certain that it had broken that, when he removed it from the lock and looked at it, it failed to register at first that it was still perfectly intact, and when the information finally trickled through to his brain, it just sat there on the edge of his awareness as if his mind didn’t know what to do with it.

     Gradually, the truth dawned on him and he jumped up in euphoria, almost drunk with delight. He pushed the door and almost fainted with victorious jubilation as it swung open with the dry, grinding sound of dust trapped between it and the floor.

     He spun around, intending to dash back and get the others, but stopped in his tracks as a thought occurred to him. Thomas had said that there must be something behind the door, something valuable, since that was the only conceivable reason for putting a locked door up here. If Diana was with him when he went through, though, the unbendingly law abiding young cleric wouldn’t let him keep anything he found. She would insist that anything valuable be given to the poor or returned to its rightful owner or something, as she’d done with every bit of real money they’d come across since they’d started journeying together. We’d be rich by now if it hadn’t been for her, he thought resentfully. He looked back at the door, standing temptingly ajar behind him. He stood, paralysed with indecision. After all, haven’t I earned some sort of reward for opening it? he said to himself as he pushed it all the way open.

     Beyond the door it was dark and gloomy, lit only by the light that filtered in through the open doorway. He tiptoed cautiously through and found himself in a large room, just a little smaller than the room he’d just left. A low chain fence ran parallel to the wall to his left, about two yards away from it, so that Matthew was confined by it to a narrow strip of the room between the door he’d come in by and another door in the opposite wall. Wondering why most of the room had been fenced off, the young soldier leaned over the low fence and thought he could see a large patch of darkness on the floor a couple of feet away. He stepped over the fence he knelt down to touch it.