“The most important places on a map are the places we haven't been yet”

― Jennifer Zeynab Joukhadar

When I first climbed the narrow stone stairs to the old part of the library, I was only looking to learn more about my surroundings. The map room was one of the oldest rooms in the place and looked the part. Stained glass panes let in rosy light through the tall arched windows, and below them was a niche with a cushioned window seat. I, however, stood before the series of shallow drawers with antique maps inside. Picking carefully through them, I found what I was looking for. I spread it out on the old wooden table in the center of the tiny room.

The map I chose showed the campus medicinal herb garden as it was a couple of hundred years ago. My task was to help restore the oldest part of the garden and design a few new bits, with plants of my choice. I planned to make a new map by hand. I know; why would I do that when I could use the Map Maker app and then program it into the app for the campus map?

The answer was cartography. For some reason, maps have always fascinated me. I like sea charts, too. Before the Internet (gasp!) I learned to use a map and compass to navigate a course, although not with much expertise. I always had a compass in my bag when hiking; one of the Ten Essentials (I was a Girl Scout). Just because I carry my compass on my smart watch now doesn’t change much; I still like to have a map of where I am in my head. And Google Maps doesn’t always pick the best route!

But back to the map room. I went to make a copy of the garden map, replaced the original, and then cozied up to the windows on the padded seat. Spread out before me were the beds and their occupants: lavender, rosemary, mint, coriander, basil; with creeping thyme around the paving stones, a few poppies, and old-fashioned rosebushes lining the walks. In one corner was the old herb garden greenhouse, with some more exotics like ginger, turmeric, and star anise. Squinting, I tried to make out a symbol I didn’t recognize. It didn’t seem to be another planting, but part of the structure of the place. I got up to find a magnifying glass in a drawer and returned to the map. The symbol now looked like this:

Was it a drain? But no others were marked on the map. I decided I’d have to go and see.

Walking downhill from the old library to the herb garden was soothing; past the cherry trees all covered in pink and the fountain at play. At last, I walked through the two guardian holly bushes and into the herb area itself. Going down the middle between the raised beds I finally came to the old greenhouse. I pushed the door open.

It was deserted, just like the rest of the garden. I referred to my map and went looking for the location of the funny symbol. Nothing obvious. 

“Hmmm,” I said to myself. 

I found a broom and began sweeping the far end of the greenhouse, checking the floor as I went. That took a while! The place looked like it hadn’t had any upkeep for years. 

Nothing.

Lifting an old mat that sat in the corner, however, there was something. The floor underneath should have been concrete, like the rest of the place, but it wasn’t. I found a three-foot square made of wood lurking in that corner. On one side was a shallow indentation that could be a handhold. So, I stuck my fingers in it and pulled.

The trapdoor rose up out of the floor, revealing a hole. In the middle of the hole was a circular metal plate covering most of the floor of the hole, with, you guessed it, the symbol on it. I climbed down to check it out. The symbol flipped up when I pried at it (breaking a fingernail in the process) and a hidden handle appeared.

At this point, I had to sit down for a minute. I could feel my heart thumping away and almost couldn’t get my breath. What was down there? Did I want to explore it by myself? 

Well, I thought, I’m not afraid of much. Am I? How could I get this far and not at least see what’s concealed under that symbol?

I pulled on the handle and the cover came slowly up. It was dark below, but I started down the steep stone stairs anyway, clinging to the metal handrail with each trembling step.

Stairs are not my favorite, and I’m not so fond of dark places either. Without a light, I couldn’t even see the foot of the stairs, and part way down, I wavered.

Maybe, I said to myself, I should come back with a flashlight. And maybe bring another person.

Common sense prevailed, and I climbed back up the steps and closed the circular cover. Leveling myself out of the hole, I replaced the trapdoor and the mat, put the broom away, and grabbed my map. As I walked down to the bus, I pondered; who could be enticed into going down those stairs with me?

At home, I thought this matter of a sidekick over as I packed a small knapsack for the next day. Water, a headlight on a strap, a phone charger, snack (you never know how long we might be down there), and a small sketchbook and pencil to map whatever was at the end of those stairs. What a chance! Maybe this was the first time anyone had made a map of the tunnel. Surely there was a tunnel? I wondered where it would lead. Then, although it was late, I called my friend Linda.

“Hello,” a sleepy voice answered. I’d forgotten that Linda was not a night owl, like me.

“Hi; it’s Gail,” I greeted her. “Are you up for an adventure?”

Linda usually was up for an adventure. We had traveled together a bit and anyone who tries to grab a calf on a mountain in Switzerland for a photo shoot is good to have on your side.

“Maybe,” she answered cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”

I described the tunnel under the greenhouse and my insatiable curiosity as to where it led.

“But I thought it would be safer with two. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Ok, but I’ll bring the snacks. We need healthy sustenance for adventures, not just chocolate.”

“Great,” I agreed. “Don’t forget a flashlight.” Although, I'd bring the chocolate myself, just in case.

In the morning we met at the greenhouse entrance. We made an interesting pair. Linda, tall, slim, and brunette to my short, not so slim, brunette self. There was no one around to notice us, though, for which I was glad because I didn’t want anyone to know about that tunnel.

When I opened the trapdoor and lifted the circular lid to the stairs, my friend raised an eyebrow.

“Huh,” she said. “How do you know it’s safe?”

“Well, that’s why there’s two of us,” I replied. “If one gets hurt, the other goes for help. Don’t worry, I’ll go first.”

I sat on the edge of the hole and dangled my feet down to the steps. 

“Why the hesitation, Captain Adventure?” Linda asked. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, I just have to turn on my light,” I said, turning on my headlamp and adjusting it over my forehead. “I’m going.”

The steps seemed secure, as I descended, testing each step as I went. Of course, I knew the first few were ok, as I’d been that far yesterday. I kept going, and Linda followed me, pulling the wooden trap door closed as she came.

The stairs had about a dozen steps. They ended in a small circular room made of brick. Ahead of us a tunnel, also lined with brick, was swallowed up by darkness. Unwelcome thoughts of being bricked into a concealed area, as in the story, The Cask of Amontillado, by Poe, crossed my mind. I pushed them aside.

“This is creepy,” Linda remarked, as we moved forward into the tunnel. She batted away a cobweb. 

“Good thing you’re taller than me, you can get the cobwebs out of the way,” I replied. She made a little squeaky noise, moving another one aside.

We walked slowly, letting our lights pick out the brick path and the walls ahead of us. The tunnel seemed to bend to our left. After a bit, I turned my head (and light) to the right, and I noticed that we were coming up to a turn. We slowed even more unable to see far along the new route.

“Shall we keep going?” I whispered. 

“Of course,” came the reply.

So we turned with the path and proceeded into more darkness. 

“Hang on,” said Linda, grabbing my arm. I jumped!

Ah, so sorry, Readers! This is the official cliff for my story to hang off. Check in next time for more!