Adventure of Arus 1 - 18th Century Cornwall

Salt spray lashes the rocks at Mount's Bay. Below the village, a narrow sea cave yawns open in the cliff like a secret mouth.

Arus reaches the rocky edge in time to see John Carter jam a shoulder against the stone, waving trembling fishermen toward the darkness.

Above them, boots hammer on the cliff path. The sharp commands of the Royal 25th Foot ring down through the surf.

A lantern glow flashes between the rocks, then vanishes. The first redcoats are close enough that Arus can hear their breath and the scrape of steel.

The fishermen hesitate at the cave mouth, one clutching a net, another staring back at the soldiers with white knuckles. A voice from above shouts that the village is to stand clear.

The redcoats remain focused on the path ahead, their lanterns casting long, erratic shadows that fail to pierce the deep gloom of the cove. Arus stays hidden in the jagged rocks, unseen by the soldiers above.

Arus slips from the black rocks to the wet shingle, but the stones betray him, clicking loud underfoot. Above, a soldier halts and turns his lantern toward the sound.

Arus reaches the mouth of a shallow tide-pool and drops behind a rib of kelp-slick stone, half hidden, half trapped in the open. The sea hisses at his boots, and the lantern glow starts probing lower.

Beyond the next outcrop, Arus catches a glimpse of a broken line of stones leading toward a darker crease in the cliff, a narrow channel the surf does not quite reach.

The search widens, but the new channel offers Arus one slim chance, a lower route into deeper shadow if he dares the slick rock before the lanterns swing back.

The lantern light sweeps across the shingle, catching the glint of a fisherman's boot as he attempts to scramble into the cave. The Sergeant shouts, and the entire patrol pivots toward the entrance, cutting off any hope of a quiet escape.

Arus lurches from the rocks with one hand to his temple, all swagger stripped away by pain. His boots skid on wet shingle, and he staggers into the lantern glow like a man who has just taken a blow to the head.

The Sergeant snaps his attention off the cave and onto Arus. Behind that flash of certainty, the fishermen keep moving into darkness, hidden by the sudden scramble.

Arus’s broken plea buys the cave mouth a breath of shadow. One of the fishermen slips fully inside, and John Carter’s hand appears at the edge of the rocks, beckoning the last men down the black path.

The Sergeant steps toward Arus, but his lantern stays turned on the supposed victim. The cave entrance remains open behind him, now half-lost to shadow and moving bodies.

The Sergeant lowers the lantern from the cave mouth and takes one hard step closer to Arus, measuring every breath for a crack. Behind him, the black gap of the sea cave opens wider, swallowed by shadow and silence.

Arus keeps his breath ragged and his story clean. The Sergeant’s gaze flicks to the path, to the rocks, to the dark behind Arus, and the weight in his face eases by a hair.

The Sergeant grunts, half convinced, and angles the lantern away from the cave mouth at last. The dim gap stays hidden in the shadowed rock, and his attention settles on Arus instead of the tunnel.

Behind the patrol, a faint scuff of boots moves somewhere deeper along the shore, swallowed fast by the surf and stone. The Sergeant waits, watching Arus for the next flaw.

The Sergeant’s hard stare loosens. The suspicion is still there, but it now has a hook of pity in it, and that is enough to bend his tone.

Behind his shoulder, the patrol’s lantern-light wavers along the rocks, while the cave mouth stays dark and patient. The men hold their places, waiting on the Sergeant’s word.

The Sergeant tips his chin toward the path and gives Arus a measured look, no longer only testing him, but ready to follow his lead.

Arus turns from the cave and limps along the shoreline path, one hand pressed to his head. He gives a low, pained grunt at each uneven step, just loud enough to catch the Sergeant’s ear, and the lantern follows him off the cave mouth.

The Sergeant falls in beside him, slowing the patrol with a curt gesture. His beam drops to the shingle and the dark smear of wet rock ahead, where Arus has already led him to a false place of violence.

Arus points out the scuffed stones and the broken shell line, and the Sergeant bends to inspect them. The cave mouth slips further into shadow behind them, left with only the patrol’s distant lantern-glow.

The act costs him a sharp twinge in the ribs from the hobble over the rocks, and a redcoat at the rear mutters that the story had best be true.