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something to grip. Scrambling with both hands, he tried to lift himself to safety.
    Not until a fresh wave of water caught him did he manage to get his hands and then his elbows onto the edge of what was the opening to a tunnel. He drew a gasping breath and then another. But even so he might have fallen back had not a great surge lifted him and propelled him into the tunnel itself. The water followed him in and rose to the level of his neck. He forced himself farther into the tunnel on his hands and knees, scrambling upward, until finally he was beyond the water's reach.
    Panting, Owen heaved himself upright and lay back against the wall. There was a faint light coming from upahead and he could see that the tunnel was big enough to stand in. He got to his feet, his clothes soaking. The water surged toward him again, so he turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
    The tunnel walls were slimy and the stones underfoot were slippery, but there was enough light and the going got easier as the tunnel widened. He could feel fresh air on his face. The tunnel suddenly curved to the left and opened out. Owen stepped out of the tunnel, feeling the autumn sunshine on his face.
    He looked around and saw he was in a small courtyard. It was enclosed by shops and outbuildings, but it was obvious that no one had been there for many years. Doors sagged off their hinges and the windows were opaque with dust and cobwebs. Several old cars lay abandoned in the center of the courtyard, cars that were perhaps thirty or forty years old. Beside them was an old truck with canvas sides. Both of its doors were open, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. There was a stillness to the place. Owen had the feeling that no one had disturbed the silence there for many years.
    He walked cautiously around the courtyard. There was a shop selling old-fashioned mountaineering gear, the ropes now moldy and useless. Another sold camping gear, a rotted tent erected in the window. Next door the shop advertised auto spares, puncture repair kits, and things that you might need while traveling. A small shop whose front had collapsed had carried tinned food. Hundreds of tins had spilled out over the courtyard.
    This was a place where people stocked up for a long journey, Owen realized. And he had a good idea where that journey might lead.
    The final shop seemed older than the others. The big window was completely obscured with dirt. Owen wiped it with his sleeve to peer inside and revealed a large gold
G
printed on the glass. He wiped again, revealing other letters. They looked familiar.
    He held his breath as he wiped the rest of the glass, revealing a name:
J. M. Gobillard et Fils
. The same name that was on the mysterious chest in his bedroom!
    Owen stepped back to get a better look at the shop. There didn't appear to be any door and when he looked through the glass he saw only darkness. Then he realized there were wooden doors beside it, double doors large enough for a car to get through.
    He hesitated before taking hold of the big rusted bolt that held the doors closed. It screeched loudly as he forced it open, and he glanced nervously around the courtyard, feeling an air of disapproval in a place that had lain undisturbed for so long.
    With one final effort the bolt slid back. Owen swung the doors open and found himself looking into an opening. The ground was battered and rutted, the walls scarred and scraped. Graffiti in strange languages covered the notched plaster work of the walls, and huge broken lamps hung from the ceiling.
    A battered wooden sign pointed into the tunnel. Owen traced the letters with his finger. HADIMA .
    There was no mistaking that it was the entrance to a road, one that led down into the darkness. As he stood at the gateway, a cold, vigorous wind blew from the depths, carrying with it the smell of mountains and of snow.

O wen ran back down the tunnel. There was no sign of the flood that had swept him to it, except