"Noted, sir."
"Recite it for me again. The most important rule."
Richard obediently repeated it.
"Down below, do not call anyone by their name. If you must call out, use codenames."
The old gentleman lifted his eyelids and glanced at him.
"Recite it again."
"...Down below, do not call anyone by their name. If you must call out, use codenames."
"Very good." Mr. Hutton closed his pocket watch. "Then let me put it to you another way."
"Down below, if you hear my voice call out to you—not ’Gray Eyes,’ but ’Richard’—is that me?"
Richard’s heart sank.
"...It’s not you."
"Correct." The old gentleman nodded.
"And if you hear the voices of Old Big and Mrs. MacNeil call you ’Richard’?"
"It’s not them either."
Mr. Hutton reached out and gently squeezed his student’s shoulder.
"From the moment our feet step into that iron cage until we’re back on the surface, any voice that calls you by your real name—no matter how much it sounds like me, no matter how perfectly it mimics my tone, my pauses, my choice of words—you are not to answer it."
"Even if..." The old gentleman raised his white eyebrows. "Even if the way it calls your name makes you feel like you absolutely have to look."
"Yes." Richard nodded solemnly.
"One more thing. For the things in the well, mimicking voices is just the basics."
"What they’re truly good at is mimicking ’relationships’."
The old gentleman’s gaze was fixed directly on his student.
"They will read the dynamic between you and each of us and perceive how things are ’supposed to be’."
"Then, using that ’supposed to be,’ they’ll construct a sentence that you’ll find hardest to refuse."
"For example, it might mimic my voice, call you ’Richard,’ and ask you for a detail from that notebook you were reading in the car earlier."
"Your first instinct will be to think that it’s just me discussing scholarly matters with you."
"By the time you realize something’s wrong, it’ll be too late."
A fine layer of goosebumps broke out on Richard’s back.
"Understand?" Mr. Hutton asked.
"Understood, sir."
Mrs. MacNeil walked over from the other side of the group.
The Spirit Medium was carrying her leather case.
"Have you told him everything he needs to know?"
"I have," the old gentleman nodded.
"Then let me add one more thing."
Mrs. MacNeil set the case on the back of the vehicle and lifted the lid.
She took out a porcelain jar from inside, unscrewed the lid, and revealed it was full of coarse salt.
The Spirit Medium used a small silver spoon to scoop some out of the porcelain jar.
That spoonful of coarse salt looked no different from the kind you’d find in a kitchen at home.
"Hold out your hand."
Richard opened his palm.
The Spirit Medium poured the spoonful of coarse salt into his palm.
"Put a grain under your tongue. Hold it there from the moment your foot steps onto the iron cage until it reaches the bottom."
"No matter what happens in between, do not swallow it and do not chew it."
"...Yes," Richard answered, his voice muffled.
"Put the rest of the salt in the inner pocket of your coat."
She gestured to the small pile of salt in Richard’s hand.
"If the grain under your tongue dissolves on the way down, immediately replace it with another from your inner pocket."
Richard did as he was told, wrapping the remaining salt in oil paper and tucking it into his coat’s inner pocket.
Mrs. MacNeil looked toward Old Big, who was standing not far away.
"Bigelow, same as always."
"I know. Brought my own."
Old Big also took out a small porcelain jar, poured out a spoonful, placed a grain under his own tongue, and pocketed the rest.
Only then did Richard realize that Mr. Hutton, Winterworth... and even the six Hunters from the patrol team—everyone who was going down the well was holding a grain of salt under their tongue.
Everyone’s mouth was shut tight, their jaws clenched.
Mrs. MacNeil placed the porcelain jar back into her leather case.
She turned back to look at Richard.
"While you have the salt in your mouth, do not try to speak."
"If you absolutely must communicate, use hand signals, eye contact, or a pen and paper."
"This is a rule, and it will save your life."
It dawned on Richard. As long as that grain of salt was there, every time he had the instinct to "answer," the grain would get in the way first.
That sensation was the reminder.
"Is it in place?" the Spirit Medium asked.
Richard nodded forcefully.
The Spirit Medium’s lips twitched slightly, a barely perceptible smile.
"Good."
She turned and walked toward the iron cage.
Mr. Hutton added one last thing from the side:
"Remember, the things down there love calling out the newcomer’s name most of all."
"They’ve been hungry for a very long time."
...
By the entrance to the shaft, Major Aud pressed a bronze button on the side of the iron cage, and it began to descend slowly.
The first group went down. The shaft was so deep you couldn’t see the bottom.
After more than a minute, the major’s voice finally echoed up from the bottom of the shaft.
"We’re here. Second group, come down."
The cage came back up, and the second group entered.
Richard stood next to Mr. Hutton.
The cage was crowded. He glanced at everyone inside out of the corner of his eye.
Everyone’s jaw was clenched, with a slight bulge in their cheek.
The chain pulley turned, and the cage moved down, bit by bit.
For the first part of the descent, a thin sliver of daylight from the surface was still visible past the wall of the shaft.
At a depth of about thirty feet, that sliver of daylight disappeared completely.
Richard discreetly used his Spiritual Vision to scan the shaft wall.
About every ten feet, a silver plate was embedded in the wall. There were Inscriptions on the surface of the plates.
Mr. Hutton turned his head. Without a sound, he used his finger to vaguely point at one of the silver plates on the wall, then made a hand gesture for "one hundred and fifty" to Richard.
Richard mentally translated the gesture into a complete sentence.
’The core area we have to pass through today is about one hundred and fifty feet below the surface.’
That was equivalent to the height of a twelve or thirteen-story building.

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