Chapter Three
John and Maggie kept their distance as everyone searched for the next clue. Cheryl sensed the tension in the air and wondered if anybody else did too. Was she the only one worried? Leo could have been hurt by that falling ladder. What business would deign to leave its customers unsupervised?
She had to keep reminding herself that she was not a good judge in situations like this. New experiences were not her forte, so what she was experiencing might just be social anxiety. Admittedly, all she wanted to do was get back above ground and race home. Maybe, once she was out of this gloomy steel tunnel with the line of gently swinging lightbulbs, she would laugh at herself. Until then, she would remain unsettled.
The rooms branching off from each side of the straight main tunnel were barred like prison cells, with gaps too narrow to pass anything larger than an arm through. Only one of them was unlocked, and with no other discoveries they all congregated around it.
Monty took point. “Okay, guys. How you wanna do this? Shall Monty take care of things, or should we all go in together?”
Cheryl imagined he thought referring to himself in the third-person was endearing or debonair, but it was neither of those two things in her opinion. “Maybe we should try working in teams of two,” she suggested. “The rooms aren’t that big. No point in bunching up.”
“Okay,” said Monty. “You’re with me then, luv.”
“Sounds good, babe!” She moved up beside Monty but stumbled when he bumped past her to get into the room. She wondered if he’d barged her on purpose. Jerk.
“What’s in there?” Maggie called through the bars.
A metal table stood at the back of the room. Various containers were arranged on it. “I’m not sure,” Cheryl shouted back. “Another puzzle, I think.”
“Looks like a bar,” said Monty, and he wasn’t wrong. Cheryl’s nose detected the bitter scent of alcohol, and one glass was clearly full of beer. Nestled between the various beverages was a red envelope which she picked up and opened. A piece of paper lay inside, and she slid it out. Before reading it, she turned to the others. “Shall I read it out loud?”
“Just get on with it,” John said irritably. He was clearly still annoyed at the revelation of his age.
“Okay, okay! It says: Take your tipple, youngest first.”
“Another riddle,” said Alfie, flopping against the other side of the bars and moaning. “Won’t there be any skill games or something? This is boring, man.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re dumb,” said Monty.
“Your mum didn’t think so last night!”
“My mum has a thing for retards.”
“Shut up,” said John. “Who knows the answer to the riddle? Anyone?”
“Hold on,” said Cheryl. “Let me look at what we have. Maybe there are more clues to find.”
Everyone remained silent while Cheryl examined the drinks on the table — six in total. She placed her hand around the beer glass and carefully lifted it. A foamy head fizzed on top, making her wonder how recently it had been poured. It wasn’t warm in her hand, but nor was it cold.
“Hey,” said Monty. “Hold it up. I think I just saw something.” Cheryl raised the beer in the air and Monty leaned forwards. “Yeah,” he said. “There’s a letter written on the glass. Look!”
Cheryl turned the glass and, sure enough, there was a letter painted in white — with liquid eraser, maybe? It was a lowercase ‘I.’ She picked up another glass from the table and this one was a delicate, crystal flute. “I think this might be champagne,” she guessed.
Maggie moaned outside the cell. “Oh, please, yes. Are there any rules about drinking it?”
Cheryl had an idea. She took the flute outside and handed it to Maggie in the tunnel. Maggie frowned, but took the flute as if it fit her hand perfectly. Cheryl saw a letter ‘l’ painted just above the stem.
“You want me to drink this?” Her lips wetted at the suggestion. “I could actually do with it right now. My head is killing me.”
“I’m not sure,” said Cheryl, “but the clue said to take your tipple. Champagne is your favourite?”
“Only because it costs a fortune,” John muttered.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Says the single malt drinker.”
Cheryl turned back to Monty who was still standing inside the room. “Hey, Monty. I don’t know what single malt is, but is there any on the table?”
“It’s whiskey,” said Monty, “and yeah, I think I have some here.”
Cheryl retrieved a tumbler through the bars from Monty and handed it to John. She was taken aback by how ‘woody’ the drink smelled, and it made her slightly woozy. “Is this single malt?” she asked John.
John took the tumbler and put it to his mouth. He took a small sip and smacked his lips. “Yep, that’s the good stuff.”
“So how is this solving the riddle?” Leo was grinning, enjoying himself despite the tension. “Are we supposed to get tipsy?”
“There are six drinks,” Cheryl explained. “Again, we need to leave me out because I haven’t been factored into the games, but that’s one drink for everyone. Maggie has champagne. John has single malt. What else do we have, Monty?”
“A beer and three other drinks. I think one might be cider.”
“That’s mine!” said Alfie. He retrieved the drink from Monty and held it up like he was relaxing at the club. “It’s my lucky drink. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve pulled after a night on this.”
Leo nodded his head. “Nice!”
“There’s a vodka here, I think,” said Monty, lifting a tumbler of clear liquid.
Leo put his hand up like he was in class. “Here.”
Cheryl was smiling now, enthused that they were about to solve another puzzle. It assured her they were still just playing a game, and that everything was as it should be. As long as they were solving puzzles, they were doing what they had come here to do. “Okay, okay, so we have a beer too. Happy, do you drink beer?”
Happy pulled a face and rubbed his tummy. “Too gassy at my age. No, if I do have the odd drink it’s a gin and tonic.”
Alfie chuckled. “That’s such an old person drink, man.”
Happy raised an eyebrow at the young lad. “It’s remarkably refreshing.”
“There’s a gin and tonic here, I think.” Monty handed a glass through the bars and Happy took it. There was a slice of lemon in it. He sipped at it and then sighed with pleasure.
“Okay,” said Cheryl, now looking at Monty. “The beer must be yours then.”
Monty grunted. “No, it ain’t. I don’t drink.”
Cheryl frowned. “Really?”
“I’m Muslim, innit?”
“Oh, yes, of course, sorry; but it makes no sense. Who does the beer belong to if not you? Damn, I thought I had it.”
Leo patted her on the back. “Bad luck, Cher. I thought you had it too.”
John grunted. “Okay, keep thinking everyone. I’m sure the answer is obvious.”
There was silence for half-a-minute while everyone thought about it. Eventually Alfie cleared his throat. “Um, Monty does drink. He’s blagging you, Cher. I’ve seen him down enough pints to know.”