Up from the Dark

A chain hanging down an open shaft isn't there for decoration. I leaned over the slate wedge, got both hands around the icy links, and hauled. The iron was slick with black sludge, fighting back with every inch. It took four hard heaves, planting my boots against the masonry and wedging the fork of my dowsing stick across the rim to keep the slack from slipping back down. Dripping foul well water all over the gravel, the end finally clanked onto the stone ledge. Hooked to the final link was a heavy brass cylinder, wrapped tight in rotting cord and sealed at both ends with wax.