“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Carlos asked. The light from his lantern immediately bobbed toward her.
“I think I’ve found it!” Poppy said. “Yes! This passage keeps going…and there are candle stubs on the walls. This must be the way.”
Carlos joined her, looking with trepidation down the dark, narrow passage. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be without knowing what’s on the other side. Come on!” She took a few steps into the passage. When she heard nothing behind her, she turned. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” Carlos said, still peering into the passage, his face more serious than usual. He walked forward a few paces. “I just don’t care for tight spaces.”
“Well, if this is the route the smugglers use, it can’t be that tight. They carry boxes and barrels and such.”
“True.” He exhaled and began to walk again, holding the lantern higher up. “Let me know if you see anything unusual. A branch tunnel, or a door, or something. I’d hate to lose the path.” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
“Of course.” Poppy went on ahead, keeping a steady pace. She was so excited she didn’t want to wait. But she kept getting ahead of Carlos, and had to pause. She assumed Carlos was slowed by the low ceiling. But when the tunnel took an abrupt turn to the right, he stopped short.
“I can’t go on,” he said finally. “This space…”
“What’s wrong?” Poppy walked back to him. “I’m sure this is the right path.”
“It’s not that.” The lantern’s light shone on him, revealing wide eyes.
“You don’t like the dark?” she guessed.
“I’m fine with the dark. It’s the closeness. The walls…” He stopped. His chest heaved as though he’d just run a mile. “I hate it.”
“Then let me go on alone—”
“No. You absolutely can’t do that.” He sounded a bit more like himself then.
“I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“According to what logic?”
“None, I suppose,” she admitted. “But I don’t want you to suffer.”
He shook his head. “I’m not suffering.”
“Yes, you are.” Poppy watched Carlos carefully, at last understanding his distress. “You’ve got a fear of being shut in small spaces. Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to be here.”
“Carlos. Listen to me.” Poppy put her free hand on his shoulder, compelling him to focus on her. “We are going to get out of here one way or another. We are not trapped. We are not alone. We are not in danger. Now, take a few deep breaths, and close your eyes. Think about being on your ship, with the horizon all around you, fresh air, the sky above…”
After a few minutes of Poppy describing a very different setting, Carlos’s breathing slowed to normal, and the lines in his face relaxed slightly.
Then he said, “When I was seven years old, my older brother locked me in a linen closet once during a game of hide and seek that we were playing with some other children. He thought it was so clever.”
“He knew you didn’t like tight spaces and he did it anyway?” she asked, dismayed.
“I wasn’t afraid when he did it. I thought it was a good hiding place, too. But then he left and didn’t come back. I shouted and pounded on the door for a long time. It was dark and tight, and I couldn’t do anything. No one came back. I got hungry and scared and I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“How long were you in there?”
“The next morning, a maid opened the closet to get some sheets, and she found me, unconscious at last. The previous day, everyone thought that someone else had found me and I’d simply wandered off. I did that a lot. Then he and Mamá went for an overnight visit to a friend’s home. Our grandmother thought I was on the visit as well, and Mamá thought I was at home with my abuela. If the maid hadn’t come to find new linens…” He trailed off. “I didn’t speak to my brother for two weeks after. And for years, I wouldn’t set foot in any room without at least two doors or a window. I still look for ways out…I know it’s irrational.”
“Not at all.” Poppy squeezed his hand in her own. “Listen, I have an idea for how to get through this place.”
“Make the tunnel five times wider?”
