He looked up expecting to see Bard peering over the edge. The hole was already closed. Water sloshed over the side of his shoes, soaking his socks. It smelled like a backed up sewer. Behind him a dark tunnel stretched on forever. Ahead, a faint, swinging light shone against brick walls. Oz assumed by falling into the crack in the earth he’d be entering Hell. So far, there was nothing Hell-like about it. Walking on tip-toe, he inched toward the light. It turned out to be a lantern attached to the front of a small boat, which cast a large enough glow that when he was close enough, Oz was able to see a group of seven or eight people huddled together behind a tall red-headed man in a grey mechanic’s jumpsuit. The man dribbled a blue yo-yo with one hand. In the other, he held a small, tin bucket. The name tag on his jumpsuit read, Arizona. “You’re just in time. We’re about to shove off,” Arizona said and held out the bucket. “Drop your coins in here and we can be on our way.”