Chapter 22Sunday Below Ground

I woke up on Sunday morning, totally chill, no rush or anything. Even though the day was all about relaxing and thinking, and we were doing it in such a weird, awesome place, it felt pretty good. Plus, we were all starting to get used to this kind of life.

I barely even thought about the sun, the moon, the stars, trees, houses, or towns - you know, normal stuff. Being so high up, we didn't really need to worry about any of that.

The grotto was a huge, amazing hall. The stream flowed gently and pleasantly across the granite floor. It was so far from its hot source that the water was barely lukewarm and you could drink it no problem.

After a simple breakfast, the Professor decided to spend a few hours organizing his notes and calculations.

"First things first," he said, "I’ve got a bunch to double-check and prove, so we know exactly where we are. I want to be able to make a map when we head back up - like a vertical slice of the globe, you know, the profile of the whole trip."

"That would be a really cool thing, Uncle, but can you be sure about your observations?"

"Totally. I’m always careful to note the angles and slopes. I'm positive I haven't messed up. Grab the compass and see what it says."

I checked out the instrument carefully. "East, a bit southeast."

"Perfect," the Professor said, writing down the observation and doing some quick math. " Looks like we’ve traveled two hundred and fifty miles from where we started."

"So, the giant waves of the Atlantic are crashing above us?" "Yep."

"Could there be crazy storms happening right above us, and ships fighting against the wind, like, right over our heads?"

"It's totally possible," my uncle said, smiling.

"And could whales be messing around in schools, kicking up the bottom of the sea - the ceiling of our super-strong prison?"

"Don't even worry about that; they're not gonna break through. But let’s get back to our calculations. We’re southeast, two hundred and fifty miles from the base of Sneffels, and, according to my notes, I think we’ve gone down sixteen leagues."

"Sixteen leagues - fifty miles!" I blurted out. "I’m sure of it."

"But that’s the most that science says the Earth’s crust can be," I replied, remembering my geology studies.

"I'm not arguing with that," he said quietly.

"And according to all we know about heat, we should be seeing a temperature of fifteen hundred degrees Reaumur right now."

"We should be - you’re saying that, kid."

"Which means this granite wouldn’t exist - it’d be totally melted."

"But you see that it’s not, and that facts, like always, are super stubborn and ignore all theories."

"I gotta go with what I’m seeing, but I’m still really surprised."

"What’s the thermometer actually saying?" the philosopher asked. "Twenty-seven point six."

"So science is off by fourteen hundred and seventy-four point six degrees. That proves that the idea of a steady increase in temperature was wrong - a total bust. Humphry Davy looks good right now. I was right to trust him. Got anything to say about that?"

If I’d spoken up, I could’ve said a lot. I wasn't buying into Humphry Davy's theory - I still stuck with the idea that heat increased proportionally, even though I didn’t really feel it.

I was way more willing to believe that this volcano chimney was covered in lava that didn't conduct heat well - a total bad conductor. It kept the heat from spreading through the sides. The hot water jet backed me up on this.

But I wasn't going to get into a long, pointless argument or look for more reasons to disagree with my uncle. I just took things as they were.

"Okay, sir, I’m assuming all your calculations are spot on, but let me draw a solid conclusion from them."

"Go for it, kid - what’s on your mind?" my uncle said, grinning.

"Right here, under Iceland’s latitude, the Earth is about fifteen hundred eighty-three leagues deep."

"Fifteen hundred eighty-three and a quarter."

"Alright, let’s round it to sixteen hundred. So, out of a sixteen-hundred-league journey, we’ve covered sixteen." "Yeah, what’s the big deal?"

"And we’ve done it with a diagonal trip of at least eighty-five leagues." "Totally." "It took us twenty days." "Exactly twenty days."

"So, sixteen is one-hundredth of our whole plan. If we keep going like this, it’ll take us two thousand days - that’s like five and a half years just to go down."

The Professor crossed his arms and just listened, not saying a word.

"Not even counting that if sixteen leagues down costs us eighty-five across, we’ll have to go about eight thousand leagues southeast. We’ll hit the outer edge way before we ever reach the center."

"Don't even worry about your calculations," my uncle yelled, totally losing it. " What's the basis for them, anyway? How do you know this passage doesn't just lead us straight to where we need to be? Plus, I'm lucky enough to have a precedent!"

"Someone else did this already, and they succeeded, so why can't I?"

"I really hope you do, but I guess I could - "

"You’re allowed to stay quiet," Professor Hardwigg snapped, "when you’re talking as crazy as this."

I realized right away that the old professor was still kicking in my uncle - and scared to set off his temper, I dropped the awkward topic.

"Okay, so," he explained, "check the manometer. What's it reading?" "A lot of pressure."

"Perfect. You see, by going down slowly and getting used to how thick the air is down here, we won’t have any problems."

"Well, I guess not, except maybe some ear pain," I said, trying to be a little dark.

"That's nothing, and you can easily fix it by letting some outside air into your lungs."

"Got it," I said, because I was totally not going to argue with my uncle.

"I'm almost excited to dive into this thick air. Did you notice how sound travels so well?"

"Of course. There's no doubt a trip to the center of the Earth would be a great way to cure deafness."

"But then, Uncle," I said cautiously, "the density will just keep getting thicker."

"Yeah - according to a law, though it's not really well-defined. It’s true that how heavy things feel gets weaker the deeper you go. You know it’s strongest on the surface, but way down at the center of the earth, stuff doesn't feel heavy at all."

"I know, but as we go down, won't the atmosphere eventually become as dense as water?"

"I know it," my uncle said, totally serious. " Under a pressure of seven hundred and ten atmospheres."

"And even lower down?" I asked, kinda nervous.

"Well, lower down, it’s even denser."

"So, how are we gonna get through this thick air?"

"Well, my boy," Professor Hardwigg said. " We gotta weigh ourselves down by filling our pockets with rocks."

"Seriously, Uncle, you've got an answer for everything," I replied.

I started to think it wasn't a good idea to push things further with all these 'what ifs. I'd probably bring up something impossible that would totally freak out the Professor. It was clear that air under crazy pressure - like, thousands of times normal - would eventually become solid.

And then, with our bodies pushing against it, we'd just stop, no matter what we thought. Facts are facts. But I figured it was best not to bring it up. My uncle would just bring up Saknussemm.

Even if that Icelandic dude actually made the journey - there's a simple answer: They didn't have barometers or manometers back in the sixteenth century. So, how could Saknussemm have known when he actually reached the center of the earth?

I kept that complicated thought to myself, though. I took a deep breath and waited to see what happened - totally clueless about how wild our journey was about to get.

The rest of the chill day was all about figuring things out and chatting. I made sure to agree with the Professor on everything. But I was kinda jealous of Hans. He didn't stress about why things were happening, just went with the flow wherever destiny led him.