The stairwell stretched down. After three flights, the light from the door gave way, and only the faint gleam of gaslight on polished wood delineated the lower levels.
“How deep do they go?” asked Timothy.
“No one knows,” said Roweena. “The most successful team made it to the four-hundredth landing, establishing several base camps. The bones of less cautious men litter the stairs below.”
“Wow,” said Timothy. He fell silent for a time.
“Are you reconsidering, now that you have seen the Stairwell itself?”
“What? No! Here, help me up.” Timothy scrambled for the banister. “This is gonna be sweet.”