Riddle In Stone (Book 1)

by Robert Evert

  “‘Oh little speckled fish,’ Ico said. ‘I will save your life once again, but I want you to bring me three fish tomorrow that are even bigger and tastier than what you gave to me yesterday.’

  “The little fish tried to explain that she had no more friends to bring up into the mountains, but Ico demanded that she do so or he would eat her. He, he, he even dangled her over his mouth, lowering her down closer to his waiting jaws until she agreed to bring three even bigger, and tastier fishes than before. So he let her go.”

  Edmund looked at his audience. Even Crazy Bastard was sitting and listening to him. Pond Scum waved for him to go on. Turd grunted a disgusted laugh, but didn’t turn away.

  “So, the next day Ico went to the river and cast his net into the water. Immediately something seized it. It pulled so hard that Ico flew off his feet and landed in the river’s cold water. As he bobbed to the surface, the last thing that he ever saw was the fins of three very large sharks swimming right for him.”

  Pond Scum and Vomit applauded as much as their fatigue would allow. Crazy Bastard jumped up and danced, hitting himself repeatedly in the chest. Turd shook his head.

  “You can’t tell a story to save your life,” he said. “You ruined it with all of that stuttering. Do you even know what the moral of the story is?”

  “Don’t listen to talking fish?” offered Pond Scum.

  Turd shook his head again. “No, don’t trust women, for they are easy to catch, but treacherous to possess.”

  “Not bad,” Vomit said. “But Turd is right. You need to work on your delivery. But I appreciate the effort.”

  Above them they could hear the clinking armor of a guard walking around the tops of the pits. They all fell silent. The guard frowned down at them and then continued walking.

  “Okay,” Pond Scum whispered when the clanking of guard’s armor had died away. “He won’t return for a few minutes. Let’s get down to brass tacks. What do you think? Can you do it?”

  Staring up out of the pit, imagining the stars in the clear night sky and the cool autumn breeze brushing his clean face, Edmund smiled. Then he realized that Pond Scum, Vomit, and Turd were all watching him. “What? I’m, I’m sorry. What?”

  “Can you get us out of here?” Vomit whispered.

  “What? N-n-now?”

  “Not necessarily right this second,” Vomit replied.

  “Though, if you could, that would be much appreciated,” Pond Scum said. “What do you think? Can you?”

  With an effort, Edmund rolled onto his side. His quaking arms pushed him into a sitting position. Vomit and Pond Scum got closer. Turd listened from where he sat. Crazy Bastard whittled away at the pit’s wall with his finger.

  “W-w-w-well,” Edmund sputtered.

  Make them believe. But buy time. You need time. Make them think you have value.

  “It, it, it’s like you what said before, escaping is easy; it’s the surviving that’s problematic.”

  “Escaping is easy?” Vomit repeated, raising an eyebrow at Pond Scum.

  “What I meant was that getting away was easy. Fleeing into the mines and all. That’s easy. But actually getting out and home is another animal, so to speak.”

  Don’t blow this. Make them think you are actually useful. Make them think you can get them out of here.

  That’s not going to happen.

  If you don’t make them believe, they’ll have no use for you. They’ll probably eat you like they ate Excrement and poor Thorax.

  “Pond Scum said that if we all just ran at the same time, they might get three or four of us, but that one or two of us might make it deeper into the mines,” Edmund said in the voice he used when somebody wanted to sell him a book they claimed was rare. “Is that, is that a fair approximation? One or two out of five?”

  “That’s about right,” Turd said, flexing his injured right hand. “If we get deeper into the mines, could you get us to the outside?”

  You know what he wants to hear. Just say it.

  “Maybe,” Edmund replied. “But if we’re going to do this, we have to do it right. I don’t want to get caught and have them . . . ” He trailed off, remembering who he was speaking to.

  Vomit motioned for him to go on. “No. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re absolutely right. We’ll have only one chance. We need to think about it and plan carefully. My mistake was that I panicked and just ran when I thought the guards weren’t watching. I ran into a dead end.”

  “Right! So, what do you need from us?” Pond Scum asked. “What do you need to make a plan?”

  They all leaned closer. Their eyes fixed on Edmund, eager and desperate.

  Don’t blow this. Convince them that you can help them and they’ll leave you alone!

  For a little while at least.

  Long enough for you to figure out how you’re going to get yourself out of here.

  “The first thing I need is time,” Edmund said, selecting his words carefully. His pit mates exhaled, disappointed. “It would . . . it would seem to me that, right now, the gob . . . they, it seems to me that they will be expecting me to try to make an escape sometime soon, being new and all. They’ll be watching and waiting. Is that a fair assumption?”

  Vomit nodded. “They’ll be watching until they think you have been broken.”

  “Right. So, stop glancing around like you’re sizing the place up,” Pond Scum added. “Just keep your eyes on the ground.”

  “And act pathetic,” said Vomit.

  “That won’t be difficult,” Edmund replied. “But, but tell me. What do people usually act like, I mean . . . other than being dead tired. What do they act like when they are broken? Wh-what should I do?”

  “Cry,” Turd said from the rear of the pit. “Cry like a woman.”

  “Yes,” agreed Vomit, “sob uncontrollably for a couple days and then just stop.”

  “At that point,” Pond Scum said, “simply stare into oblivion. Do whatever the guards say. Just do it without thinking. Don’t flinch or hesitate. Just let your face and body go numb and do whatever you’re told.”

  “Again,” Edmund replied. “That shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “Okay, okay,” Pond Scum said. “What else? What else do you need?”

  Edmund thought. “I need information. For instance, suppose that we were to get away from the guards. How, how, how long could we hide in the mines? I mean, that is to say, how big are they? How long would it take them to find us, you know, once we got away?”

  “They’d never find us,” Pond Scum replied.

  “Never is a long time,” Vomit said. “But they are vast. I’ve been here longer than anybody, except for Crazy.”

  Crazy Bastard yelped like a dog stuck with a pin. He put one of his knuckles in his mouth and bit down.

  “I’ve been here years,” Vomit went on. “I don’t think I have worked in the same place more than a handful of times. They do that so we can’t get a feel for where we are and find our way around.”

  “The mines are extensive,” said Turd. “If we get away, and we’re smart, they won’t find us. But we need to be able to get out of them all together. We need to get home.”

  Home . . . What a wonderful word.

  “But it’s the surviving in the mines that’s the trick,” Pond Scum said. “Like I mentioned before, without food we’d die in a week’s time. Maybe ten days.”

  “We’ll also need water,” Edmund said, wondering how long he could keep up his charade.

  “There’s plenty of water in the mines,” Turd replied in a tone implying that Edmund was an idiot.

  “Yes, yes,” Edmund said, flummoxed. “Yes, of course. There always is, I suppose. But we need something to carry it in, you know? Otherwise, we’d be confined to hiding only where water was available . . . which is just what the gob . . . they, it is just what they would be thinking. But . . . if we could get something to store water in, we could hide where they wouldn’t be looking for us. Away from water, I mean. See my logic?�
�

  Turd appeared to agree. “So we’ll need to grab the barrel they keep the water in as we are running. That’ll slow one of us down.”

  “Perhaps. Or we can find another way to carry water for periods of time.”

  “Okay, okay,” Pond Scum said. “What else do you need?”

  “Well, again, the water and food are critical.” Edmund thought. His stomach grumbled. His head was clouding with hunger and fatigue.

  End this conversation so they’ll go to sleep. Then you can cast your spell.

  “Of course, weapons, weapons would be handy. After all, eventually we’ll need to fight our way out, as Turd said. That’ll take some time for us—”

  As soon as Edmund said “weapons,” Pond Scum began digging. After digging down a couple feet, he pulled from the dirt two items that looked like curved white sticks with sharpened ends. He handed them to Edmund.

  “What are they?”

  “Ribs,” Pond Scum said. “Courtesy of Excrement.”

  Realizing that he was holding human remains, Edmund shuddered and pushed them back at Pond Scum.

  “We would’ve made more,” Pond said, regretfully. “I wish we could’ve made something out of his big leg bones, but the guards examined the remains every day. We didn’t think they would miss a couple of ribs, which they didn’t.”

  “Nice work,” Edmund found himself saying, wiping his filthy hands on his filthy chest. “Those, those are a start at any rate.”

  “What else do you need?” Vomit asked.

  Buy time. Think!

  “I need . . . I need to get a feel for how the gob . . . they . . . how they react and everything. I need to see the pattern of their behaviors, which guards do what, and so forth. For instance, perhaps there are some guards who are more relaxed or distractible than the others . . . or slower.”

  “D’arco,” Pond Scum and Vomit said in unison.

  “He’s older than most of the guards,” Vomit added. “He’s slow on his feet.”

  “Don’t underestimate D’arco,” Turd replied, massaging his hands. “Don’t underestimate any of them.”

  “True,” Edmund said, trying to think of ways to sound knowledgeable. “We’ll also need a few things to increase our chances. And I, I don’t like the idea of only one or two of us making it out alive. I’d like to make sure that we can all survive.” They looked at him, doubtful. “Or, or at, at least reduce the number of the casualties.”

  Everyone but Turd appeared to agree.

  “Look,” Edmund said. “I think we just need to wait and watch for a while, until they don’t suspect anything. B-but, but right now . . . I really need to sleep.” His stomach rumbled again.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Vomit said, hobbling back to his area. “We probably only have six hours before they come and get us.”

  “Six?” Edmund said, shocked. “We . . . we worked for, for maybe twelve, thirteen hours. We’ve only been talking for an hour, maybe two. We should, we should have . . . ”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Pond Scum asked. “They keep us on a twenty-hour schedule. Sometimes shorter. Sometimes longer. It’s another way they mess with our minds.”

  “Six hours before we start again?” Edmund replied.

  “More like five now,” Vomit said. “So get some rest. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

  Everyone returned to their areas and lay down. Even Crazy Bastard, who had been silent throughout the entire discussion, curled on the ground like a kitten. He giggled. “Magic!”

  Edmund stretched his back, staring up into the darkness, listening to the tired breathing of his pit mates.

  They’re going to kill you once they realize you’re a fake. They’re going to kill you, eat your fat carcass, and then use your bones for weapons. It’s just a matter of time.

  Maybe. But if I’m going to die, it’s going to be trying to escape. I’m not going to get injured like Turd or go insane like Crazy Bastard. And I’m sure as hell not going to let those bastard goblins slice my leg and make me a cripple.

  Do you really believe that you can get out of here?

  If I can use them . . . if I can get them to do what I need them to do . . . then, when an opportunity presents itself, I think there is a good chance that I can be the one who makes it deeper into the mines. But the others have to believe. They have to believe and do what I want them to do, whatever that’s going to be. I need time.

  Edmund listened. He could hear the clinking armor of the guards strolling around the cavern above. He could also hear the rhythmic breathing of at least three of his pit mates as they slept.

  You might as well try now. They can’t see you in this darkness anyway.

  Rolling his aching body onto its side, Edmund faced the wall, using his back to shield his hands from the view of the others. He concentrated on the spell his father taught him long ago. He rarely had cast it. In fact, since his father was poisoned to death, he probably had cast it no more than three times. He never had had the need to; that is, not until now.

  He whispered the words.

  “Mat av nå.”

  It appeared briefly in his tired mind and then slipped in a fog. He tried again.

  “Mat av nå.”

  His head grew light. Pinpricks of cold sweat stabbed at his face. A dark, swirling sensation filled his consciousness. His breath faltered. He was falling into blackness. Then his fingers twitched and he felt it. With an effort, his trembling arms brought the biscuit to his mouth. He bit into it, his stomach singing.

  I don’t remember these tasting this good.

  Shut up. Just make sure you don’t leave any crumbs. If they knew you could create food, they’d demand that you make some for them. And you can’t make enough to go around!

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Still alive eh, Filth?” one of the guards said, in mock disappointment. “A lot of people are going to be mighty upset to hear you’re still with us. I suspect a few of them will be paying you a little visit while you’re sleeping tonight. But don’t worry. As long as you make it past midnight, I’ll be happy.”

  Edmund, his head down, his aching shoulders hunched, hobbled into line. Like a corpse, his body had stiffened during the night. He couldn’t turn his head or bend his spine without feeling pain. He couldn’t raise his arms above his waist. Even breathing made him wince.

  This isn’t going to work. I can’t even lift a pick, let alone swing it over my head for twelve hours. This is it. I won’t be able to do a thing today. The guards are going to kill me. Cast the healing spell. Cast it now!

  Calm down. You can’t cast anything with everybody watching. And you’ll need to save your strength. I don’t expect that you’ll be earning much food today. So you’ll have to make it yourself. Just wait and watch.

  “Ready?” a goblin with a torch called to the other guard. “All right. Move the vermin out. Double time. Let’s go. There’s work to be done.”

  A whip cracked above Edmund’s head, but he was too drained to flinch. Following the guard with the torch, the line of slaves jogged out of the cavern and into a dark side passage. For an indeterminable length of time, they ran through countless tunnels that wound steadily downward to the mountains’ roots.

  Sweat trickled into Edmund’s eyes. He attempted to brush it away, but ended up wiping more grime in them. Unable to see, he stumbled forward, compelling his rubbery legs to keep moving as he sucked in air.

  I can’t . . . I can’t do this. I can’t keep up. I have to . . . I have to stop.

  You stop and you’ll feel more than wind from that guard’s whip. Keep going! Try not to think about it. Don’t think about anything.

  I can’t! I can’t . . . go on.

  Edmund’s feet tripped over themselves. Pain flashed though his body with every huffing breath. He began to cry.

  “Shut your sniveling,” one of the guards told him. “We’re here and you better thank me for it.”

  Bending over, his hands on his knees, Edmun
d gulped in air. The guard shoved an iron club under his chin and forced his head up.

  “What did I tell you?” he asked, cocking the whip over his shoulder.

  “Thank . . . thank you.” Edmund coughed. “Thank you.”

  “Know how many other vermin would kill to have this job? Get to work or I’ll find something less pleasant for you to do.”

  The guard shoved Edmund into the cavern.

  He fell headlong onto smooth pebbles blanketing the wet ground. For a moment, he laid there, catching his breath and sobbing, his tightening body refusing to move. A hand appeared.

  “You better get up,” Pond Scum said. “Things will go poorly for you if you don’t.”

  Against his body’s wishes, Edmund clasped Pond Scum’s hand and willed himself to his feet. Knocking away the pebbles that clung to him like leaches, he peered around.

  They were at the bottom of a wide subterranean gorge deep beneath the mountains. In front of them was a swift-moving stream, perhaps ten feet wide. Clear water a couple of feet deep swooshed and shimmered in the torchlight as it raced over millions of polished stones. The stream appeared out of the blackness to their right and flowed into a cavern to their left. Cliffs, honeycombed with tunnels, holes, niches, and crawlways of varying sizes, faded into the impenetrable shadows high above them.

  Next to the waiting slaves were three mountains of grey stone—debris from the previous day’s mining. Standing in line behind Pond Scum, Edmund eyed the clear water, its soft burbling making him feel even more exhausted.

  That’s the most beautiful stream I’ve ever seen.

  I just want to sleep . . .

  Don’t rivers flow out of mountains?

  Rivers do. Streams like this one might not. It might end in some underground lake or abyss.

  Still . . .

  “All right,” Vomit said, limping up to them. “This is what they want. They want us to take these rocks here and dam up the stream where it exits over there.” He waved a hand to the opening through which the stream left the gorge. “We need to take the larger slabs and boulders and place them down first. Then we can shovel the rest of the stones in front of it. We keep going until everything is gone. Got it?”