by Tom Hoffman
“You don’t call them shadows?”
“I do not.”
Bartholomew was getting a very good feeling about this shaper.
“My friend who was also captured is a scientist and is working on the duplonium powered diggers, whatever those are.”
“You’ll see them tomorrow. Come with me in the morning and I’ll teach you everything you need to know about mining ferillium. It should take you about five minutes to learn it all. I haven’t been here long and sad to say, I’m an expert. By the way, I’m R74 as you can plainly see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, R75.”
“Those are the names we use here?”
“Only if you wish to avoid Simon’s stick, or far worse from the Grymmorian guards.”
“How did you come to be in the mine?”
“I was betrayed by someone I trusted. There are good shapers and bad shapers, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“To be completely honest, I’ve never spoken to another shaper before. Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”
“Ask away.”
“What are these?” He pulled the dark glasses out of his pocket and held them in front of R74.
“Put those away! Are you trying to get us killed?” R74 looked around to see if any of the other rabbits had seen them.
Bartholomew stuffed the glasses back into his pocket. R74 moved closer to Bartholomew and began talking in a low voice. “Never show those to anyone. Plenty of rabbits have lost their lives over a pair of World Glasses. They are of enormous value. You’re fortunate I’m not an unscrupulous shaper like the one who sent me here.”
“When I was wearing them I found something that looked like a hallway filled with doors. What was that place?”
“They are called World Doors, and very few shapers have had the opportunity to see them. I will try to explain it, but it’s a complex subject. My very basic understanding of it is that there are many worlds occupying the same space. Our world is one of them. There is also a place called the Void. The Void is the dark space which separates all the worlds. No matter where you are in the Void, you are one step away from any of the worlds. The hallway you spoke of is in the Void, and each door leads to another world. World Doors are ancient beyond our understanding. That is the extent of my knowledge.”
“There was a symbol on the door knob. It was a single eye. Does that mean anything to you?”
“A single eye? You saw this yourself?
“I did.”
R74 looked around the room again to make certain they were not being watched. He reached inside his coat, opened a hidden pocket and withdrew a gold ring, cupping it carefully so only Bartholomew could see it. It had a single eye on it with a small diamond in the center. It was the same eye Bartholomew had seen on the World Door.
“This is a Shapers Guild ring.” He slipped it back into his pocket.
“That’s the same symbol I saw. Do you think shapers built the World Doors?”
“I doubt it. It’s far more likely shapers adopted the symbol from an ancient culture or another world.”
There was a stirring at the end of the room. Simon had entered. “Dinner for rabbits who want it!”
R74 stood up. “Time to eat, my friend. The bad news is the food is ghastly. The good news is there is plenty of it.”
After dinner the rabbits all returned to the bunk house, as they were not allowed outside in the evening. Most of them lay down on their bunks and went to sleep. The twelve hour work days were exhausting. Bartholomew lay down, deciding to rest up for the next day. Sleep did not come easily with the coughing and snoring sounds that echoed throughout the bunkhouse, but eventually it did come.
He awoke abruptly the next morning to the sound of a clanging bell and Simon shouting, “Breakfast for rabbits who want it!” Bartholomew followed R74 into the dining area. Breakfast was the same as dinner but served cold. He ate as much as could, knowing he would need his strength for the day’s work.
Simon rang the bell again and breakfast was over. The rabbits swarmed back to the bunkhouse and changed into their mining gear. Bartholomew found a canvas mining suit in his wooden chest, and put it on over his clothes as he had seen the other rabbits do. He followed R74 out the front door. Hundreds of rabbits were pouring out of the bunkhouses like ants, heading towards the roads which spiraled up around the outer walls of the mine. Bartholomew followed R74 up to the second tier of roads.
“This is where we work. It’s not complicated. There are huge machines called diggers. That’s what your friend is working on. They’re shaped like fifty foot long cigars but have mammoth grinding wheels in the front. The digger bores into the side of the cavern, usually a hundred feet or so, sometimes more. The rock it grinds up passes through the main body of the digger and comes out the back. Once the digger stops, we move in. Our job is to shovel the rock fragments into wagons, then dump the ore onto the conveyor belts. I’m not sure where the belts take it, but it must go someplace where they process it to remove the ferillium. Once we clear away enough rocks to free the digger, it backs out, rolls over about twenty feet and the whole process starts over again.”
“What do they do with all the ferillium?”
“The short answer is nobody really knows. I’ve heard rumors about something called a ferillium crystal, but there are always rumors being passed about. Here’s your shovel. It’ll be your friend for the next twelve hours. Keep moving no matter how slowly. The guards are far worse than Simon ever thought of being. Never make eye contact with them, and do whatever they say.”
Bartholomew took the shovel from R74 and walked over to where the digger had bored into the cavern wall. He began shoveling rocks into the wagon, matching the pace of the other rabbits in the area. When his wagon was filled, R74 showed him where to take it. They rolled it onto a catwalk, then latched it to a hinged platform. R74 pulled a lever and the wagon flipped over, dumping the ore onto a monstrous conveyor belt below.
“That’s it. You now know everything I know about mining ferillium.”
Bartholomew laughed. “I suppose it is good exercise, with no annual club dues to worry about.”
He was not in such a jovial mood at the end of the day, when he painfully dragged himself back to the bunkhouse and collapsed in a ragged heap on his bed. Day one was over, but it was only the first of many long torturous days to come.
Bartholomew gradually became accustomed to the routine of the mine. He grew stronger with time and was not so exhausted in the evenings. The food was dreadful, but it was nutritious. The Grymmorians needed the miners to be strong enough to work. A sick and hungry worker meant a decrease in the ferillium output.
Weeks passed by with only one notable event. Bartholomew was walking back to the bunkhouse at the end of his shift when he heard a commotion high above him. He looked up and saw a prisoner on one of the catwalks facing an angry Grymmorian guard. The guard was pointing and shrieking at the prisoner, but Bartholomew couldn’t make out what he was saying. The guard put his paw on the prisoner’s chest and pushed him off the catwalk. There was a dreadful cry, then silence. Bartholomew felt sick. The prisoner had fallen to his death. A group of rabbits gathered around their fallen friend, but there was nothing to be done. A Grymmorian guard sauntered over and eyed the dead prisoner. He gave him a sharp kick.
“No more work for this one. All you rabbits move along.”
As they stepped away, Bartholomew got a clear view of the fallen prisoner. He was wearing a mask. He was a shaper. The guard took a small bottle out of his pocket and dripped a thick orange liquid onto the rabbit’s mask. The viscous fluid spread out across the fabric of the mask and seconds later the mask relaxed, draping loosely over the rabbit’s head. With one smooth motion the guard pulled the mask off. Bartholomew quickly turned and walked away, barely able to contain his excitement. This was the first glimmer of hope he had felt since his arrival. He needed to find out more about the orange liquid.
Bartholomew’s second glimmer of hope arri
ved several days later at his work site. Early one morning as he stepped up onto tier two he noticed a digger sitting about fifty feet away from his section of cavern wall. The digger was not running, and a group of rabbits and Grymmorian guards were standing around it, pointing and talking. One of the rabbits was Oliver.
Bartholomew desperately tried to think of a way let Oliver know he was there. He stepped behind his mining cart where the guards couldn’t see him and smashed the wooden handle of his shovel against a sharp metal corner piece. The wood split badly. He carried the shovel over to the nearby site, making sure he stood close to Oliver.
“I am R75. Anyone have a spare shovel? This one is broken.” He held the shovel up for the guards to see. Oliver turned to look at him. He had immediately recognized Bartholomew’s voice. He reached out and took the shovel from Bartholomew.
“Take one from the wagon, R75. There’s no need to waste a good shovel. I will repair this and leave it at your site in the morning.” He turned back towards the defective digger.
By using the name R75, Bartholomew had told Oliver exactly where to find him.
When Bartholomew arrived the next morning, the repaired shovel was leaning against his mining wagon with a note tied to it. “The handle may still be slightly loose.”
Bartholomew picked up the shovel and walked out of the guard’s line of sight. He twisted the grip at the end of the handle. It turned. He twisted it more and it unscrewed from the wooden shaft. When he removed the handle he saw the shaft was hollow and had a rolled up paper inside. He stuffed the paper into his pocket and screwed the handle back on. He would read it when he was back in the bunkhouse.
Chapter 16
Oliver’s Plan
After dinner, when all the other rabbits were lying on their bunks, Bartholomew slid the paper out of his pocket and silently unrolled it. As he had expected, it was from Oliver.
I was so glad to find you were safe and well, my old friend. I have been worried quite sick about you. I am fine, I assure you. My work is not as physically taxing as yours. I repair broken diggers and any other malfunctioning mechanical device they send my way. Mr. Ferillium has me building some small duplonium powered machines. Duplonium is in extremely short supply here and I suspect Mr. Ferillium is using these machines to line his own pockets. I’m quite certain he is selling them to buyers who visit him at the inn.
Here is the real news. I have devised a plan for our escape and I am in the process of implementing it. It involves the diggers. Do you remember the shaft which brought us to the mine? As it turns out, that shaft was made by a malfunctioning digger. It didn’t stop when it was supposed to, but continued boring and turned upwards, eventually exiting at the surface. It took them months to clean up after the incident and they had to close the road so travelers would not see the digger. My plan is to modify a digger with a compartment inside where we can hide ourselves. I will add a second set of controls which override the existing ones. We can essentially drive the digger up to the surface and emerge as free rabbits. I am quite certain this will work. There is a very small chance the digger could get stuck between here and the surface, but I fear it is a risk we must endure. The digger modifications will be complete in several weeks. Please destroy this note and leave your reply in the shovel handle.
Yours truly,
Oliver
Bartholomew tore the note into tiny pieces, scattering them across the grounds on his way to work the next morning. On the way back from work he broached the subject of escapes with R74.
“Has anyone ever escaped from the mine?”
“Shhh. Lower your voice when you say that word. I don’t know for certain. I have heard stories, some with happy endings, but most with very bad endings. Is this simple curiosity or is there some other reason you are asking me this question?” He looked pointedly at Bartholomew.
Bartholomew hesitated. He trusted R74, but he was not certain how much room there would be in the digger. “For now let us say it is simple curiosity.”
“Simple curiosity it is then. If it turns out to be more, please let me know. I would be happy to assist in whatever venture you might be entertaining.”
Bartholomew gathered scraps of paper from around the bunkhouse and borrowed a small pencil from Simon when he was not looking. He wrote his reply to Oliver.
Oliver, I can think of no better solution to our mutual problem than the one you mentioned. I believe we should move forward with your plan. Is there any possibility there would be space for a third rabbit in our party? I have a friend who is interested. He has similar skills to mine. Also, I have seen a thick orange liquid which the guards use to remove the shaper masks. Please let me know if you can learn anything about the nature of this material. I am certain you can see the obvious benefit if we were able to obtain some of this substance.
––Bartholomew
Once Bartholomew had proven himself to be a reliable worker, Simon was not as harsh with him. He would occasionally allow Bartholomew extra privileges, and in return Bartholomew ran errands for him. Bartholomew didn’t mind this at all, since it got him out of the bunkhouse. In the evenings he often ran paperwork to the various offices as prisoners were moved from one location to another. He was getting familiar with the basic configuration of the mine and knew the location of most buildings. It was on one of these errands that he ran into Fen, the Grymmorian who had first taken him to Bunkhouse R. Bartholomew was on his way to Bunkhouse L when he saw Fen standing in a narrow alleyway. He recognized him from the long blue hat he wore. Fen was leaning against a wall, his head hanging down in front of him. Bartholomew did not need to read Fen’s thoughts to know he was unhappy.
“Fen?”
Fen recognized Bartholomew. “R75, the rabbit who calls me Grymmorian.”
“Is something wrong? To be honest, you look... as though you’d lost your last friend.”
“It’s that obvious? I am homesick. There is great turmoil in Grymmore, but it is my home and I miss my friends.”
“I understand how you feel. I miss my friends also. Won’t they let you go home for a visit and then return?”
Fen gave him a look of surprise. “You misunderstand my role here. I am a prisoner just as you are. I would not be a party to the mining of ferillium or the use of slave labor.”
“You’re a prisoner? But you’re a Grymmorian.”
“There are good Grymmorians and bad ones. King Oberon’s guards took me from my home and brought me to this place. Most of my family was killed.”
“I’m very sorry to hear this, Fen. I had no idea. The Grymmorian King sounds quite despicable. He must be, to have created a place like this. Why did he create it? Does anyone know?”
Fen looked around cautiously. “All I know is, in the wrong paws even the most benign substance can be used for evil purposes.”
This short conversation had a profound affect on Bartholomew. All the horror stories he had been told about Grymmorians when he was a bunny seemed silly now. Fen was not like the vicious Grymmorian guards, and if there was one Fen, there were thousands of others just like him. There was a quality about Fen that Bartholomew could not quite identify. A moment later it occurred to him what that quality might be. Bartholomew held out his right paw, palm facing upwards. The Great Gem glowed brightly in the dark alley. Fen stared at it mutely, then held out his own paw. His Great Gem glowed brightly next to Bartholomew’s.
He said to Bartholomew, “You have found the Jewel of Barsume.”
“I call it the Great Gem.”
“There are many names for it, but names do not change its true nature. The Jewel has told me of your escape plans. If you wish I will assist you, but only if you allow me to go with you.
“You would help me escape?
“If I am included in your plans.”
“Fen, there is something you can do which would help immensely, but before I can promise you passage with us I have to find out if there’s room. I will leave a mark on the wall when I know for certain.
An X means yes, a Y means no.”
A week later Fen handed Bartholomew a vial of the thick orange liquid. Bartholomew decided not to use it until they were in the digger. Even with his mask removed he would be no match for the hundreds of Grymmorian guards, many of whom might also be shapers. He wrote to Oliver about including a fourth passenger on the digger, also telling him he had obtained the orange liquid. When he retrieved Oliver’s reply it said there was more than enough room inside the digger shell for R74 and Fen. The modifications were almost done and the digger would be ready to travel in four days. Oliver proposed they leave at night while everyone was sleeping.
Two days before their departure, Bartholomew was sent out to deliver paperwork. He went to his secret meeting place to mark an X on the wall, but found Fen waiting there. Bartholomew gave him the good news and the specifics of their escape plan.
R74 received his good news the following morning at their worksite.
“Remember when you asked if my question was simple curiosity?”
“I do.”
“It is no longer simple curiosity. If you are still interested, I would not plan on getting any sleep two nights from now.”
“I am not a rabbit who needs much sleep. Let me know and I will do whatever you need done.”
“You need only to follow me when the time comes.”
Bartholomew lay awake most of that night going over and over the details of their escape plan. He didn’t know if a real adventurer would be as scared as he was, but he suspected they would be. He dearly hoped Oliver knew how to operate a digger. He tried not to imagine what would happen if the huge machine stalled on the way to the surface. To be trapped inside the digger forever was a bridge he had no desire to cross.
Departure day started out like every other day in the mine. They had breakfast, changed into their gear, walked to the site, and shoveled ore for twelve hours. At the end of the day they walked back to the bunkhouse. R74 did not seem noticeably anxious.