by J. S. Morin
Rynn and Naul took their dinner that night with the workers before the start of the evening shift. They had portions of the same turkey and stuffing as the kuduks, but theirs had been set aside before the meat was basted with gravy that contained iron oxide. Ordy let Rynn out of her shackles and she ate with abandon. The workers chatted amiably with them, seeming to have grown accustomed to Naul, if not having grown to respect him, and were genuinely curious about Rynn. She couldn’t be sure if she made friends, but she at least proved to them that she knew a spanner from a ratchet.
Ordy left Rynn chained to a workbench to watch the evening’s work while he enjoyed some time free of her. As much as she hated the leash, it seemed Ordy didn’t care for it much himself. She got discomfort and humiliation; he was saddled with a sarcastic tagalong who he probably figured was biding her time looking for a way to kill him.
Rynn sat on the workbench watching the kuduks, imagining that they were her father’s mechanics and metalworkers. She looked around for any tools she might be able to reach, but the workers had been ordered to clear the area around her, and they had left nothing within reach.
When the evening shift ended, Ordy returned and ordered her into the bath.
“You going to stand there and watch again?” Rynn asked.
“Better peep shows than you all over Korr, and cheaper than the hassle I have to put up with. Just get in the water.”
Rynn enjoyed a hot soak. It stung her feet and collarbone where they were raw, but it cleansed her wounds and a small portion of her soul that was being coated with muck each day she spent in captivity. With her back to him, Rynn could easily pretend that Ordy wasn’t there, and that she was Madlin, safe at home on Tinker’s Island.
All too soon, Ordy cut short her bath. “Enough of that. I’m not gonna stand here all night. You’re clean enough.” Rynn didn’t push her luck, lest she lose bath privileges entirely. “Go stand on the grate over there and turn the wheel.”
Rynn did as she was instructed, wondering if her hunch about the grate was correct. It was, and when she turned the hand-wheel, an air vent opened somewhere in the ducting leading to the grate. Warm air from the boiler room washed up around her. She stretched and rubbed at aching muscles, smoothing the water out to evaporate it more quickly. She ran her fingers through her hair, as that was the last place on her to dry. It was still damp when Ordy called an end to her drying.
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Where did my clothes go?” Rynn asked, alarm rising in her voice as she saw nothing but bare floor all around the washroom.
“Down the laundry chute,” Ordy replied, pointing to a hatch set into the wall. “You’d been wearing that stinking rag since Eversall. Humans smell bad enough fresh from the tub. I’m not letting you put that back on. It’ll be clean in the morning, and tomorrow night you’ll have something proper to wear.”
Rynn didn’t approach him.
“It’s about three paces to your bedroom. You’re not going to freeze. Get over here.”
Rynn made the trip as slowly as she dared. She was surprised when Ordy shackled her in addition to the leash.
“I’m going to be sleeping. What trouble am I going to get into in my own bedroom?”
“Teaspoon, you’ve killed more men than I have. I’m not taking chances with you unsupervised overnight.”
“Unsupervised?”
“Me and Delliah don’t sleep here. We’ve got homes. You know, like real, free people not chained to their workbench? There’s a night guard in case the place catches fire or you get sick. Just shout.”
Ordy led Rynn into her bedroom, where a length of chain was attached to the wall by a steel ring. It was decorously set just below the level of the mattress, so that it wasn’t visible when dangling. He unlocked her from the leash and locked her to the tether instead. She could sit hunched over near the head of the bed, but only laying down seemed like it would be comfortable. Anything beyond that was just proving a point. Ordy left her alone, and she had her first privacy in days.
The mattress was every bit as fluffy and the linens every bit as soft as appearances promised. Rynn squirmed her way under the blankets and relaxed. There was the faint, distant hum of machinery from the Deep beneath Grengraw and the factories that worked all shifts. It was a comfort to Rynn as she tried to ease her mind and drift off to be with Madlin. Perfect silence would have driven her mad.
A hand on the door handle perked Rynn’s ears. She was wide awake at once; her growing reverie evaporated. The door opened and silence followed. The door closed again, clicking as the catch snapped into place. There was a lone window to the room, small and barred to prevent egress. The soot-choked sky showed no moon, but spark lights from the street shone in through the window.
Rynn saw a human chest, bare skin and prominent ribs, with nary a hair to be seen upon it. She caught a whiff of pipeweed.
“Naul, is that you? What are you doing? Get out of here.”
“It’s okay Rynn, Delliah said I could. This is my reward for catching you stealing. Hope there’s no hard feelings, since she didn’t punish you for it.” Naul came over and sat beside her on the bed. She realized that she’d never seen a man naked before, and for all his youth, Naul counted for ending that streak. She’d heard tavern boasts aplenty in her days—in two worlds—and Naul seemed ready to make one of his own, though he seemed poorly made for boasting.
“You piper twit! What do you think this is?”
Ignoring her, he reached down and put a hand on her cheek. He leaned down, lips parted, and closed his eyes, preparing for a kiss. His breath reeked of pipeweed.
Instead, Rynn ducked her head and hit him in the nose with her forehead.
Naul fell back, pinching his nose. “Ow, what was that for?” he asked, his voice nasal. He leaned back over her, pulling down the blankets with the hand not keeping his nose from bleeding.
“What are you, dense? Delliah sent you here to force yourself on me?” Rynn couldn’t keep hold of the sheets with her hands shackled, so she kicked her legs free of the blankets and tucked her knees. She got one foot on Naul’s chest and thrust him away. He landed on the floor with a fleshy slap.
“What is the matter with you? I’ve had whores before; I know what I’m doing. If this is your first time, don’t worry. I’ll be nice and gentle.”
“Get this through you smoke-softened brain, Naul: NO! You’ve heard them all talk. They’re afraid of me, keep me chained up for a reason—I’ve killed grown kuduk enforcement officers. You’re nothing. If you manage to finish doing what you came in here to do, I promise you, I will kill you. I’ll find a way. I might sabotage the runes of a pair of goggles you empower. I might sneak up behind you and get my leash around your throat before Ordy can stop me. I might pick the lock keeping me in this bed and stab you through the eye in your sleep with any one of a hundred tools from that workshop downstairs—tools that I know as well as you know that pipe you’re so proud of. I might even just touch that collar of yours, suck the runes dry, and let it chop your head off for me.”
Naul stared at her, wide eyed and with his jaw hanging loose. He slowly backed away toward the door.
“Hey!” Rynn shouted. Naul flinched but stopped retreating. “Get back here and pull the blanket up for me. I can’t reach.”
Chapter 20
“Someday I’ll die, and you’ll inherit all this. You either learn it now, or while the vultures are swindling it away from you.” -Cadmus Errol
Madlin looked to the Dragon Fang Mountains that loomed above them. Their destination could not be far. She and Jamile talked constantly, but mainly to keep off the topic of Rynn’s predicament. Madlin had relayed her location in some detail, as well as the difficulty of Ordy’s ubiquitous presence. As usual, Jamile had taken the information with earnest attentiveness and assured Rynn that help would come. The frustration lay twofold: the fact that Jamile’s twin had no means to receive messages back, and that while Madlin waited, Rynn langu
ished in Delliah’s custody.
“You thought about what to wear? Ought to be any time now; today, maybe tomorrow at the latest,” Jamile said.
“The one that doesn’t get in the way of my gun belt,” Madlin replied. She sat bundled in fur blankets as the wind sliced its way through the canvas covering of the wagon.
“That one’s nice and all. Have you considered the green one? I’d think a man would find it hard to negotiate, looking at you in that one.”
Madlin gave Jamile a narrow glare from the corner of her eye. “I’m here representing my father. I don’t think he wants me batting my eyes at some mine owner on his behalf.”
“Oh, now you’re just being stubborn.”
“Am I?”
“The important thing is getting the mine at the best price, right?”
“It’s an important thing,” Madlin conceded. “But that’s not the only thing that matters.”
“And what if you could get it cheaper by tugging your neckline down a bit and keeping a smile on your face?” Jamile asked.
“So this all boils off and leaves money, is that it? Nothing wrong with trying to seduce this mine owner, whoever he is?”
Jamile smiled. “Well, you don’t have to seduce him, just maybe hint that you’d like to try. He won’t hold a knife to your throat on the price if he thinks he might get more than coin in the deal.”
“So morals down the rubbish chute?”
“Something like that.” Jamile giggled.
“Well, then I’ve got fifty men with rifles. With cover of darkness, I don’t see how anyone could stop us shooting our way in and taking the mine. Sounds a lot cheaper than negotiating to me. Why take half measures with phony courtships?”
Jamile’s face fell. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t. But see, you’re not willing to fire that cannon; I’m not willing to point it.”
“Can I at least convince you to change into something that doesn’t smell?”
“I smell?”
“Madlin, you’ve been wearing that outfit for days. How could you not?”
“You haven’t said anything.”
“Seemed rude.”
“It isn’t rude now?”
Jamile threw up her hands. “I had hoped to convince you without making mention of it, but you left me little choice. I’ve got a bottle of perfume packed up, too, since there won’t be anyplace to wash up.”
“Looks like you’ve thought of everything.”
Jamile grinned. “Oh, I’ve got more surprises in store for you. Just you wait.”
The scouts had reported the mining settlement an hour ago, and they could just now make out the buildings, tucked into the crags of a mountain Madlin couldn’t name. She shaded her eyes with a hand to keep away the glare of the sun reflecting off the glacial snows. The miners had built their homes a quarter of the way up the mountainside.
“You’re squinting. Put your spectacles on,” Jamile chided her.
“I can see just fine.” Madlin continued squinting up at the settlement, trying to make out details of the buildings.
“Oh really? How many buildings are up there?”
Madlin turned to frown at Jamile and looked back to the mountainside. After a moment’s fruitless searching, she put her spectacles on and tried again. “Looks like thirty or so.”
“Seems like they’ve built to be there a while.”
“They must know they’ve got something there,” Madlin reasoned. “Why go to the trouble of building up the side of the mountain, instead of down at the base, unless you knew where to start tunneling?”
“I suppose you’re just going to have to ask them about that.”
“And about what part of Korr they’re from? I don’t see a delicate way to imply that they might know what’s under that mountain.”
Jamile inhaled near Madlin’s ear. “You smell nice. Maybe you don’t have to ask so delicately?”
Madlin blushed. “I smell like a flower garden.”
“Not a whole garden, just violets.”
The wagons waited below when they reached the mining camp. Madlin trekked up the rough-hewn trail carved in the mountainside with Jamile and Powlo in tow. If there were twinborn up there, she wanted to keep the discussion entirely in Korrish. Madlin craned her neck upward at the peaks that stretched out toward the heavens. The peaks were grey and black with striations dividing them up like layers of a cake, topped with snow like pastry icing.
That the mountains caused her to think of food made Madlin realize how much she missed the excellent fare on Tinker’s Island— Greuder’s pastries in particular. If nothing else, the hunger kept her mind off the aching of her legs. She was unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise. It was a long, shallow, winding staircase of irregular surfaces, with switchbacks every few hundred paces. The three of them wended their way up the miners’ trail, hoping to find welcome and a willing seller when they reached their destination.
“Stop right there!” a voice shouted from above. It echoed through the neighboring mountains. Madlin and her companions looked up. At least a hundred feet above them, there was a line of men aiming muskets at them. Even with her spectacles on Madlin couldn’t tell what model they were, but she suspected they might not be able to hit them at their current range. Still, she didn’t like seeing that end of any weapon. “State your business.”
“We’re here to meet with the owner of this mining claim,” Madlin shouted up. She kept her hands to her sides, away from her body. The furs draped over her impractical green dress concealed her gun belt from view. She would have to throw the furs back, but she thought she could manage to get her pistol out before the musketmen caught on. She could probably hit them without too much trouble, despite them being crouched behind rocks. It was only a matter of her aim, since the pistol fired true over three times the distance.
“What for?” the voice from above asked.
“I come representing Cadmus Errol. I am here to negotiate the purchase of this mine,” Madlin shouted back.
There was a brief conference above. Her father’s name carried weight throughout the world with anyone who had a love of coin. Kheshi princes interrupted their tea to talk to him; Acardian shipping magnates canceled deals to send wares to the Errol Company for better profits. It ought to have been enough to buy them an audience with the owner of an aspirational mining expedition.
Jamile sidled up next to Madlin, never taking her eyes from the rocks above. “I don’t like this.”
“Nah, just wait. I’ve seen runes do some pretty amazing things, but there’s no magic quite like my father’s name. It opens locked doors. It turns rich men into groveling beggars. It sets pirates running. It’ll work here.”
“Maybe we should bring more guns,” Powlo suggested. He carried a revolver of standard Errol make tucked into a holster slung across his body. That and Madlin’s one-of-a-kind revolver were the only weapons they brought along; Jamile had opted not to carry one.
“Just wait...” Madlin said.
Not a minute had passed when word came down, hollered by a man standing with no weapon in hand. “Boss says come on up.”
The welcome didn’t make the hike any easier on Madlin’s legs, but it passed without the threat of lead shots pelting them from above. She led the way, with Powlo close behind, and Jamile bringing up the rear; it seemed that of the three of them, Madlin was having the hardest time with the climb. She puffed and struggled her way up while neither of her companions appeared even to be winded by the effort. She told herself that she was done with chocolates when the expedition was over.
The mining camp itself was split into tiers, but each tier seemed level enough, and it was the lowest level that was the most populous. Most of the buildings were made of rough-cut timbers, piled notch-and-groove with bark-slat roofs. Two were built of stone, with a suspicious lack of seams. It was as if the mountain had been carved away around them, or the buildings poured of molten stone and cooled. One such buildin
g featured a massive arched doorway which led to a passage that appeared to go into the mountain.
“Hullo!” a man with a musket called out when they arrived. “Sorry about earlier, don’t get too many visitors up here, let alone important ones.” Madlin had heard many euphemisms for it, but she knew that when the man said “important” what he really meant was “rich.”
Madlin stuck out her hand. “My name is Madlin Errol. This is Powlo and Jamile.”
The man took her hand and shook it. He had a firm grip. That, coupled with his blond hair and accent told her that he was Kheshi, but not full-blooded southern, though she suspected he could pass as southern on looks alone. “I am Jakun. Come with me.”
The man wasted no time and offered no hospitality. Curiously, he took no issue with the weapons they carried. Madlin’s gun belt was concealed beneath her furs, but Powlo wore his plainly. She had expected to take her measure of the first man she met by arguing over keeping her gun. It was a good measure of the miners as a community that they didn’t balk.
As soon as they entered the stone building, the air turned warm. Madlin shivered as the warmth entered her chilled skin, and followed Jakun down the tunnel. They passed by doors, but didn’t stop for any of them. Madlin could hear the sound of picks biting into stone ahead of them. She couldn’t begin to count the number of them, but the sound grew steadily louder. The way was lit by lamps, but the flames seemed too bright, too bluish for any fire she knew. She wished she had the leisure to stop and check the lamp and the entryway for runes; she suspected she would find them.
Around a bend, they came upon a man and lad standing over a table, looking at maps. The man was Acardian, plain as day, with brown hair and fair skin—though any thought of “fair” ended there. He was easily the ugliest man Madlin had seen who bore no disfigurement or disease. His chin and forehead protruded, and his nose lay flat against his face, like a caricature of a man who’d taken a punch, but whose face never rebounded from the blow. The week’s worth of stubble on his face was flecked with grey. He was wearing a miner’s coveralls, but with a sword at his hip as well as a gun belt. A golden circlet hung from a hook on the sword belt, for what purpose Madlin couldn’t imagine.