Chapter 7
Whilst Chain's duties could be as fun and rewarding as hosting a Joining, sometimes she had to remember what she protected, the risks that many under her care took every day. That meant plumbing the depths of the Family Mine.
It was another beautiful day as she walked to the Mine. Sol had blessed them with glorious weather recently, holding the rains at bay until late into the night, and the wildlife benefited: she'd never seen the grass this tall during summer, nor the bees, wasps, and butterflies so excited to dance between bright flowers. Chain doubted she could tire of the beauty of Sol's design, but today she drank it in, made an effort to remember it so the contrast clearly stood out when she sank into the Mine.
Even the Mine's rough stone administrative buildings and warehouses shone that day. One of the warehouses contained vast numbers of cradles – hand-operated machines that separated the mined silt into useless dirt and precious gems – and the other was a vault which protected the fruits of their labours. Miners with heavy buckets of silt across their back scuttled between entrances cut into the mountainside and the cradles' warehouse. Beside the constantly-moving contraptions which brought buckets to the surface – and the oxen which kept them moving – was the main entrance to the Mine.
The Family Mine was unusual: most gemstone Mines were above ground with the silt deposits that contain so many precious minerals. Pre-Cleansing books that described mining procedures had no explanation for why the Family held silt so far beneath them. The Artificer who designed this Mine had theorised that an earthshake had collapsed some tenuous open cave in their southern faces well before the Cleansing. Thus, the Mine's silt deposits were forced underground. If it were true, it had happened so long ago it could have been Sol's last act before his brother found him forming the world...
Chain shook herself mentally. It'd been a few months since she'd last gone down to judge the theory herself. She did not relish being so far beneath the soil, but it was only fair, only right, to remind herself of the Mine's dangers, so she marched up to the administrative building.
Tissue, a Miner who should be on her Rest, answered her knocking. She wore a thick woollen suit covered in dust and mud and a heavy brass helmet. Her nose, which had been broken many, many times, was black with dirt. She showed how many teeth she'd lost during her career when she smiled at Chain.
“Contegon Justicar,” she said, lisping slightly. “It is so good to see you.”
“Tissue,” Chain said simply. “Forgive me for being terse, but can we get this over with?”
“Aye,” Tissue replied. The Miner had guided her through the Family Mine since Chain came to Buckle, so she knew how little the Contegon enjoyed her visits. “Do you want the helmet today?”
Chain nodded, then caught the thrown protection. She found helmets claustrophobic, forewent them sometimes during these trips, but she was determined to not let her discomfort earn her an injury.
“Off and away we go then,” Tissue said before marching to the Mine's main entrance.
The passage down had been well worn over the decades, a roughly hewn hole smoothed into almost a stairwell. It dove at a shallow angle at first, allowing Sol's natural light in to save on lanterns. When the light started to fade, the angle of descent increased. Ropes appeared in the cavern's walls, wrapped around brass hooks at ten feet intervals, to make the descent easier for the new or the unpractised.
“How's Carmen, sire?” Tissue asked. She walked without using the ropes, knowing the way intimately.
“She's fine,” Chain said through gritted teeth. She matched the Miner's pace, but only released the rope when she had to.
Tissue nodded. She didn't judge Chain for her fears: plenty of Miners couldn't come down here too. They were assigned to the cradles and, frankly, mocked by their peers, but it meant those Miners who worked below ground appreciated how someone could fear and loathe the descent.
Concentration kept her mind and heart calm. The first few hundred feet were the easiest to get to, and so easiest to maintain. The wooden struts and beams were freshly varnished, all whole. But they promised care that would not be maintained. As they went, the passage's walls turned damp, and the wooden skeletons more bloated, a patchwork of repairs that had to be regularly reapplied. Chain knew it was irrational to expect the whole way to be well-maintained, but her eyes still itched to see the inferior work.
“Is everything well with the Mine?” Chain asked, trying to keep her mind off their journey.
“It is. It helps that we've hit quite a few Sol's Pockets in the last few months.”
A Sol's Pocket was a patch of silt that held greater amounts of gems and gold than usual. Hitting a few was good news, meant the Mine would hit all its targets with ease.
“That is good. Sol has blessed us,” Chain said almost without thinking.
Tissue nodded. “That he has. We have had no fatalities in months either. The Pockets have meant we won't need to explore until autumn, at least.”
The passage soon ceased cutting through rock and instead dove through compressed stone. When the Mine was built, loose stone had been moved to continue the dive, pulled to the surface to make the warehouses. It must have been like a great game, seeing how few stones you could move to create a way large enough to use. When they were done, the Miners covered the passageway with thick layers of glue – and, more recently, defunct Fixing – to maintain the passage's integrity.
“Exploration still hasn't improved, then?”
“No, sire. It's only going to get harder, more dangerous: the silt is buried under more and more of this stuff.” She gestured to the compressed stone around them. “If you dig under Lun's Pebbles, you are asking for trouble.”
“'Miners are Sol's soldiers beneath the soil,'” Chain said. Miners spoke this phrase during their prayers. It had been coined by the second Merchant Councillor, and ratified by Lord Councillor Collar.
“That we are,” Tissue said, proud to hear the words from her Contegon. “That we are.”
The tunnel spilled out into the dark remains of a lake, its bed the silt that Miners sifted through. There was little left after so many years, so bare rock peeked out everywhere. Above them, cracked stalactites gripped the ceiling and reached down for their brethren that hadn't survived the earthshake. She couldn't see them in the low light afforded by their lanterns, perhaps never would, but she knew they were there.
Miners moved slowly across the lake's corpse, carrying buckets like their brethren on the surface. Lanterns hung around their necks, making them walking stars in the darkness. They dodged between the stalagmites, broken stalactites, and, further back, the piles of rock dislodged from fruitless Explorations, coming from the north, west and east, where more Miners filled the buckets, a perfect team working in great peril.
“How much bigger do you think it can become?” Chain asked. The lake had once been around a mile across, but had been widened to almost double that in some places.
“The Mine, or the silt operation, sire?”
“There's a difference?”
Tissue smiled. Four teeth. “There is. We could go for another ten years before silt shifting becomes unprofitable. Then we'll change the Mine.” She stamped twice, bringing Chain's attention to the rock they stood on. “Start digging for iron and copper. There's plenty of it, but it'll mean large changes for us all.”
“It's good to know the Mine has a future,” Chain said. Her gaze wandered over to the mechanisms that took the silt up to the surface. “Will they need to be replaced?”
Tissue followed her gaze to the Lifts. Miles of treated ropes with hooks woven into their fabric passed through a powerful pulley and rose to the surface, all on the back of the oxen's power. This rope took buckets of silt to the surface and returned empty.
“They need to be replaced now,” Tissue said. “But that is my opinion, not Par's.”
Chain made a note to speak to Par about that when she next saw him.
“Anyway, sire, shall w
e go and see the troops?” Tissue asked.
“Of course, lead the way,” Chain said.
She spent the next two hours walking besides the Miners, helping them to carry their buckets as she asked about their families. Chain the Farmer's marriage was on everyone's lips, especially as Chain herself had gotten tipsy and taught the couple the Aureu Slow Dance. She laughed off the comments and stopped their acquiescing by saying, “Down here, you do Sol's work, not me.”
The Miners were tired but happy, knowing they did solid work every day. Chain admired them for sticking to their task, for being cheerful and merry down where a slip or Lun's will could collapse the stone above them, destroying their only passage to the surface. More than once, she wondered if her own faith would be as solid if she spent every day down here.
That was a strange thought, one she wasn't used to: even after the Hereticum, she rarely questioned the strength of her faith. She examined her emotions when the Miners broke for lunch and found that she was concerned by her visit to this Mine. There was something worrying about it, beyond the claustrophobia, but she couldn't place it.
“I should be going,” she told Tissue, wanting to contemplate this concern in the free air.
“Of course, sire,” the Miner replied.
The way to the surface didn't trouble her, nor did arriving back in the glorious sunlight lift her mood or the vague shroud around it. She walked back to Buckle without answers, and then gave up, putting her emotions aside to get on with her day.
Later, much later, she would hate herself for not picking up on what concerned her sooner.