The Crystal Heart (13 page)

‘I wouldn't be surprised,' another chimed in. ‘With a face like an angel, she's bound to have a kind heart.'

‘Not to mention a very tasty figure,' said the first man, with a wink. ‘Wouldn't mind that in my arms, eh?'

‘Not that you'd live to tell the tale, Yann,' said his friend, smiling. ‘Even if you ever managed to get into that place, a look even sideways at her and that dear papa of hers would have you hung, drawn and quartered.'

The first man laughed. ‘True enough. More than your life's worth to try and steal a kiss in that quarter!'

I had stopped eating, my fist clenching my knife. The red mist was swimming in front of my eyes and my guts churned with a wild rage that nearly sent me surging to my feet. Controlling myself with difficulty, I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat, and forced myself to
take deep breaths as the miners' conversation turned to safer matters. What was wrong with me? Izolda meant nothing to me. Then why did I feel like this? Why did I want to batter that man senseless, just for a few off-colour remarks? I had to get a grip on myself, or my mission would certainly fail.

It was five o'clock on a raw morning, my head still thick with sleep. Low cloud hung over the town as I hurried through the streets to the Mines Employment Office. I had not slept well, despite my tiredness. Jumbled dreams had disturbed my rest. In one of them I was a bird flying in thick darkness, knowing I was lost and would never find my way home. I had woken with tears running down my cheeks. It was the first time in months that I'd had any kind of dream, and like the uncontrollable feelings that had surged through me yesterday, they frightened me because of what they might mean.

Reaching the mines office, I found that there was already a long queue of men stamping their feet and rubbing their hands to keep warm in the chill of dawn, and my heart sank. Well, there was nothing for it but to wait and to hope the recruiter's eye might light upon me. While I waited, I studied the people around me. They spanned the spectrum of age and physical appearance: big, small,
wiry, broad, blond, dark, from very young to middle-aged. Some even had a foreign appearance – I spotted two Ruvenyans, for instance, wearing their characteristic fur hats, and a man wearing the embroidered waistcoat of a herder from the Almainian Mountains. Several of them seemed to know each other, and listening to their talk, I realised that some of them had already worked shifts in the mines.

I also heard that they were only looking for fifty workers today, and there must have been at least two hundred and fifty there, by my reckoning. The odds were not looking good for me. All I had going for me was my youth and my big frame. But I was nowhere near the only one with those characteristics. I could not afford to wait till the next muster of men. I wondered if there was a way I could ensure I caught the eye of the recruiter. But I was wary that if I drew too much attention to myself, it would give the wrong impression and I'd be seen as a troublemaker.

Presently, the tower clock in the main square struck six. At that precise moment, the door of the mines office opened and out came the clerk I'd seen yesterday, holding a large clipboard folder. Beside him stood a tall, thin man dressed all in grey. His hair was grey too, his eyes of a strange shade of violet. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I knew he was
feyin
. I hadn't expected that, though it made sense. If the
feyin
were to let humans work in their mines, they'd want to be sure that it was one of their own who vetted them.

‘Form orderly rows, men,' said the clerk in a loud voice. There was some jostling and shoving as everyone got into position. The
feyin
recruiter stood perfectly still,
his eyes flitting from one man to the next, sizing them all up. As soon as everybody was settled, the clerk called for silence and the recruiter walked up and down the rows, looking closely at each man. He spoke not a word. When he came to one he wanted, he'd nod, and the clerk would tell the man to step out of the ranks. More and more men stepped out, and the recruiter walked past me without a sign of interest.

I tried to keep calm. I shoved my shaking hands into my pockets, hoping that would still them. I grasped onto the crystal shard in my pocket. And then a strange thing happened. The recruiter's head turned sharply. He left the row he'd been inspecting and immediately came to my side. Hurriedly, I took my hands out of my pockets and stood there facing him. For a brief instant he looked at me, the cold violet gaze piercing through me. Then he gave a slight nod and moved along.

‘Vazily Adamak, step out,' the clerk called out. ‘You have been chosen for today's intake!'

What had just happened? I had a wild idea that my selection was somehow connected to my grasping of the crystal. But exactly how, I could not even begin to work out. If he had indeed sensed I had a
feyin
object about me, why had he not challenged me on it and demanded to see it? I'd heard it said that
feyin
have senses sharper than ours and that they possess an extra sense that enables them to see much more than we can. Some superstitious people even believe
feyin
can read our thoughts. I didn't believe that. For if that
feyin
had really been capable of reading mine, I'd not be on my way to the mines, but on the high road back to prison – or the gallows.

But that did not mean he did not sense something about me. I resolved to be careful to not draw any more
feyin
attention. My thoughts were interrupted by the clerk calling out in a loud voice, ‘All right, that's it for today!' A loud chorus of groans came from the unsuccessful applicants. Waving a hand at them as though they were pesky flies, the clerk turned back to us and said, ‘Those of you who have been chosen, come into the office to fill in the required forms. Make sure you have all your documents ready.'

That started a jostle to the office, and as I moved up the line with the rest of them, I was glad to see that the
feyin
recruiter took no more part in the proceedings. Duly getting my papers stamped without any trouble, I headed off to the station to wait for the train to the mines. There, I locked myself in the station lavatory and quickly pulled down my right sock. I slipped the crystal shard inside it, then folded it down and sewed the edges of the fold together. Replacing the needle in its case, I couldn't help a small tremor as I looked at the needle beside it, so identically harmless in appearance but with that deadly secret concealed within it …

Poison – a woman's weapon, so they say. Or a spy's. The weapon of the weak, of the underhand, of the sneaky, of the wicked ones who hide the black heart of an enemy behind the smiling mask of the friend. It sat ill with me to have to use it. But I was a hired assassin who must do as he was told. If I did not want my family to suffer more than they already had, I must follow my instructions to the letter. Squeamishness was not something I could afford.

The train to the mines arrived. It was an impressive sight, with its two locomotives – one at the front, one at
the back. It had many wagons – a smart-looking one at the head for the
feyin
recruiter and two human overseers, a second-class one crammed with mine workers, including me, two wooden-slatted wagons for the mine ponies, and several open wagons loaded with tools and heavy equipment. At precisely eleven o'clock, we left Katena with a triumphantly loud blast of its whistle, drawing majestically out of the station and past the waving, shouting crowds on the station.

After two uneventful hours, much of which I spent dozing, the train blew its whistle and drew to a stop. I looked out of the window. We had arrived at a station labelled ‘Mine Works', the end of the line. Although I saw that another track branched off, heading towards a tunnel that was set in the hump of a grey stony hill, just visible in the distance.

‘It's the entrance to the mine,' one of the other men told me. He looked to be in his late thirties or so and had been working in the mines since last year. Pointing at the wagons filled with salt blocks that were trundling up and down this track, he explained, ‘That load was mined yesterday and it will be transported to Katena. They've got it down to a pretty fine art.'

‘Seems like it,' I said.

‘They don't like wasting time here,' he observed. ‘Long as you remember that, you'll be fine.'

‘Thanks,' I said, as we jumped off the train.

‘No problems. You take care, and make friends. Best way to cope here,' he said, but didn't offer to become my friend. That was fine. I didn't really need friends anyway. I wasn't planning to be long in the mine.

The surrounding landscape was not very attractive. It was flat, apart from that grey hill. There were only a few spindly trees, dusty roads, and barracks buildings of basic brick and wood scattered about. It was a busy scene, too, and not sinister at all. We were directed to the barracks buildings and allocated a room and a bunk, then given a uniform, which we were told to change into at once. For an awful moment I thought they would give us new footwear and socks, too, but they did not. I put my needle case in the uniform pocket.

Next, we were ushered into a big hall to listen to a long speech about mine customs and safety, most of which seemed to consist of what not to do.

‘Don't leave your work party,' said the overseer, ‘and don't take any side tunnels, or go alone into the mines. You lot are working in the salt mines – there are others mining opals on the other side of the mountain, but you're unlikely to meet them. Whatever you do, don't take any kind of meat into the mines – it attracts cave goblins and, take it from me, you really don't want to attract those bloodthirsty little beasts. You'll be fed lunch in the barracks, so there's no need to take any food into the mines, though water is allowed. Don't attempt to take anything
from
the mines. Stealing is punishable by immediate dismissal and prosecution.

‘Now listen, lads! If any
feyin
comes anywhere near your work detail on their way above ground, don't look at them. They do not like being watched by humans. And don't sing or whistle if they're around, they dislike the pitch of our voices when we do this. Don't try to go into the levels beyond the mine. This is an offence punishable
by a lengthy prison term, if you're lucky and are caught. If you're not –' and here the overseer smiled grimly – ‘you will never find your way back. You will wander till you die, or fall to your death – or worse still, be seized by the fearsome monster who lives in the bottomless depths of the Lake down below. The mines are beautiful but dangerous, and it's as well you remember that.

‘This is a fair place to work. If you follow the orders of your unit foreman and your overseers, no harm will come to you. You will be well paid and well fed, and your families will be able to afford what you've always wanted for them. If you transgress the rules, then at best you will be sent home in disgrace, and at worst you will pay for it with your life. Is that all understood, gentlemen?'

‘Yes, sir!' came the chorus from dozens of throats.

‘You will be entering an unfamiliar world, and the sooner you understand that, the better. Keep your wits about you, and you'll come to no harm. Now, then – to business. We will put you in units of twenty-five and allocate jobs,' said the overseer, and he started calling out names.

People with skills – carpenters, plumbers, blacksmiths – were given specific jobs. Tomas Durak, a big burly fellow in his thirties, who had clearly worked here before, was appointed unit foreman. Those of us with no apparent skills were the general labourers. This suited me fine, as a man within a mass of ordinary labourers will be missed less quickly than a specialist worker.

‘And now,' said the overseer, brightly, ‘you are all invited to a dinner in the mess hall, where you will meet your fellow toilers and no doubt learn a good deal more than you ever wanted to know about mining. Just
remember,' he added with a wink, ‘not everything you will hear is true!'

‘What did you think of all that?' A voice from behind startled me. I turned to see a young man about my age, with a friendly open face and a grin that suddenly reminded me of my friend Franz, back on the island. But in prison I had got out of the habit of friendship. And I had no desire to take it up again, no matter what that miner had told me earlier.

I shrugged.

He looked a little crestfallen at my curt tone. ‘Have you been here before?'

‘No.'

‘Oh.' He paused then went on, tentatively. ‘My older brother Karel was here last year. He says that everything goes well if you keep your head.'

‘Not having a head would certainly be a problem,' I said dryly.

The stranger shot me a puzzled look, then laughed. ‘Oh, I see. Sorry. I can be a bit slow with jokes sometimes. My brother says I'm easy to trick.'

‘Brothers will exaggerate,' I said, not wanting to be drawn into more talk.

But it was a mistake, for he seemed to take it as a friendly gesture. ‘Oh, yes, you're so right! Do you have brothers, too?'

‘Yes,' I lied.

‘Older or younger?'

‘Both.'

‘Oh, just like me! Isn't that strange?'

‘Very,' I said, though my tone was lost on him.

‘They call me Amadey,' he said, holding out a hand. ‘What's your name?'

‘Vazily,' I said, shaking his hand reluctantly. Perhaps it might do to befriend this Amadey. I might get him to cover for me. It wouldn't be too hard to pull the wool over his eyes. ‘I'm pleased to meet you.'

Amadey beamed. ‘Oh, as I am to meet you too, Vazily! It would be good to have a friend to share things with.'

For the rest of the walk to the mess hall – and, indeed, the rest of the evening – I was spared the necessity of saying too much about myself by Amadey's relentless stream of chatter. He spoke of his family, his friends, his home town, his favourite tavern and the various girls he had a fancy for. He was one of those kind but naive people who have had a happy life and never imagine life could be different for anyone else. And he would no doubt be horrified if he realised who I really was. But he was equally unlikely to guess I was hiding anything, and thus was the perfect ‘friend'.

Once, I would have been ashamed of such thoughts. Once, I was a naive boy as trusting as Amadey. No more. I could not afford any soft feelings.

Back in the dormitory after a plentiful, if plain, dinner, Amadey badgered the occupant of the bunk below me to swap with him. He was so pleased by the success of that little rebellion (for swapping was not encouraged) that he furtively brought out from his pack yet another miniature revolt, in the shape of a leather flask of home-brewed herb cordial.

‘It's my grandmother's famous recipe. She is something of a witch, you know,' he said, smiling. ‘And when I was
little, she scared me by saying that if I drank any of this, I'd be turned into a frog!'