“Thank you.” Dainyl walked to the open doorway.
Majer Herryf stood just inside. “Colonel, welcome to Dramur.” Herryf was short and dark, with short-cut stringy black hair and eyes that protruded slightly—clearly a Cad-mian who’d worked his way up from an indigen background—or whose parents or grandparents had.
Dainyl nodded. “Thank you.” He waited to see what the majer had to say.
“Colonel… I hadn’t been informed that we would be receiving a senior Myrmidon officer, or I would have been here to greet you personally.”
“Sometimes, messages don’t always arrive in a timely fashion.” Dainyl studied the chairs set before the majer’s desk and decided to remain standing. “Since you haven’t been notified, I’ll make it very simple. Next week, probably on Duadi, a battalion of Cadmian mounted rifles will arrive here on the Duarchs’ Valor. They are being deployed here to deal with the mining situation.” He paused for but a moment. “Tomorrow, I’ll need to meet with the director of the mines and the head of the governing council of Dramuria. I expect that you can set those meetings up after we finish here.”
“Colonel… it is getting late in the day.”
“I know, but you notified the marshal of a problem you felt required Myrmidon attention. I’ve flown two straight days to get here. This appears to be a matter of some con-cern. If it is, we should not worry about such… customs… as end-day relaxation. Should we?”
“Ah… not when you put it that way, Colonel. I’ll do what I can.”
“I expect to meet with them both tomorrow.” Dainyl smiled coolly. “Now… what has happened here in the last week? Will we need to put the Cadmians into the field immediately?”
“Cadmians, sir? I had thought that perhaps a company of Myrmidons…” offered Herryf.
“When it does not appear urgent enough to discuss immediately? For a handful of disgruntled miners hiding in the hills?” Dainyl lifted his eyebrows.
“They are most resourceful, Colonel.”
Dainyl could sense the impatience restrained behind the cultivated politeness. The majer was definitely a man who expected that people see things his way and no other. “Resourceful or not, a battalion of Cadmian mounted rifles should be more than enough.” Dainyl paused. “That is, unless there is something that you did not convey in your reports.”
“No, sir. I wrote out everything in my report to the marshal.”
“Your report suggested the possibility of an insurrection, but I do not recall any detailed information on the weapons available to these would-be rebels.”
“There’s blasting powder missing. That’s what the director of the mine reported. As I told the marshal.”
“That is not terribly useful,” Dainyl pointed out, “unless they have some way to turn it into munitions. Do you know if they do?”
“If I’d waited until they did, the marshal would not have been pleased.”
“He is not displeased with you. He took your report seriously. That is why a full battalion of mounted rifles is arriving. You’ll need to arrange to billet and feed them.”
“Five companies of a hundred, sir?”
Dainyl nodded. “Now… what didn’t you put in the report? The things you couldn’t prove that worried you?”
Herryf smiled politely, but, again, Dainyl could sense the arrogance and calculation.
“The volume of guano shipments is down, and at this time of year, it generally starts to rise with the cooler weather. The mine director has been talking with the local justicer, and it appears that more young men are being sentenced to the mines.”
“If they’re troublemakers… ?” suggested Dainyl, trying to draw the majer out.
“Some are, but most are just careless. That’s not good because their families are supporting the rebels. I can’t prove that, but…”
“What else?”
“We had almost twenty rifles stolen,” admitted Herryf. “They were listed as being in the armory. I know they were there in the spring, but they’re not there now. Until this past year, we’ve lost less than one rifle per year.”
“How did that happen?”
“I don’t know, sir. That’s one of the reasons…”
After a moment, Dainyl spoke. “You have two companies here, and they keep the compound, and serve as guards at the mine. Are all their rifles accounted for?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By number?”
“Sir?”
“I suggest you check the maker numbers against the inventory. Or have you?”
Herryf looked down, his arrogance vanishing.
“Let me know the next time a rifle vanishes. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” With Herryf’s ready assent came a sense of puzzlement.
Dainyl didn’t bother to explain. He was beginning to see why the Highest had not wanted to send a company of Myrmidons. He also needed to find out a great deal more from
Herryf, and some of that would have to wait until he knew what questions to ask.
Still… he could learn some things now. “How many men are assigned to the guard detail each day?”
“How many prisoners have been shot trying to escape…”
“How many of your Cadmians are from Dramur…”
Dainyl had more than a few questions. He also knew that he didn’t know enough to ask some of the more important ones because he didn’t know what they were.
16
Despite two long and tiring days of flying, on Novdi, Dainyl woke early—with the sky a dark greenish gray. He washed and dressed and made his way down to the mess, barely after dawn, where a sleepy-eyed cook fixed him egg toast and ham, with biscuits, and poured him a pitcher of ale. Like most alectors, he found that the ale helped in digesting the Corean food.
Only as he was leaving did he see a captain walking toward the officers’ mess.
“Captain?”
The young-faced Cadmian captain stopped and stiffened. “Yes, sir, Colonel?” Like Herryf, he was dark-haired, and his skin was darker. Unlike the majer, he projected neither arrogance nor fear, just a sense of concern and puzzlement.
“I take it you have some sort of duty today?”
“Yes, sir. Two of my squads have mine duty.”
“Do you go with them?”
“Usually, I let the senior squad leader take the morning, sir, and I relieve him at midday. The other squads are on standby here at the compound.”
“Do the companies that aren’t on duty have off all of Novdi and Decdi?”
“Yes, sir. The other company does. It’s always been that way.”
“Have you seen any signs of trouble with the miners?”
“There’s always someone making trouble, sir. Complaining about the work-gang bosses or the food or something. They do it when they’re in a group, and you can’t see who’s yelling.”
“Anything besides complaining?”
The captain cocked his head, clearly wondering whether to say more. After a moment, he replied. “Some… we’ve had more of the mals trying to escape in the last season.”
“Have any actually escaped?”
“I’d guess so, sir.”
“You’d guess? You don’t know?”
“It’s like this, sir. The mine road crosses the Muralto River, and it’s a good ten-twelve yards wide and more than five deep where the bridge is. The bridge crosses a gorge. Some of them have jumped from the bridge.” The captain shrugged. “It’s a good twenty yards, and it’s pretty steep. Some of them hit the rocks and die right there. We’ve found bodies downstream, but the ones we don’t find, there’s no way to tell whether they made it or the sleuers got them.”
“Where else do they try to escape?”
“Some try to climb the crags above the mine. The mals’ll stage a fight, and when things settle down, someone’s missing.”
“You don’t use your weapons to break up these fights?”
“Sir, begging your pardon. We try not to. If we did, we’d have a
lot fewer miners.”
“I’m sorry,” Dainyl replied. “I should have seen that” He had seen it, but he wanted to hear what the captain said. “How many have tried to escape in the last season?”
“I’d have to check the records, sir. We keep track of that. I’d say… maybe ten, could be fifteen. Usually we find six or seven bodies, one way or another, out of every ten who try.”
The colonel nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry to have kept you from breakfast.”
“I’ll manage, sir.” The young captain smiled.
Dainyl was ready to leave the man, but couldn’t resist asking a last question. “What do you see as the problem with the miners?”
“A lot of them are scared, sir. They claim funny things are going on in the mine. We’ve never seen anything, but… the miners say there are things up there, and deep in the mine.”
“I see.” Dainyl paused. ‘Thank you.“
“Yes, sir.”
The captain headed toward the mess and Dainyl toward his quarters.
Once back in his room, the colonel considered what the captain had said, especially compared to what Majer Herryf had said. The captain had been telling the truth. So had Herryf. Yet one saw the mals doing the mining as frightened, perhaps terrified, enough to jump into rivers in gorges, and the other saw the mals as part of a reballion.
He hadn’t been in his quarters more than a quarter glass when there was a knock on the door. “Colonel Dainyl, sir?”
Dainyl moved to the door and opened it.
The Cadmian squad leader who stood outside his quarters door was short, broad-shouldered, with black eyes and a swarthy cast to his face. Despite the light brown hair, his antecedents were mainly indigen. “Squad leader Rhasyr, Colonel. Majer Herryf has detailed me to escort you.” He smiled. “Majer Herryf arranged for an early meeting with Director Donasyr. The Council Director will be available after that at your convenience. I had one of the larger mounts saddled for you.”
Dainyl could sense the general good nature of the squad leader, and that helped lift his irritation at the majer. At the very least, if Dainyl had been expecting a senior officer, he would have escorted the officer, and if he’d been unable for other reasons, he would have made sure the escort was an officer of appropriate rank. Then, there weren’t that many officers. The one captain had duty, and there was only one other. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll wait below for you.”
After closing the door, Dainyl walked to the desk and folded the sheets of paper with some of his questions, slipping them inside his tunic. He checked his sidearm, then made his way outside and down the steps.
Rhasyr not only had two mounts, but two other Cadmian troopers as well. “An officer such as you, sir, you must have at least a small honor guard.” He inclined his head.
“Thank you.” Dainyl turned to the two rankers. “I appreciate your being here so early.”
The younger of the two looked almost frozen; the older inclined his head, and said, “Thank you, sir.”
Dainyl mounted, and the four rode across the courtyard to the open gates, where a pair of guards watched them leave.
Beyond the compound walls, the graystone road was less than four yards wide, and there was no shoulder, just reddish clay with scattered clumps of grass that was half-tan and half-green. As with all Cadmian compounds, the first half vingt away from the walls was level and clear, with the only vegetation being grass. Beyond that were low trees that were scarcely taller than Dainyl’s head as he rode beside Rhasyr.
“What are the trees?”
“Casaran nuts. They are very bitter.” Rhasyr grimaced. “They soak them in salt water and dry them. Then they crush them. They make good fodder for horses and livestock. We need it because there is not enough grass here for proper grazing, and the good grass only grows on the plains south of the big mountain.”
“What other crops grow here?”
“Not much, sir. Everything except the wheat in the south comes from the west. The biggest crops are maize and the apple bananas. They have plantations for the bananas in the west, across the mountains. They’re very tasty.”
Dainyl hadn’t heard of apple bananas. “Where are the dyeworks?”
“Those are at Santazl. That’s on the bay south of Dra-muria. Most of the young ones learn to dive early, and they bring up the purple clams. The black comes from the squid-docs. They must use nets for those, and heavy gloves. Poisonous things, and nasty. Some of the dyeworkers get killed every year. I don’t know that being a dyeworker is much better than being a miner, except the dyeworkers can go home at night.”
The road curved southward through a hillside cut, descending toward a stone bridge over a stream. Beyond the bridge, the fields and nut orchards ended, and the graystone houses began.
“How far?” asked Dainyl.
“The mining building is just across the bridge, and a couple hundred yards up the road that turns into the mine road farther out.”
As they crossed the bridge, Dainyl glanced at the water, then upstream. So far as he could tell, no one was fouling the water. Clean rivers were important in growing lifeforce mass.
About fifty yards beyond the bridge, the four turned right at a stone-paved boulevard. They rode for but a fraction of a glass, before Rhasyr said, “There. That is the mining building.”
The building before which Rhasyr reined up was a square one-story stone structure no more than twenty yards on a side. The red tile roof was highest at the rear and sloped forward, with eaves overhanging the front wall by a good three yards to form a covered porch.
As Dainyl dismounted and handed the reins of the bay to Rhasyr, a man stepped onto the smoothed stones of the porch.
“You must be the colonel. I’m Director Donasyr. Do come in.” Like Herryf, Donasyr was short, squarish, and dark, but unlike the majer, his eyes did not bulge. They were a dark gray and deep-set under bushy black eyebrows. He wore a short-sleeved brown tunic and matching trousers, with dark brown boots.
“We will wait for you here, sir,” Rhasyr said.
“Thank you.” Dainyl stepped up onto the porch, then had to duck his head to go through the doorway into the narrow foyer, following Donasyr into a conference room holding a circular table and five chairs. The single window looked out on the empty boulevard.
“My study’s filled with reports and papers.” The mine director smiled, but only with his mouth. Behind Donasyr’s pleasant and well-modulated voice, Dainyl sensed irritation and anger. ‘Take any seat, please.“
Dainyl sat in the armless wooden chair that faced the window across the table. Donasyr either had to sit close to the colonel, or with his back to the window. The mine director sat down across from Dainyl.
‘Tell me about what’s happening at the mines that’s different,“ Dainyl said.
“We’re losing workers. Some are getting killed trying to escape, and some are escaping. Worst of all, none of them are working as hard as they used to. I’ve checked the food rations. I’ve even increased them some. That didn’t help. For a time, I got Majer Herryf to send more guards, but that didn’t help either. I switched the overseers around. That didn’t help. I returned them to their original duties. That didn’t help.”
“Do you have any ideas why this is happening?”
“If I knew, I could do something about it.” Frustration spilled into Donasyr’s words.
“When did you notice this?”
“Midsummer. After the… incident. Two miners died. Found ‘em at the end of a tunnel. Not a mark on them. None of the others could say how it happened. I even had one or two flogged, but that didn’t change anything.” Donasyr shrugged and gave the nervous headshake again. “After that, production dropped off, and the number that tried to escape went up. We’ve got more bodies than we did last summer, and production is down by almost two fifths.”
Those were facts that no one had mentioned to Dainyl. “I’m a little surprised that you
direct the mines from here,” offered the colonel.
“You couldn’t get anything done up there,” replied Donasyr. ‘There’s the smell, and the bugs. Also, I need to be down here to take care of the shipping and financial arrangements, and to keep track of the payments as they get transferred to our account in the Duarches’ Bank.“
“Who gets the payments?”
“They’re split. The crafters and the guilds put up some of the money. So did the council, and a few of the eastern sel-tyrs. The return isn’t that great after expenses, but it’s created jobs and kept Dramuria independent of the seltyrs.”
Dainyl talked to Donasyr for almost another full glass, but he wasn’t certain that he learned much more than he had in the first few moments. More details, certainly, but nothing that shed any additional light on what was happening at the mine.
In time, he thanked Donasyr and left the building. Outside, Rhasyr and the other two Cadmians were waiting on the shaded front porch, although the midmorning sun had turned the day pleasantly warm for Dainyl.
The colonel gestured toward the docks. ‘The council building’s still off the square?“
“They have talked about building a new one for years,” replied Rhasyr, “but no one has.”
The four mounted and began to ride into Dramuria. From all the carts and peddlers, Novdi was a market day. As they rode slowly down the middle of the main street, avoiding carts and wagons, Dainyl was aware that more than a few eyes focused on him. He listened to those murmurs he could pick up.
“Myrmidon officer…”
“… means trouble when you see one of ‘em…”
“Don’t stare at him, Georgyt! They can kill you with a look…”
Dainyl was tempted to turn and smile at the woman and her small son, out of perversity. He refrained.
Like the mining building, the council building was a small graystone building with a red tile roof, but the tiles were far older, and many were cracked. The building was oblong, rather than square, and the front eaves only overhung the stone porch by little more than a yard.
Dainyl dismounted, again handing the bay’s reins to Rhasyr, and walked toward the main entrance, a door painted a bright blue. Before he got there, it opened.
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