The Blue Shoe

by Roderick Townley

But that one kind gesture, though not repeated, got Hap through the day. A hard day it was, filled with dirty looks and brutal work. By the end of his shift, Hap was covered with rock dust and soaked with sweat. His arms were quivering, and his back hurt so much he thought he’d never straighten up.

  A distant whistle echoed through the tunnels. Then Pec lifted his own brass whistle and blew an answering blast.

  “Dinner,” he called out. “Put up your tools.”

  Hap had never heard sweeter words. Soon after, he was standing by the tracks, waiting for transport.

  “How’d you like your first day?” came an echoing voice from the darkness. It was Maurice, the man in the rocking chair. He seemed not to have moved the whole time. “Pleasant work, on the whole, don’t you agree?”

  “Well …”

  “Don’t expect it to be this easy all the time,” he continued. “You arrived late, so you had only half a day.”

  “That was half a day?” Hap couldn’t believe he’d have to work twice as long tomorrow.

  A distant grumble of metal announced that his ride was coming.

  “Enjoy your evening,” came the voice, accompanied by a faint clink of ice cubes.

  The train ground to a stop, and Hap tumbled in.

  Thirteen

  DINNER WAS IN the mess hall, a drafty wooden structure filled with hard-faced men—eighty at least—sitting on benches at long tables. Each had a bowl of sour-tasting mush that a woman at the front of the room ladled out for them. A hunk of bread went with it and a cup of tea so foul-tasting Hap pushed it aside.

  He looked at the others. Most were silent, thinking their own thoughts, or no thoughts at all. It’s hard to think when your arms are aching so badly you can barely lift your spoon. Still, he kept glancing around, hoping to catch sight of his father.

  Dad, I’m going to take you away from here.

  There was no sign of him. Did he eat at a different time from the others?

  And where were the Aukis? There wasn’t a blue face in the room. Apparently, they didn’t mix with humans, or didn’t want to.

  And the women? Except for the hard-eyed matron doling out food, Hap hadn’t seen any women at all.

  He glanced at the man at his elbow, an old fellow slurping his slop directly from the bowl, not bothering with the spoon. Hap wasn’t a fancy eater, but even he flinched at the sounds the man made.

  On Hap’s other side sat a man who wasn’t eating at all, just staring blankly ahead.

  “Hello there,” said Hap in a bright voice.

  Slowly, the man’s head turned.

  “Name’s Hap.”

  No response.

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  The next person down leaned forward. It was a boy, maybe fifteen years old. His left eye was closed—blind, Hap realized—the other open and friendly. “Tomas don’t talk much,” he said. “He’ll eat if you feed ’im. That’s it.”

  “Oh,” said Hap.

  “Come on, Tom,” the boy said. He spooned some mush into the man’s half-open mouth. Not all of it got in.

  “What happened to him?” said Hap.

  “I’ll tell you sometime.” He spooned in another mouthful. “But not with him sittin’ here. Gets him upset.” He paused a beat. “You don’t want to get Tomas upset.”

  Hap stuck out his hand. “My name’s Hap.”

  The other, despite a blind eye and a filthy face, had an easy smile that made you want to trust him. He reached in front of Tomas and shook hands. “Name’s Markie.”

  The two talked while Tom, between them, said nothing. It was like talking around a doorpost.

  Markie was glad to answer Hap’s questions about the way things worked. He’d been here several years and knew everyone. He laughed when he heard where Hap had been assigned. “Have you met Maurice yet?”

  “I have.”

  “Watch out for him.”

  “Oh?”

  “And watch out for the Auki they call Pec.”

  “I will.”

  “And of course, watch out for Slag.”

  “Anybody I shouldn’t watch out for?”

  “Watch out for everybody. That includes me. Slag has his spies everywhere.”

  Hap gave him a smiling look. “Are you a spy?”

  “Would I tell you if I was?”

  “Good point. So,” he said, “what did you do to get sent here?”

  “I didn’t show proper respect. They say I made a rude noise when Ludmilla the Large came by.”

  “Did you?”

  “Never could pass up the chance for a laugh.”

  Hap thought about that. He’d been tempted himself, more than once. “Sounds like an expensive laugh.”

  “It was,” he said, “but if you’re always figuring expenses, you’re not going to get much laughing done.” He glanced at Tomas the Doorpost. “This fella could use a few laughs himself.”

  “My father used to laugh a lot. He was the funniest man in Aplanap. And the best singer.”

  “Was?”

  “He was sent here a year and a half ago.”

  Markie nodded. “What’s the name?”

  “Silas Barlo. Have you seen him?”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Some of the dirt flaked off and flitted into his bowl. “Let me think about that.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud whistle. Everyone turned to the front as Mr. Slag, dressed in military khaki and wearing his snap-brim hat, strode into the hall, with his two black dogs straining at the leash. He sprang onto the platform and held up a hand for silence, not that anyone, by now, was talking.

  Hap couldn’t help thinking about Grel’s dog, Rauf. He wouldn’t have a chance against these monsters. Then there was Sophia. They could have had her for breakfast.

  Stay hidden, girl. Hap’s eyes clamped shut with the force of his wish.

  “Your attention, please,” the commander called out. “We need to go over changes in your work schedules.” He proceeded to spend several minutes going down a list of assignments. Hap didn’t understand much of it. What he did understand were the sharp, dangerous angles of Slag’s features and the threat in his voice.

  “You’ll notice,” Slag said, “that these new assignments mean we’ll be digging deeper than before. You’ll be issued special gloves and headgear to deal with the new conditions.” His eyes scanned the room like a searchlight, focusing on each face in turn. He caught Hap’s eye for a moment, long enough to jerk his mouth into a smile.

  “That’s all for now. I wish you a good rest tonight and good work tomorrow.” With that, Slag jumped from the platform, punched a fist in the air, and made for the door, the dogs thudding along beside him.

  “New conditions?” murmured Hap, turning to Markie.

  “Heat. Haven’t you noticed, the deeper we dig, the warmer it gets?”

  “I wondered about that.”

  “We’ve all been wondering. Don’t make sense.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  He shrugged. “Either we’re inside a volcano or—well, you’ve heard the stories.”

  “Stories?”

  “About the mountain.”

  “Some.”

  “That it’s not just a mountain. It’s the center of the world.”

  “Don’t know that one.”

  “And at the center of it all, in the center of the center of the world, there’s this blue—”

  A deafening whistle blew, announcing the end of dinner. Men all around got up and carried their bowls to the back.

  “There’s a what?” said Hap.

  “Some sort of blue stone.” The whistle blew a second time. “Talk later.” He got Tom the Doorpost to his feet and was guiding him to the back of the hall. Hap followed behind.

  “What barracks are you bunking in?” said Markie when they were outside.

  “The one up ahead, I think.”

  “Same as us. We’ll walk you.”

  Hap’s head was spinning with quest
ions. A practical soul, he was usually quick to figure things out, but nothing made sense—not Maurice’s ice cubes or Tomas’s silence or Slag’s work orders. And the Aukis, how did they fit in?

  Under the questions were mysteries, and under the mysteries was the mountain itself. Holding the top of his jacket closed, Hap followed the strange pair as they scuffed along the snowy path toward the future.

  Fourteen

  THE SPACE BEHIND the main stove was not clean, but it was warm, even after the kitchen had been shut down for the night. It was here that Sophia made her nest.

  We have not forgotten about Miss Sophia—and of course, neither had Mr. Slag, who never forgot anything. He had one pink sock to go on, and he was determined to find the foot that fit into it.

  Fortunately, the girl had protectors. One of the scullery women lent her a blanket, and for a pillow Sophia rolled up the fleecy coat Grel had given her. And in a kitchen that size, surrounded by supportive women, food was never a problem.

  Nightmares were. The worst was one that recurred in various forms: An enormous snapping turtle, with eyes as green as Slag’s, would lunge from a lake and grab hold of Hap’s foot, or sometimes his hand, and start dragging him under the surface. More than once, Sophia’s cries would wake up the others.

  For there were two other children who slept in the kitchen. They were twins, a boy and girl, much younger than Sophia. Orphans, she’d been told. The mayor of Aplanap didn’t believe in coddling unproductive citizens and had shipped them off to Xexnax. All around the prison camp, you could find the occasional child tucked away and protected. Mag the mule driver made sure of that.

  But Sophia wasn’t content to be tucked away. She was here to save Hap. Her problem was contacting him without being detected. Kept in the back as a kitchen helper, she had no way to mingle with miners. Often, she peeked out through the door and caught sight of her friend talking with one of the men. It bothered her to see Hap’s face so dirty and his eyes so tired, but at least he was alive.

  Sophia’s main protector during this time was Mag’s cousin Gert, the big, slab-faced woman who ladled out the mush. Gert was a tough old creature, as tough as mule-driver Mag herself, but she’d taken Sophia in without question. If Slag was after her, Gert would hide her, simple as that.

  And Gert was smarter than she looked. When she’d learned that soldiers were on their way with their dogs to sniff out Sophia’s hiding place, Gert had hustled the girl into an unused oven and started hammering fistfuls of garlic with a mallet. The aroma made the soldiers’ noses wrinkle and the dogs’ eyes water. For hours afterward, they could smell nothing but garlic.

  Still, Sophia couldn’t hide in the kitchen forever. Slag’s speech that first night had upset her. The change in mining assignments meant more danger for everyone, including Hap. The last time she had seen him, she’d thought his face was flushed, as if he’d spent too much time near a hot stove.

  She had to do something.

  And then she knew what it was. That evening, finishing her chores, she went up to Gert. “I’ve got to find somebody,” she said.

  The big woman set down her dishrag. “All right,” she said.

  Sophia glanced around. The twins were in the corner giggling and throwing bread balls at each other. “A man named Silas Barlo.”

  Gert was silent.

  Sophia searched her face.

  “Do you know him?” “I might.”

  “Do you or don’t you?”

  “What do you want with him?”

  “I don’t think I can tell you.” Sophia saw the way Gert looked at her and hesitated. She was going to have to trust somebody. “Maybe I can tell you. It’s a big secret, though.”

  “I don’t like secrets. They lead to trouble.”

  “This one could lead to a lot of trouble.”

  The woman sighed. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  So, in a low voice, Sophia told about Hap and his plan to rescue his father and bring him back to Aplanap.

  For half a minute, Gert said nothing. “Which one is Hap?” she said at last.

  “He’s the boy. The younger one out there.”

  “I noticed him. He don’t look so good to me.”

  “Don’t say that! Mag says he’s going to die like her old mule!”

  “Jack is dying?”

  “No, but he will one day.”

  Gert raised her large head to look at a corner of the ceiling.

  “What good will it do to talk to Barlo?” “What good? Well, first I’d tell him about Hap. He probably doesn’t know his son’s here looking for him.”

  Gert was silent.

  “Then we’d find a way to get them together.”

  Still no comment.

  “Then the three of us will put our heads together and figure out an escape plan. Four of us, if you’ll help.”

  Gert shook her head.

  “What?” said Sophia.

  “You don’t have a plan. You have a hope. There’s no room for hope on this mountain.”

  “You mean you won’t help?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The girl stared at her. You could see the anger building. “Then who will?”

  “Nobody with any sense.”

  “Somebody must know where Silas Barlo is.”

  “Sure. Mr. Slag knows. Why don’t you ask him?”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sophia said slowly. “If I want to save Hap, I’m going to have to save his dad, because Hap won’t leave without him.”

  Gert sat down heavily and pulled over a plate of nut cookies. “Wish I could help.”

  “Who can?”

  “Have a cookie.”

  “Who can?”

  “Aside from Slag, I don’t know. He’s got it all in his ledger book.”

  “Where does he keep this book?”

  “Don’t even think about it.” “Where?”

  “In his hands. He’s never without it.” Gert saw the look on her face. “You can’t get it.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “You stay where you are.”

  “But I’m no use to anybody!”

  “You’re of use to me. And your friend out there would be happy knowing you’re safe.”

  “He’d be happier knowing where his father is.”

  Gert wasn’t listening. She was gathering greasy rags in a pile to be washed.

  Sophia watched her moving about the kitchen. Look at her. I bet she knows exactly where Silas Barlo is.

  Gert hung a heavy pot on its hook. “What are you thinking about over there?” she said.

  I’ll find a way. He’s got to put that ledger down sometime.

  Sophia smiled. “I was wondering if I could have some more of these cookies.”

  Fifteen

  SOPHIA WAS RIGHT to worry about her friend. As the days wore on, Hap became both harder and softer. His hands were callused, and he could sling rocks around like an Auki, but the heat at the lower levels where he worked was intense, and he often felt dizzy as he dragged himself into the mess hall at night.

  “You’re Hap, right?”

  He looked up into the round, red face of the woman known as Gert. He’d seen her often enough, but she’d never spoken to him before.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “We’ve got a problem.” She ladled greasy mush into his bowl and handed him a hunk of bread. “She’s disappeared.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend.”

  “You mean …” He looked around. “You mean Sophia?”

  “Come back for seconds. We’ll talk.”

  In a daze, Hap carried his tray to the table. His friend Markie glanced up. “You all right?” he said through a mouthful of bread.

  “Guess so.”

  Sophia! He’d finally found out where she’d been, only to learn she was gone. He wol
fed his food and headed to the front of the hall.

  “I think,” said Gert, glancing around for spies, “she’s trying to find your father.”

  “That’s way too dangerous!”

  The woman shushed him with a look. “It’s worse,” she murmured. “She may be trying to get a peek at Slag’s ledger book—the one he always has with him?”

  He nodded. “I remember it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t of told you.”

  “No, no, you did the right thing.”

  “Slag’s not someone to fool around with.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it.” She filled his bowl. “I’m talking to a wall, aren’t I?”

  Hap smiled.

  Slowly, he walked back to the table. Markie looked up, his good eye bright and questioning. He’d been trying to get Tomas to chew a hunk of bread.

  “Where does Mr. Slag sleep?” Hap said.

  “In the headquarters building. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  Markie gave him an odd look. “Any time.”

  Hap’s own sleeping quarters were in a building not far from the mess hall. The beds were actually shelves, with thin mattresses and thinner blankets. There were heat pipes, as in the headquarters building, but only one to a floor. They barely warmed the bedrooms.

  Hap climbed to his bunk. Soon others arrived, played a game or two of Plog, and tucked in early. They had to, given the five a.m. wake-up and ten-hour day. Hap lay listening. Should he have told Markie what he’d learned? He liked the kid but didn’t know how far to trust him. As open as Markie could be talking about himself and how he’d lost his eye (a shard of rock flung from an air drill), he was cagey and evasive when asked about Silas.

  Everybody seems to know something, and nobody will tell me anything.

  When the men were snoring, Hap climbed down, picked up his shoes and coat, and slipped into the hall. He’d been thinking about Sophia, about where she might go if she really wanted to get a look at Slag’s ledger book. He decided to scout out the headquarters first.

  Although Hap knew Slag had many spies, there were few guards, and in the barracks, there was only an elderly night watchman. After all, where would anyone run? Howling wind and driving snow did not inspire schemes of escape.