Blaine kept an eye on Welton and Tanner as they made their way around the room. Most of the new prisoners had no choice but to give up part of their meal, which the two thieves then re-sold for extra coin. When Tanner and Welton had finished their rounds, they reported back to one of the lieutenants, a pig-eyed, pock-faced man with one ear.
“That’s him,” Piran said, following Blaine’s gaze. “He’s the one they report to.” And as Blaine watched, Pig-face accepted a bundle from Tanner and marked something on a bit of parchment in a pouch on his belt. “He’s mean as a stuck pig and just about as dumb.”
Late in the afternoon, a messenger arrived for Pig-face. He passed along a piece of parchment sealed with wax, which Pig-face accepted gravely.
“That can’t be good,” Piran said under his breath, with a glance toward the overseer, who was carefully reading the parchment. “Orders from Prokief never turn out well. Wish I knew what that said.”
“Trouble?” Ernest asked.
Piran nodded. “Usually, men get reassigned because there’s another crew that’s short workers. You think the mines are bad, but there are worse duties.”
“We’ve got enough pickpockets around,” Blaine said. “Have someone lift the paper, read it, and put it back. Then we’ll know.”
Piran gave him a look. “Stealing the paper isn’t the hard part. Reading it is. Most of the men in here can’t sign their names.” He paused. “I can read, but I can’t distract Pig-face and read the paper on the sly at the same time.”
“I can read,” Blaine said, driven by an intuition that the message was important. “Get me the paper, I’ll read it, and tell you what it says after the thief returns it.”
Piran eyed him as if debating the plan. He’s probably trying to figure why someone who can read ended up here, Blaine thought. Then again, there’ve got to be other people here, like Dawe, who could read and figure sums enough to run a business. He had already decided to leave his old life behind him, one of the reasons he introduced himself as ‘Mick’ and said little about the circumstances of his exile. If you wanted to seem like just another convict, you’ve blown your chance. But deep down, he had the sense that finding out what the message said was urgent.
“All right,” Piran said. “Let me work this out. Just be ready for it when it comes, and you’d better figure out how to get a look at what it says without anyone seeing you, or we’ll all be headed to Raka before nightfall.”
Over the next few candlemarks, Blaine followed Piran’s lead, intrigued that Piran and the other prisoners seemed to have a silent language of subtle hand signals to convey messages. As Blaine and his two shackle-mates trundled over to the main heap with their cart, Bickle, Torr, and Dunbar joined them a few moments later.
Piran bent over to unload the rocks, which put him very near Bickle’s ear as Bickle did the same. “Get the paper to Blaine,” Piran murmured. “Tell Shorty he’s got to put it back again so no one notices.”
Bickle gave a barely perceptible nod and moved away as if nothing had happened. Piran glanced at Blaine and raised an eyebrow, with a quirk to his lips that showed he was enjoying the game.
Blaine concentrated on his work, afraid he might give the whole thing away if he glanced too often toward Pig-face. About a candlemark after Piran alerted Bickle, Blaine heard Dunbar shout for the overseer.
“Have a look at this,” Dunbar yelled. “I think we’ve got some green stones in with the rubies.”
Everyone turned to look at him, and Pig-face hustled over. “Where?” he demanded.
“In that pile—the last few chucks I pulled out,” Dunbar said. “Over there.”
Pig-face followed Dunbar and his shackle-mates to the pile. Bickle and Torr crowded so closely behind Pig-face that they nearly knocked the overseer onto the rock pile. “Get back, you idiots,” Pig-face ordered. Dutifully, Bickle and Torr backed away as far as their chains would permit.
“I don’t see any green stones,” Pig-face said, glaring at Dunbar.
“Right there,” Dunbar insisted. “Can’t you see them?”
Pig-face picked up a chuck of rock and held it closer to the nearest lantern. “I see red,” he replied, irritation in his voice. “Not green. Not blue. Red. Like rubies—and damn few of them.”
Dunbar shrugged and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe it’s the light. I could have sworn I saw green. They’d be mighty valuable if they were green, wouldn’t they?”
“They’re not green,” Pig-face snapped. “Now get back to work, the lot of you, or the red you’ll see will be blood. Your blood.” With that, he stomped off to his usual post.
Once again, Piran, Blaine, and Ernest shuffled over to the main pile with their load of rocks. Bickle, Torr, and Dunbar brought a new load up just as Piran turned to leave.
“Hey, watch it!” Piran complained as Bickle bumped him.
“Sorry, mate. Tripped on the chain,” Bickle said with a hapless shrug. Piran gave him a glare and then turned back to their spot along the wall.
“Be quick,” he muttered under his breath to Blaine. “No telling when the overseer might notice it’s missing.”
“I’ve got to take a piss,” Blaine said, loudly enough he figured Pig-face would hear. A trench along the wall that had already been mined-out served as a latrine, adding to the stink of sweat and dirty bodies. Being shackled to two other men yielded the unfortunate consequence hat everyone had to go along when one person needed relief. Taking a leak was one of the few times neither Pig-face nor anyone else was likely to be watching too closely. Blaine positioned himself facing the wall, while Piran and Ernest turned around, facing out. The light was bad and the position awkward, but Blaine managed to read the paper by the dim light and relieve himself for veracity’s sake. When he turned back toward the others, the paper was hidden once more.
Pig-face glared at them, silently hurrying them back to work. Blaine ducked his head, hoping he looked duly chastened. When they returned to their place, Piran sank his axe into the wall with a mighty crack, and a large chuck of rock came loose.
“Whoo-ee! Look at that!” Piran crowed. “Don’t know my own strength! And ain’t those rubies pretty!”
“Break that thing up and get it to the center pile before the last load goes up,” Pig-face ordered. Piran shot Blaine a conspiratorial wink and then he brought his axe down several more times, until the big chunk was a more manageable heap of stones. Together, they trundled their load to the central collection point just as Shorty, Albert, and Tadd were about to head back. Blaine palmed the parchment and barely brushed against Shorty, who took it before Blaine realized it was gone.
Shorty’s group had barely made it back to their place before Tadd groaned and clutched his chest. He gave a deep, hacking cough, and drew his breath in with a painful wheeze. “You’d better take a look at him!” Albert urged.
Pig-face’s expression made it clear that Tadd was welcome to die so long as he did it quietly, but he headed over. Tadd was red-faced, gasping for breath, and his eyes bulged alarmingly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Pig-face demanded.
Tadd gestured, but the hand motions were impossible to decipher. They were, however, interesting enough to distract Pig-face as Shorty brushed against him, returning the parchment. Tadd gave another wheezing inhale. Albert moved around behind him, and brought both his fists down hard between Tadd’s shoulder blades. Tadd let out a belch that echoed in the close confines of the rock cavern, and collapsed onto his hands and knees, breathing normally once more.
“Swallowed wrong,” he managed, looking convincingly like a man who had nearly choked to death. “I’ll be all right.”
Pig-face glared at him. “Get back to work,” he snapped. “Best you all make up for the time you spent standing around gaping.”
For a few candlemarks, the mine room was quiet save for the steady clink of pickaxes against rock. Coan’s trio of miners were closest to the rock pile in the center of the room, which meant Blaine had to cross their pat
h with every load. So far, Coan had ignored them. But as Blaine, Piran, and Ernest ferried their biggest batch of rocks to the main pile in metal scuttles. Coan wheeled just as Blaine neared, swinging his axe with lethal force right at Blaine’s head.
Blaine managed to raise his own axe quickly enough to deflect the deadly strike, though barely in time. Piran swung his full scuttle at Coan’s face, forcing Coan to dodge. Ernest swung his bucket lower, catching Coan right between the legs. The big man went down with a groan. Vogo and Rall, the other two men in Coan’s triad, moved forward to fight. Before they could move far, Shorty, Albert, and Tadd closed in.
The point of Shorty’s pick rested threateningly against the base of Vogo’s neck, while Tadd’s axe was between Rall’s shoulder blades. “Think twice,” Piran said. “Accidents happen.”
Vogo leveled a murderous look at Piran. Tadd’s lip curled, but he said nothing. The sound of footsteps in the tunnel and the possibility of Pig-face walking in on the situation ended the confrontation. Vogo helped Coan to his feet as Blaine, Piran, and Ernest backed away.
“This isn’t over,” Coan growled.
“It is for now,” Blaine replied.
Shorty’s group edged closer to where Coan and his shacklemates worked, making it unmistakable that Coan and his friends were being watched. For the rest of the shift, Shorty, Albert, and Tadd paused to monitor Coan every time Blaine and his group brought another load to the pile, and Blaine’s trio did the same to protect Shorty and the others.
A few candlemarks later, Welton and Tanner showed up with dinner rations. Piran had covered both rounds with his coin, and he reminded the pair loudly of the fact. But as Welton and Tanner made their way down the line, some of the newcomers were not so lucky.
“I just got off the damn ship,” one of the miners protested. “How in Torven’s name am I supposed to have coin?”
Welton shrugged. “Not my problem. You can still eat—half rations.”
“You son of a bitch.” Tired, hungry and already on edge from everything that had gone before, the new miner swung his fist at Welton. Welton dodged, and Tanner struck back with what looked like a metal weight inside a cloth sling. Tanner’s sap hit the miner and the man went down. Welton pulled a knife as Pig-face’s guards streamed into the room.
“Keep away,” Welton warned the others. The guards took in the situation and stood back, doing nothing as Tanner kicked the downed miner hard in the side with his boot, then caught him again in the face, breaking the man’s nose. The guards remained silent and motionless, but the message was clear that any who might move to help would receive no support and would be open to the same abuse.
Finally, when the miner lay motionless in a pool of blood, Tanner stepped back, breathing hard. Blood spattered his shirt and his shoes, reddening his fists and arms. “Better get him up before the Overseer spots him,” Welton gloated. “All we have to do is say you were in on it,” he said with a smug grin, “and the Overseer will have the guards beat the shit out of you, just because.”
The bloodied miner was barely conscious as his shackle mates got him on his feet, putting him with a shoulder to the mine wall so he could remain standing. The guards ushered Welton and Tanner out. Once they were gone, many of the others traded low whispers. Piran had grown dangerously quiet. It only took Blaine one glance at the ice in Piran’s gaze to know that they were both thinking of revenge.
By the time Blaine and the others finally trudged back to the surface at the end of what he guessed was at least twelve candlemarks, it was still dark. Even darker, if possible, than when they went underground.
“How do you like the long dark?” Piran asked as the guards removed their leg irons and the exhausted men lined up to return to their barracks. His tone was affable, though his eyes had not lost the hardened glint that Blaine knew meant Piran had not forgotten the altercation in the mine.
“It’ll take some getting used to,” Ernest admitted.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Piran replied. “One more damnable thing about this place.”
When they reached the barracks, the line had already formed for dinner. Blaine found that he no longer cared whether it was the same meager stew and hard bread they had the night before so long as it was warm and not too awful to keep down.
Verran and Dawe joined them at one of the tables. “I guess you made it out in one piece,” Verran said. Even his energy seemed to be flagging. “I’ve seen enough of livestock and their shit to last me for the rest of my life,” he complained. Blaine sniffed the air, and realized both men carried a definite smell of the stables with them.
“Go on, mock us,” Dawe said, noticing Blaine’s reaction. “We mucked out stables, and cow barns, and goat sheds, and chicken coops…if it shits, we shoveled it,” he added. “And tomorrow we get to shoe the horses and mules, which are positively murderous because the guards aren’t gentle with them. So if I don’t come back, it’s because some godsdamned mule put an iron shoe through my forehead.”
Blaine took another look at Verran and Dawe. Both men sported new bruises on their faces, and held themselves as if they had been injured. “Have a run-in with one of those mules?” he asked.
Verran said nothing, focusing his attention on his food. Dawe grimaced. “Stefan had friends out in the barn. They jumped Verran and got him pretty good before a couple of us waded in to chase them off. Made it pretty clear they would be back for more.”
“Sounds like the mines,” Blaine added, his tone grim. He glanced around to assure himself that Coan and his buddies were out of earshot before filling them in. “Looks like this is going to be a problem.”
Piran bent forward as if tucking into his food. “What did the note say?” he asked so quietly that Blaine barely made out his words.
“Prokief needs more men to hunt wolves and bear,” Blaine recounted, with one hand in front of his mouth as he added a cough. “Six more, as soon as the quota is filled for the week.”
“Damn,” Piran said. “That’s bad. Practically a death sentence to go out on the ice like that.”
“How will he choose?” Blaine asked.
“Probably whoever he dislikes most at the moment. Could be any of us.” A dangerous gleam came into Piran’s eyes. “Unless we give him a nudge in the right direction.”
“You have an idea?”
“I’m working on it.”
Their friends had increased the volume of their conversation to cover for them, trusting that Blaine and Piran would share their secret in good time. Then Blaine and Ernest recounted their experience in the mines, while Piran shoveled his dinner and looked about in the unlikely case others had not finished their portions. Verran’s head came up when Blaine recounted the food extortionists.
“Wait, did you say Tanner?” Verran said. “Big guy, squints a lot, never leaves himself open on his left side?”
Piran leaned forward, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. “Yeah. That’s him. Why?”
Verran grinned. “I know Tanner. And I know why he guards his left like that. Can’t see worth a damn out of that eye. I should know. I nearly put it out for him.”
A slow smile spread across Piran’s face. “Gentlemen,” he said in a whisper, “I think I have an answer to our problem.”
PART FIVE: Bribes and Paybacks
“Move over. This is our area now.” Coan gave Dunbar a shove, nearly causing the tall, skinny man to tumble over the pile of rocks he and his two shackle-mates had mined.
“How do you figure?” Dunbar replied, coming back from the shove with a push of his own, his temper rising. “We’ve been here for the last three days. Go back to your own spot.”
Torr and Bickel were chained to Dunbar’s left. Each of them outweighed Dunbar by double, and Blaine suspected that they were doing more than their share to mine enough each day to meet quota. Both men stood beside Dunbar, looking ready for a fight.
“I say this is my spot now,” Coan repeated, backed up by
two equally large men who pushed Torr and Bickel out of the way.
“That’s enough!” Pig-face, the overseer strode over. He glanced at the pile of rocks and saw several chunks glittering red with rubies. “Looks like we’ve got a good vein. You three, get to it,” he said, pointing to Coan and his allies. “And you three—take over where they were,” he said with a jerk of his head to indicate that Dunbar, Torr, and Bickel should exchange sections with Coan’s team. Coan gave them a nasty smile of triumph as they grumbled and went their way.
That’s one move in our favor, Blaine thought, suppressing a smile. Coan would find out soon enough that Piran and the others had spiked the rock pile with extra rubies, knowing the possibility of a rich strike—and the potential for a reward from Prokief—would be more temptation than Coan could withstand.
Half-way across the large mining room, Tadd, Albert, and Shorty dug away at a section of wall near where Stefan and two other men were working. Since the fight in the barracks three nights ago when Blaine and the others first arrived, Stefan and Coan had gone out of their way to cause just enough problems for the others to make everyone miserable without actually getting themselves in trouble.
“Hey!” Tadd said, turning on Stefan and his two partners. “Quit taking our rocks! We mined those, you lazy ass!”
For an instant, Stefan looked dumbstruck, but his quick temper got the best of him. “What in Raka are you talking about? Rocks are rocks.” He made an obscene gesture, and his shackle-mates added equally rough comments.
“By Torven’s horns! You’ve been kicking our rocks over to your pile so you get more credit for the day’s work,” Tadd accused. “We’re taking them back!” Albert and Shorty walked the length of their chain and began helping themselves to rocks from the pile nearest Stefan.
“Give those back!” Stefan shouted, fists balled, and started toward Tadd before he remembered his chains, which brought him up short.
Arctic Prison: King's Convicts I Page 6
