Quarry Lane diverted from the Alley and plunged Elsa deeper underground. The temperature rose as she descended. Mineral dust danced in front of her face and around her lantern.

Makeshift stalls huddled beneath flickering torches and offered services to the miners travelling the lane. A man straddled a grindstone, his bare torso covered in grime and sweat. He bent over the spinning wheel to sharpen an old pickaxe. Sparks flew from his fingertips and scattered across the path. A woman in a grubby wrap squatted at his feet, her quick fingers weaving ropes from course kenafi fibres. Elsa moved by them and felt overdressed and out of place.

“Oi!” A female voice called out, causing Elsa to jump.

A pushcart barrelled towards her and halted. A dozen cages lurched forward. The movement jolted the birds within from their perches and turned the cart into a confusion of flapping wings and unhappy chirps.

The blonde woman kicked a rubber wedge beneath her front wheel. “I thought I saw you sneaking past.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Elsa said.

Sunny steadied a still swaying cage and gave Elsa a gap-toothed smile. “Sure, sure.”

The bird catcher pushed her sleeves higher up her arms. Her Bad Seed tattoo was clearly visible on her left wrist, not that Sunny seemed to care.

“I’m surprised to see you down this way,” Sunny said. “Hanging around deep dark mines isn’t usually your style.”

“I’m after lamp oil,” Elsa said.

“A dangerous place to visit, even for light.”

“Yeah,” Elsa agreed, though she didn’t expect Sunny to understand. As far as Elsa knew, Sunny didn’t have to worry about anyone but herself. She never had to look into another person’s eyes and see disappointment, anger or even hate. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

Sunny tsked. “You should make time for your friends.”

Elsa wondered if the term ‘friend’ correctly defined their relationship. Dealing with Sunny was like looking at flickering shadows on a cave wall—Elsa could never quite get a clear image of the young woman or her motives. The bird catcher was all sly looks and secretive smiles. She was always asking questions, always prying into Elsa’s business. Their interactions made Elsa feel extra cautious and she wasn’t sure she could be friends with someone she didn’t fully trust.

“Does your uncle know you’re down this lane?”

“I don’t need his permission,” Elsa said. “He’s not my keeper.”

Sunny took a grub from the pouch at her waist and fed it to one of her birds. “That’s cute. So, does he know?”

“He’s not yet back from the surface to ask.”

Sunny smirked. “I knew it! I hate to say it—”

“Don’t say it then,” Elsa said.

“Ookaaay.”

“I mean it, Sunny. You keep your thoughts to yourself. My uncle catches even a hint I was in Quarry Lane from you or anyone else and I’ll tell the guards you get your birds from the surface caves.”

Sunny’s blue eyes widened in false indignation. “I find these birds in the Darkzone, confused and injured. I’ve never travelled illegally above ground.”

“That’s a lie,” Elsa said. “I’ve seen you hiding from the patrols, and I’ve heard you warning your customers against talking about your business. The barest whisper and I’ll turn you in.”

“Okay, okay! Geez. You’re a tough one, putting the word on me.” The bird catcher winked. “But that’s why I like you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Sunny stuck her fingers into one of the cages and frowned when the bird edged away. “So, what do you think of my latest batch of canaries? Took me a whole week to find these little tweeters!”

Elsa examined the birds in the faint light and took in their squat beaks, shapely wings and patchy white breasts. A few days in the Darkzone and they had already started to fade. Their mottled brown and orange feathers were dull and their chirps sad, as if they knew their fate was to end up in some dusty quarry pit, held in darkness until they died.

“Well?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking,” Elsa said. “You already know what I think. Birds weren’t meant to live underground.”

Sunny shrugged. “Neither are humans.”

The bird catcher removed the rubber wedge from beneath her wheel, ready to move on. “As long as there’s demand, I’ll keep selling canaries in this light-forsaken place.”

“You know these aren’t canaries, right?”

Sunny shrugged again and gave her short wave goodbye. “They smell gas and they drop, exactly like they’re supposed to do, who cares what they’re called?”

***

The passageway opened into a large cave dominated by a giant pit. Machinery and buildings crowded the pit’s rim. A large wheel rotated a long bucket chain, hoisting water from the mine below and tipping it into a collection of channels and pipes.

The Black Hole Tavern glowed at the far edge of this yawning cavity. Built from stone and metal, stark and unpainted, the cobbled together building was home to Dapper Jones and his gang of frowning men. A crude distillery attached to one side of the tavern, all bent brass pipes and towering vats. This was Dapper’s main business, cheap grog made using the mineral-laced water from the mines, but as a side venture the tavern owner also dealt in necessities. If Elsa wanted lamp oil, Dapper was the person to see.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The path to the tavern travelled the pit’s edge, alongside more stalls dedicated to the mining trade and a few pop-up gambling dens. A man in front of large wooden rat-baiting box called Elsa over to witness ‘the greatest raticide of the century.’ He held a stocky terrier in his arms.

“One Hundred rats, one feisty dog! Guess the time and win the meat. Dine like the Keeper for a week. Only a lumiere to place your bet.”

Ahead, a lift platform dangled over the abyss, its frame heavy with rusted cables, counterweights and wheels. The two flea-bitten donkeys who powered it had broken from their tethers. They sat beneath the cool, steady stream from an overflowing sluiceway further up the path, while their grubby owner leant against the lift’s wide treadwheel, sleeping off his second jar of grog. Elsa walked around the ill-tempered animals and ducked beneath the low end of the tin channel. Droplets hit the back of her neck and caused an unpleasant prickle to ripple across her skin.

Patrons littered the short path to the tavern, Smokers whose bony arms and sunken faces were covered in either plantation filth or the fine yellow scum of the quarry. They huddled in groups and crouched in the dust alongside the pit, cupping jars of spirits so strong Elsa was sure she could use the clear liquid to polish bronze. She wound her way between them and drew their attention like drunken moths to candle flame. A few called out lewd suggestions she ignored. Sleazy, slurring, legless men didn’t scare her, it was the silent sober ones who were dangerous.

Above the entrance, light bulbs illuminated a hand painted sign with the tavern’s name. One of Dapper’s men sat within its glow. Behind him a smoky generator hummed a noisy tune, vibrating against a piece of corrugated iron. Petrol fumes scented the air.

“Place is full, green-eyes,” he said, his face set in a scowl.

“I’m not here to stay. I heard Dapper has lamp oil.”

He looked her up and down. “Quick then.”

Elsa parted the greasy strips of plastic serving as the tavern door. Inside, sullen men and women sat at tables and chairs made from crates and wood scraps. Strings of power thirsty, dust-covered lightbulbs crisscrossed the ceiling. A music box, in desperate need of a clean, played a scratchy tune in the corner.

Elsa stuck to the shadows. She skirted around the edge of the room to the serving counter, a thick wooden door stacked on concrete blocks. Dapper Jones appeared from the storeroom, his thin hair brushed back on his head and his shirt stiff and covered in ingrained stains. Dapper’s eyes, oily brown spheres, slipped over Elsa.

“Yep?” He said by way of greeting.

“Rusty sent me. He said you might have lantern oil.”

The tavern owner slid a hand along his jowls. “I’ve got a few jars.”

“How much?”

“Four lumieres.”

“For the lot?”

Dapper stared at her.

“But, it only costs one in the city,” Elsa said.

The tavern owner bared his teeth. “Does this look like Haven to you?”

Elsa swallowed. “No, but even Rusty only charges two lumieres at most. Who knows the quality of this oil? You could have diluted it with something to make it go further. Two lumieres seems reasonable to me.”

Dapper shook his head. “Do you have any idea the risks I take sneaking this stuff across the lake and hiding it from the guards? I’ve got costs to cover. Besides,” he gave his chin another stroke, “you ain’t exactly my usual customer.”

Elsa pulled at the sleeve covering her tattoo. “What’s that supposed to mean? I live and work in the Darkzone.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a fancy apprenticeship.”

“So?”

“So, you’ve got opportunities. You’re a young woman of upward mobility.” He made a vague sweeping gesture at the other patrons. “Look at this pathetic lot. The only up in their life is the stairs they take to the Plantation Caves. I’ve gotta keep things fair.”

Her frustration rose. “How’s overcharging me fair? My mother’s a plantation worker.”

Dapper smacked his hand against the bar and the wood shivered. “Four lumieres per jar. Take it or leave it!”

His outburst drew the attention of the room and Elsa lost her nerve. She dumped the tokens onto the counter.

“Just give me two jars.”

Dapper angled his thick neck to the storeroom and bellowed, “Delilah! Two special jars. Quick!”

Elsa took the oil from the tired woman and retreated outside. The doorman shifted his long legs from her path and said, “Better move, green-eyes. The change is coming.”

Elsa didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried along the path, reaching the lift platform as a small bell tinkled on its frame. The donkeys complained as their master bullied them back onto the treadwheel. He cracked his whip and the donkeys staggered forward. The wheel turned, winding up the cable, and the metal ratchet advanced notch by notch, clicking as it caught. A platform rose from the quarry, carrying miners covered in grime. They squinted in the electric light and lurched from the rocking platform. More workers arrived from the Alley to take the lift back down into the dark hole. The narrow lane became hot and crowded.

Elsa clutched her basket and lantern to her chest and pushed her way through these sweaty bodies. She reached the end of Quarry Lane and entered the Alley.

Dirty plantation workers poured down the stone steps opposite. The passageway echoed with their noisy conversations and the loud clatter of their tin water cups knocking on their belts. The Alley came alive. Shutters opened along the dirt path and flooded the ravine with light. The rich scent of frying fish and other market foods wafted into the air.

Elsa pushed and ducked back towards the stairs to the Chimney. She didn’t get far. A bottleneck in front of the Lonely Flame hampered her journey. Impatient to be home, Elsa clambered onto a water drum to see over the crowd. A figure in blue stood motionless at the centre of the path, her red hair and ornate dress stark against the mass of dirty faces and faded clothing.

“Oh la la!” A grubby woman taunted Sienna, a miner’s satchel and pick slung across her stooped back. “Look at you, Queenie.”

The miner touched Sienna’s glossy hair and pulled at her skirt.

“You’re all gems and pearls, aren’t you?”

The miner’s dirt-encrusted hand snatched the feathered headband from Sienna’s head. She brushed the feathers against her hardened palm, delighting in their softness, and whistled. “Fancy, Fancy.”

The other Smokers moved closer, like scavenger beetles ready to pick the newcomer clean. From her perch, Elsa told herself she could do nothing to help. Smokers didn’t like it when you interrupted their sport and they had very long memories. Elsa couldn’t afford to make enemies. She repeated this mantra over and over in her head and took a deep breath to leave.

A new light in front of the Lonely Flame caught Elsa’s attention. There, she found Donald Mercer sitting beneath the balcony of the saloon, deep in conversation with Marcella. The Madame of the Lonely Flame reclined in her chair, one pale arm stretched across its back. While Donald seemed oblivious to his daughter’s predicament, Marcella watched the unfolding events with calculating eyes.

Images and feelings flashed through Elsa’s mind, memories she wanted to forget.

You know what to do, Elsa, her uncle’s voice said, so do it already.

Elsa jumped from the barrel and pushed through the crowd. She reached the miner and slapped her hand before she could take Sienna’s necklace.

“You have the headband,” Elsa said. “Be content and move along.”

The miner bared her few remaining teeth. “Shove off, little worm!”

She went for the necklace again.

Elsa grabbed her wrist. “Leave now.”

The miner’s eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, chest out, and flexed wiry arms. Elsa’s slighter form couldn’t compete, but she had something this woman didn’t. She had her uncle. Which meant she was going to land a blow stronger than anything this woman’s meaty fist could produce.

Elsa drew herself up taller. “Do it.”

In response to her taunt, the miner drew back her fist.