Back in the chapel, Dale called Henry over.

‘Okay, Henry; we’ll put the stuff where you want it, but first we must insist on tidying this place up. Do we have a deal?’ Dale said.

With his back to them, Henry slapped kindling down in the hearth and fiddled with some matches. All that could be heard was incoherent, furious grumbling from within his helmet.

‘I think that’s the best we’re going to get,’ remarked Irene to the others, with frustration audible in her own voice, and made sure Henry heard.

Leaving Henry to fiddle with the hearth and mutter to himself, the new miners began to toss out filth from years of living in the tiny building. They found a chasm from which the rush of an underground river could be heard and tossed down bucketfuls of unrecognisable, decayed matter.

‘Ah, so this place does have a floor,’ observed Irene as the chapel’s flagstones began to emerge from the mess. They shone black with damp and the air became thick with a stink like leaf mould.

Irene broke lumps from a crusted packet of abrasive powder and scrubbed down the flagstones with water and a disused, rotten mop. The only part of the floor that wasn’t clean was where Henry crouched with his back to them and continued to jab the coals with a poker and curse and swear to himself.

With the supplies rearranged in neat piles, the workers flopped down to rest.

The blackened, crusty, cooking pot was newly refilled with water. Steam rose from it as it warmed above the relit coals. The others watched as Henry used a grimy knife to hack rough lumps from a turnip which he let drop into the pot; stem, peel and all. He shook a very large measure of salt into the pot and dumped a couple of scoops of flour into it.

‘Really?’ Irene commented. The hollow, black eyes of Henry’s helmet spun round to meet her own for a moment. Henry shook his head and the grumbling renewed as he continued to scrape chunks off the turnips that were still grimy with dirt.

‘Why don’t we give you a hand with that?’ commented Aisling, through gritted teeth.

‘There’s potted meat here in the supplies, and beef dripping too,’ Percy mumbled with a quiet voice as he rummaged around the contents of one sack and held various provisions to the light. He passed one to Aisling.

‘Oho! Give us it!’ Henry cried, as he leapt to his feet and scuttled over. Everyone watched in silence as he attempted to prise the pot from Aisling’s hand. Aisling, however, held it in a vice-like grip.

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Both Henry and Aisling locked eyes as Aisling stood up. She glared down at Henry, and Henry’s iron mask glared back up.

There was a moment’s quiet when no-one dared take a breath. Aisling planted a hand on Henry’s shoulder-plate and shoved him out of the way.

‘I’ll take it from here. Before you completely spoil it,’ Aisling said.

To all onlookers, there was a pause, which felt very long indeed.

Henry leant against the wall, with his arms folded, in silence.

Aisling picked clean utensils from their supplies to slice the meat into chunks, then stirred them into the pot with a careful measure of beef dripping. She then sat back to watch the broth simmer.

‘A scullery maid. I was a scullery maid,’ Aisling said in a quiet voice, seeming to address the hearth.

Someone’s stomach growled. It was the only other sound in the chapel other than the clink of Aisling’s metal ladle and the crackle of the coals.

‘Won’t be ready for another hour. In the meantime, there’s hard tack in the bag. You can dip it in to loosen it,’ Aisling said, as she stirred the pot.

The seven workers sat and watched the fireplace once they had eaten their fill. There was still plenty of broth for other meals.

They watched the orange coals and seemed to be lost in thought. There were few attempts at conversation. Perhaps they thought about their fate here in the mines, perhaps they mulled over the troubles set out before them, or perhaps they remembered a place that once seemed like home.

‘It’ll be night time now,’ Henry stated, and got up to dim the lamps.

‘How could you know that?’ Dale asked. ‘There’s no light in the cavern, and no clock in this wretched place. And why are you still wearing all that wretched armour? You haven’t even taken your helmet off.’

Henry sighed. ‘But there is light,’ he replied, and opened the shutters of a window. ‘If you can’t feel the change in the air, like I can, take a closer look out there.’ Henry pointed outside at the cavern.

‘At night, the beam of magic grows stronger. This is when it’s at its most powerful. This is when the cave walls and waters light up too, with all the mushrooms, mosses, the lichen, and the algae. The day is when the cavern sleeps.’ Henry’s typical harsh, barking voice took on an almost dreamlike intonation.

With sceptical expressions, the others came to peer out of the window.

‘I can see them! Little speckles of pink and green all over the walls, and the rocks! The water over there in that pond; why it seems to be glowing blue!’ Flora exclaimed in astonishment.

‘There’s tiny glimmers of yellow light in the tree branches, and what looks like candle flames over the stream. Are those fireflies?’ asked Percy.

‘Perhaps. Not quite,’ Henry replied. He turned back to Dale. ‘And no matter what time it is, day or night; the armour stays on.’

There was a knock on the chapel door.

Everyone froze at the sound. They looked about and saw everyone was accounted for, on the inside of the building.

‘Don’t answer that!’ Henry rasped. He limped over to the door and rapped back on it with his stave.

‘Did you hear that? It sounded like little feet running away, and a giggle! Did anyone else hear that?’ Flora’s voice rose in alarm.

‘Little hobs and bogles,’ Henry muttered, in a cursing tone. ‘I thought they would get curious at the cavern’s newcomers and come for a closer look. It might be a busy night.’

‘Hobs? And bogles?’ asked Dale. A mocking scepticism wrinkled his brows.

‘You never heard of hobs and bogles? How about a barguest or the hobthrush? Did your grandma never tell you any tales?’ Henry responded as he poured paraffin into a refilling can. ‘Let’s get the upper hand and go out there. We’ll see what they’re up to.’