The six miners arrived, breathless, at the chapel.

‘Lord above, why would you snatch that? That was so dangerous, and impulsive!’ Irene wailed at Aisling.

‘Aisling, this is twice now that you’ve grabbed something you shouldn’t have.’ Between gasps, Henry’s voice was an angry growl from within his metal helmet.

‘First it was that witch’s kitten, now you stole gold from a man with a lightning musket. What’s wrong with you?’ Zachary lamented.

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry,’ Aisling sprawled on the ground and mopped sweat from her forehead. She opened her fist to reveal the nugget of precious metal.

‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ Flora crooned.

‘I saw it, and had to have it. In that moment, I couldn’t resist,’ Aisling explained. Her eyes were lost in the detail of the lustrous metal.

Everyone gathered round to feast their eyes on the gold.

‘Look at the texture and the form of it. That’s real gold, as big as a potato. A big potato, that is. He made that out of a lump of fool’s gold, right? I didn’t imagine that?’ Percy exclaimed.

‘Can I hold it?’ Zachary asked.

‘No!’ Aisling snapped, and stuffed it inside her tunic.

With the gold out of sight, people got back to their feet, and thoughts returned to much needed rest at the chapel.

‘A man who can turn common metal into gold…’ Percy thought aloud of Edwald as he stirred his bowl of porridge.

‘Bard said he was an artisan. Do you think he made all those things in his house by himself?’ wondered Irene.

‘Now we’ve gone and stolen from him. He’ll want our heads mounted on artistically-made spikes no doubt. It never ends,’ Henry muttered before he went to eat alone.

‘Couldn’t help it,’ mumbled Aisling. She cupped the gold nugget in her hands like an egg.

‘How come Bard, or Wakeman, or whatever he’s called, is a trusted advisor to Edwald and the fat man? They hate each other,’ Zachary said.

‘They both trust him, but he’s playing them against each other. They don’t realise it,’ reasoned Percy.

‘We’ve got to do something about those horrible walking statues. They can’t seem to think on their own, but the golden boy is different. And he can tell the statues what to do, somehow,’ said Zachary.

‘I haven’t seen them for days. I wonder what they’re up to,’ replied Flora.

‘That’s because we haven’t dared go back to where we saw the big wolf. The other seams are drying up and the ore quality’s worse’ Irene grumbled.

Aisling’s breakfast had gone cold in front of her. She sat in the corner and turned the gold nugget this way and that in her palms. She seemed as though she was a thousand miles away.

‘We’ve come up short on ore to charge and the Company is due tomorrow,’ Henry announced as he came back and took a mug of tea.

‘Hey, that was mine!’ Irene complained. ‘And how can you tell?’

‘It’s marked off on my calendar,’ said Henry. He gave a dismissive gesture to a sprawling mass of tally marks on a wooden ceiling beam.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Aisling scoffed.

‘Alright, what date is it?’ Zachary gave a snarky response.

‘The day after yesterday,’ Henry gave a stubborn rebuttal.

‘We don’t know if it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner. We don’t know when its lights out or time to rise. It makes me miserable,’ Aisling complained.

‘The Duchess said the dates and times they were due would be in the book,’ Percy offered, trying to sound reasonable.

‘Duchess! Oh, don’t let me hear that name, I beg you! She gives me nightmares!’ Zachary mourned.

‘Who here can read well? I can, a little, but I normally need to tell things apart by how the labels look,’ said Flora as she picked out various goods from a supply crate.

‘I can read. Let me look,’ Zachary got up and flipped to the contents, then on to the relevant chapter. ‘It has a table of dates and times. They are due at 12 PM tomorrow, but how long till then from now?’

‘One of these lamps takes sixty hours to burn from full,’ Henry said.

‘What good is that? The hours of the day aren’t divisible by sixty. It would land us in the middle of next week!’ Zachary blustered.

‘Well, I don’t have a problem with telling the time. I can tell right enough when it’s midnight. That’s when the magic is at its peak,’ Henry grumbled through clenched teeth. ‘Midday is more difficult, because it’s harder to tell when things have gone their quietest.’

‘I can’t even stick a pin in a candle like at my old master’s home. The candles were specially made with time marks, so the pin would drop out when they burned down a length. It would wake us for a shift,’ Flora reminisced.

‘How much ore do we have?’ Aisling spoke up without looking away from her gold.

‘I’ll show you my scales when we break down what we’ve got. That’ll be our task for today; the excess stone needs to be chipped from the ore, then we charge it overnight,’ Henry told them.

The miners came to the scree pile below the river of ethereal light.

Henry pointed at a grimy plank. It had a length of rope attached to each end. One end was tied to a bag of rocks, and a notch was carved in the plank’s middle.

With a bad-tempered grunt of effort, Henry picked up the post and fitted the notch on to a groove that protruded from a boulder. He tugged on the dangling rope end until it balanced.

‘My scales,’ Henry said.

‘You can’t be serious. That’s it?’ Aisling asked in a flat voice.

‘I knew you’d say that. It worked before, didn’t it? When you used up all my reserves on the first delivery?’ Henry growled.

‘You put your trust in that thing for all our sakes? Jesus Christ, Lord above,’ Irene beseeched up to the heavens and crossed herself.

‘If it isn’t right then we’ll be in for it,’ said Flora.

‘It worked before!’ Henry shouted at Flora, who was taken aback with surprise. ‘Now come on, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. This spot is the best for chipping down the ore because it’s well lit. We can see what we’re doing.’

The miners settled down with their sacks of ore, and the hammers and chisels that they brought.

After turning each lump to the light, they began to knock spare lumps of rock from the ore as they were shown in training.

Flora tried chipping some rock from her ore, but the whole chunk crumbled into pieces. She hugged her knees and sighed as though she was ready to cry.

After Henry shouted at Flora, the group had become tense and silent.

‘I’m going to be honest, the sacks we brought felt light, and the ore we got is worse quality. So, if anyone wants me to look at some more difficult chunks I can have a go,’ said Henry as he took care to keep his voice calm and reasonable

‘Don’t even talk to me, not after shouting like that,’ Flora gave a sniffy response.

‘What are we going to do about that seam? The one the puppet-man’s got. It was the best one,’ Percy said.

‘Can’t we look for another?’ asked Aisling.

‘Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve gone as far as I cared to and haven’t seen one. The Company won’t send down a prospector. The Company wouldn’t blast for more seams either, with the disturbance it would cause the fae. And we certainly wouldn’t be trusted with dynamite,’ Henry said.

‘We should tell the Company about the rivals. About Gifrey and his claim,’ said Zachary.

‘Oho, tell them about walking puppets and muskets that shoot lightning? They would think you’re mad.’ Henry gave a humourless chuckle.

‘Well, we could leave that bit out,’ Zachary replied in a petulant voice.

‘How about we do something about the puppets? Blow them up with your fire magic or chuck them in a river or something,’ Aisling muttered. She was getting frustrated with the rock she chipped at.

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‘This bloody thing! Where does dead rock end and good ore begin? Oh, it’s gone and broken up completely now!’ Aisling shouted, and then strung together a long, run-on sentence of swearing.

‘I think I’ve got the hang of it; gentle taps with a chisel one side then another… let me have a go?’ Percy offered.

Aisling kicked her sack of ore towards Percy. She reached inside her jacket and grasped an object inside it.

With sideways glances, the others noticed how she became calmer as she held what they knew was the gold nugget, although they kept their silence.

‘Chuck them in a river... a trap, perhaps? But how can you trick something that has no mind of its own?’ Henry said as he mulled over the idea.

‘Let’s face it, we’re no fighters. The idea of bringing an army of metal soldiers stamping down on us is the last thing we need. The same goes for a vengeful old man that shoots lightning,’ Irene said as she sighed and curled up with her hands over her head.

After a while Henry got to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s wrap this up. The cavern’s flora is waking up so night has fallen. We need to weigh up what we’ve got and get it charged.’

‘What’s worse, an underweight bag, or one filled with rubbish?’ Percy asked with a sigh.

‘Neither will get accepted, so we had better filter as much of the good stuff into a couple of bags, then all the rubbish into the rest,’ replied Henry. ‘You’ll have to blind pick who gets what.’

‘I have a question; something that’s been bothering me for a while,’ said Percy. ‘Why do we send ore to the surface and not smelted metal when that’s the most powerful? Can they smelt it when it’s been charged?’

‘That’s a good question. I would never dare smelt charged ore, because it would explode when the heat got to it. Miners aren’t trusted to smelt ore then charge the metal for the same reason we would never be trusted with dynamite. We could use it against the Company. Another miner I used to know said maybe they separate the ore with chemicals. Maybe they just powder it,’ Henry answered.

‘What do they do with it?’ asked Irene, with a level of apprehension.

Henry paused. ‘The Company have their religion, their cult, or order, whatever it’s supposed to be. I think they have their rituals, for wealthy clients and nobles… I don’t know what they get up to but I’ve heard rumours. Nothing good.’ Henry’s voice somehow took on an even more sombre tone than usual.

‘Sacrifices; animal or human. I think they do magic rituals with blood…’ Henry trailed off, with a voice filled with dread.

‘They make us contribute to that? We make that happen?’ Zachary was aghast.

‘It’s the Company’s fault, not ours! We have no choice.’ Henry gave faster, anxious chipping at a piece of rock.

Irene began quiet but fervent praying, and this was taken up by other members of the group.

‘What can we do? We can only do what we can. One day we’ll make it out. I’ll make them pay. Somehow,’ Henry said.

They sorted the ore into the sacks by quality, then attached the sacks to the cranes and hauled them up into the light.

‘There it is, they’re coming!’ Flora called. She scurried off from her watch to warn the others.

The trap doors swung open and the personnel lift of The Righteous Anglian Mining Company Of Our Lady’s Hallowed Earth began its descent.

‘I hope the ore’s had enough time to charge. With the poor quality of the load this time, we need every last minute in the beam,’ Henry said as he hoisted the sacks down.

‘There’s no way of knowing which bag has good rock, so we may as well grab one each and hope for the best,’ said Irene.

‘Good luck everyone,’ said Zachary.

‘We all know someone isn’t going to have good luck because their bag will be full of rubbish, don’t we?’ Percy gave a snarky response.

‘Shut up Percy, you know what he means,’ said Flora.

‘Well it’s true!’ Percy retorted with sleep-deprived grumpiness.

‘Then I hope it’s you!’ Flora clapped back.

In the hurry to reach the lift before it touched down, Aisling’s bag snagged and tore. The ore inside spilled among the rocks. Even by the dim light of her lantern she could see with dismay that her bag was already filled with off-cuts and overburden.

Aisling scooped handfuls back into the ruptured sack, but much of it was lost in between loose stones. In her desperation to bring the bag back up to weight, Aisling stuffed the gold nugget inside.

The Company’s lift jerked to a halt, this time a short distance before it crashed to the ground.

‘By God, Corporal, you’ll get it right one of these days, so help me!’ The Duchess’s muffled scream could be heard from inside.

The lift jerked down further, again came to an abrupt halt, but had still not met the ground.

‘Corporal!’ There was a joint yell from the Duchess and Sergeant.

‘Sergeant, don’t shout over me!’ The Duchess shrieked.

The lift jerked down a couple of times more, until it came to land on the cavern floor with the gentlest touch, and the doors were hauled open.

‘…can’t help it, stopping a short way above ground like that. ‘Least I’m not crashing to the ground like before. It’s hard to time it,’ the Corporal gave a petulant stream of mumbling excuses.

The Sergeant clutched his belly and looked unwell from the motion, and the Duchess stood with her eyes screwed shut and nostrils flared as she fought with her temper.

‘We have arrived for the first weekly exchange of supplies and goods delivery. Our Lady be praised,’ the Duchess announced in a strained voice. Veins stood out on her neck.

The Duchess performed the hand gesture of the order of The Righteous Anglian Mining Company of Our Lady’s Hallowed Earth. The gesture was mimicked by the Sergeant and Corporal with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

‘In register order, I want you to approach the lift with your delivery where it will be quality checked and weighed. Supplies shall then be dispensed according to satisfaction. Are we clear?’ The Duchess’ voice rang out and dislodged a nearby stalactite.

The miners gave a hotchpotch variety of responses, varying from “We are clear,” “Clear ma’am” or “Yes, we understand.”

‘Who said that?’ snapped the Sergeant. ‘One of you said “Yes, your majesty.”

The miners remained silent.

‘Well, own up! Which cheeky sod said that?’ roared the Sergeant. He leaned in past the lift’s doorframe to glare at the miners.

This manoeuvre was quite a reach for the Sergeant, due to how the Duchess stood in the doorway.

In attempting to do so, the Sergeant inadvertently placed a hand on one of the Duchess’ hefty flanks.

‘Sergeant, clean out your ears,’ hissed the Duchess. She had a tone so chilling that it made the Sergeant shudder as though someone walked over his grave. ‘And remove your hand!’

The Sergeant realised where his hand rested and removed it as if it were placed on a lit stove.

‘Pardon m’lady,’ exclaimed the Sergeant. He rotated a finger in one of his hairy ears. ‘My hearing might be going. Me ears keep ringing, for some reason.’

‘The correct response would be to say “yes, ma’am,”’ the Duchess gave a prim instruction to the miners.

‘Blythe, Zachary,’ the Duchess read from her list. ‘Present your delivery.’

Trembling, Zachary picked up his sack and carried it to the lift.

With what seemed like no effort at all, the Duchess swept up the sack with one hand, and laid it on a set of scales in the lift. She noted the weight, put on a glove, then dug around in the sack for a chunk.

The Duchess produced the silver pendulum from its resting place deep within her bodice and dangled it over the chunk. The way the pendulum dangled and spun in response was noted before the Duchess gave a hum of satisfaction and ticked her register.

The Duchess examined Zachary with an excoriating stare before she waved him away and gestured for the Corporal to collect the sack. Zachary breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Cotswold, Flora,’ the Duchess read the next name on her list.

Flora made a hesitant way to the goods lift as her eyes prickled. She recognised the grubby bag she had drawn that was brought up to weight with scree.

‘Please ma’am, I haven’t… this ore wasn’t…’ Flora stammered and held the sack out.

The sack was snatched up by a scowling Duchess and dumped on the scales. She plunged in her gloved hand and let a fistful of broken shards and crumbling dust spill from her grip.

‘The ore seam is drying up,’ Flora said in a quiet voice. ‘Ma’am.’

The Duchess held her pendulum over a handful of broken pieces and watched, face curling in bemusement, at the lacklustre twitch it made.

‘This is unacceptable. Flora Cotswold, next week you shall be required to produce two sacks of charged ore of acceptable quality plus fifteen per cent interest by volume; the total weight comprising no less than… fifty-nine point eight pounds.’ The Duchess dropped the sack near Flora’s work boots and scribbled on her register.

Becoming teary-eyed, Flora gawped at the huge number, but was wise enough to say nothing.

‘Don’t just stand there like you’re trying to catch flies, return to the line. Although, I am curious about your comment of the seam drying up. Can you kindly elaborate? Oh, pull yourself together, Miss Cotswold. Don’t start snivelling. Can anyone else elucidate on this matter?’ The Duchess’ voice rang out.

‘Irene Petra; our resident would-be union representative, you’ve usually got something to say!’ called the Duchess.

‘Please ma’am, the ore in the seam is getting sparse and of lower quality. Two pits are running out and the third… we can’t mine it any more.’ Irene tried to meet the stare of the Duchess and speak boldly, but faltered.

‘What do you mean, you can’t mine it any more?’ the Duchess demanded.

‘It’s not under our control any more. We’re not alone down here,’ Irene said in a low voice.

‘I won’t have any talk of ghosts and goblins! Any rumours of things that go bump in the night are but rumours, and the company will not hear such nonsense otherwise!’ The Duchess trilled.

‘I didn’t say it was ghosts and goblins…’ Irene began, turning pink-faced in anger.

‘Listen, I didn’t become the woman I am today, or get where I am today, by pitiful snivelling - pull yourself together, Miss Cotswold – or by being spooked by crude superstitions and make-believe. Get back to that seam and sort it out! Aisling Crossley, present your delivery,’ the Duchess rapped out.

Aisling brought her torn sack of ore to the lift. She dragged her feet as might the condemned while they were led to the gallows. She had to hold both the neck and base of the bag shut where it had ruptured, but even still, grains of dust slipped out.

‘Please ma-am, the bag split,’ she explained.

‘I can tell just by looking that this one’s light!’ The Duchess scolded as she snatched it up and dropped it on the scales. She shoved her hand within the sack, and frowned. The first thing she felt and closed her hand around was a large, smooth chunk on top.

The Duchess’ eyes widened as she brought the gold nugget into view.

‘What is this? Why, it’s beautiful. Big as an orange,’ the Duchess breathed. From within her overcoat she produced an eyeglass and studied the nugget up close by light of the chandelier. ‘Yes, it’s real gold, not pyrites, and of what quality!’ Her brash, commanding voice had taken on a softer, more wondrous tone.

The Duchess looked at the silver pendulum on her wrist. It pointed up towards the nugget with such insistence that it defied gravity.

‘Where did you get this?’ The Duchess asked, with urgency.

‘We mined it, near the North pit,’ Aisling lied.

‘You need to get back in there. I want more. Whatever stopped you from mining there, you need to deal with it, and bring more. I’ll forgive any deliveries that aren’t up to standard, just this once, and we can forget about any interest. Never mind about the iron ore for next week either. Gather as much of this as you find, and I shall offer you a premium. Let’s see… two pounds Sterling per ounce that you bring me. That’ll go straight to you, not the debt, to be used at your discretion.’

‘Sergeant, have all the supplies unloaded. Percy Fairchild, you might as well dump your delivery in the lift, whatever it may contain. I’ll look at it later,’ ordered the Duchess.

The Duchess waited until the weekly supplies had been unloaded before addressing the miners. It also included extra tins and boxes which, at a guess, were held back for rewards.

‘You have now been here one week. I expect that you will have made some headway into settling into the chapel and establishing some form of routine. With this in mind, are there any supplies that you require which are not included within our usual provisions?’ Appearing to come down from the giddy excitement of the gold, the Duchess spoke to the five labourers as though she resented lowering herself to ask this question.

‘Feminine hygiene products, perhaps?’ suggested the Corporal.

Many angry stares shot the Corporal’s way, both from miner and Company alike.

‘Sorry,’ the Corporal mumbled.

Irene spoke up. ‘We need a bolt of cloth to repair damage to our uniforms, and a sewing kit to do so.’

‘We also need a timekeeping device so we know when to expect your return,’ Zachary interjected.

‘We need proper weighing equipment too, for the ore,’ Flora added.

The Duchess scowled. ‘Very well, the Company would see that you are adequately provisioned for your labours. For now, you may as well have these scales, and I suppose I could part with this clock.’ The Duchess gestured towards a clock on the bureau inside the lift and the set of scales. The Corporal unloaded them with reluctance.

‘We want eggs, and butter,’ Percy ventured.

‘Don’t push your luck,’ growled the Duchess. ‘Mine well and we shall see for next week. Do the Company proud and you might even get bacon!’

With that, the lift door was slammed shut, and it began its ascent to the lightless firmament above.