The party walked off from the headquarters in silence. Mireille was leading, Olivia by her side, followed by a thoughtful Marie. Fayette was last, keeping a watchful eye until they were well out of the building’s sight. She had felt eyes on her as they left, and she thought she had spotted the [Lord], watching by the window.

“…Did we maybe go too far?” Marie eventually asked, looking troubled. “I mean, we did all that, but what if he’s not really guilty or anything? I would feel really bad.”

“Hah, getting regrets now?” Olivia asked, walking along cheerfully. The [Doctor] had rather liked being on the other side of one of those. She narrowed her eyes at the [Lady]. “Still… I didn’t think you really had it in you. That was an impressive performance.”

Marie pouted. “What do you mean by that? That I look like some sheltered little girl with no real bearing to her?”

“Yes.”

The blonde [Lady] missed a step, her hair swinging. “You what? I’ll have you know, my education has been quite—”

“Relax,” Olivia said, waving her hand lazily. “I know, I know. You did well there. As for any guilt… I for one smell a rat.”

“Hmph, definitely guilty,” Mireille agreed, keeping up her brisk pace. She was still frowning, but her mood seemed to have improved. “You could just feel it in his eyes. Did you hear how he talked of the [Miners]? No way that’s not our guy.”

“But it still doesn’t make sense,” Marie said, going through their interrogation. “Why would he do all that? Why is he so reluctant to call in [Mages] to handle matters?”

“Fun fact,” Mireille said, turning and holding out a paper as she walked. “I found an interesting bit of info. That guy—he hasn’t accepted any requests to call in [Mage] support for two years. This one was the third time he said no, must’ve finally been too much for the [Miners].”

“Still…” Marie pondered. “Three times over how many years? And how many yes replies before that? It’s something, but hardly foolproof evidence—we need something more. Any luck?”

The [Seamstress] made a face. “Bleh. That [Lord]—he keeps so much paperwork, and it’s not like I’m an expert. Couldn’t glean anything from any paper with too many numbers on it, and I only looked through maybe one-fifth of everything that was in that room.”

The [Lady] sighed. “We’ll have to go through what you took later, then. I’m still not sure this was wise of us. We’ve announced ourselves and made a definite enemy.”

“He didn’t seem too tough,” Fayette said. “I just gave him a look, and he whimpered. Didn’t seem that dangerous.”

“Those are the sorts that are most dangerous,” Olivia said. “But still, I think this effort of ours was worth it.”

“How so?” Marie asked, curious.

Olivia stepped to the right, bumping Mireille at the side. “Don’t you feel better Mirrie?”

The [Seamstress] frowned. “Mirrie?”

“C’mon, admit it, that helped clear your head.”

Mireille hesitated a second, a small grin slowly emerging. “Well, alright, yes it did. The look on his face when I threw that cabinet!” She laughed for a second. “Marie, I need a drawing of that face.”

Olivia cackled with her. “That’s my girl.”

They shared a fist bump.

Fayette looked between the two, at the camaraderie, feeling oddly hurt. She caught her thoughts, then frowned and shook her head. Wait, am I really that possessive? No, relax Fay. It’s good that Mireille is getting along well with the others.

She stayed silent.

“Well, I guess I’ll log that in as a win for us then,” Marie said, head scrunched up in thought. “I’ll see about that picture for you, but first—the mines.”

The mines. Everyone looked to the front. They were stepping into the hill’s shadow now, and the dark entrances of the mines loomed ahead, blocked by simple barricades of wood, like the looming drawbridge of a keep. It seemed to be a quick measure, a wild array of old furniture, mismatched planks, and whole trees had been dragged into a heap—good enough for a makeshift wall. The mines had been turned into a fortress.

A fortress under siege.

[Guards] and other more discreet types were keeping an eye on things. They didn’t approach the mine, but they were watching. Waiting. Fayette counted at least twelve people out in the open, and she expected many more were more hidden.

And we’re walking right inside there, Fayette thought. “Marie, are you sure we should go in there? They seem to be pretty angry with the [Lord], and you’re kind of in the same family.”

Marie shook her head. “They’re my family’s workers, I owe it to them to face them myself. What kind of [Lady] would I be otherwise? I’m here to set things right, so hopefully, they’ll be understanding.”

Olivia was nodding. “This sort of lot, it will be a big deal to them, having a big shot [Lady] walk in herself. Respect pays. I think it’s a good move.”

Mireille looked back. “I don’t think your cousin—”

“Second cousin,” Marie corrected.

“—yes, whatever—I don’t think he ever went inside there himself. Didn’t give off that kind of feel. Might be good to differentiate yourself from him.”

“Yes, let’s hope they see it that way,” Marie said, looking forward. She stepped past the [Guards], who only watched their group pass with confusion.

And then they were there. The hill loomed above, cast in darkness, like a giant tomb. Gruff men in black clothes were loitering about near the barricades, pickaxes and shovels hanging off their sides. They all wore helmets, tough boots, and overalls which were kept up by suspender belts. Every man had the physique of a seasoned [Labourer].

Fayette felt a measure of respect looking at them—with men equipped like that, skills fitting for tunnels, she understood why hunters weren’t needed here. True, they had some grime on their skin, but that was the grime of hard work—she didn’t admonish that. Except in hunters.

The men were eyeing them warily, and a shorter man with a scraggly black beard walked to the front, oversized helmet swinging side to side on his head. He had no shirt under his overalls, and his bare skin was worn with scars and blemishes from a long life of work. “What have we here? Sorry, but this ain’t the sort of place to entertain fine ladies like yourselves, especially with the tension about.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He had chewing tobacco in his mouth, and he spat it out, snapping the suspenders on his overalls with his fingers. “Off with you—shoo.”

Marie walked to the front, changing her bearing. She stood more upright and stepped every step with certainty, no nervousness being betrayed, and then a [Lady] spoke. “I am Marie Adrianne Du Noelle, and I have come here to resolve this [Strike] issue. I think wrong has been done here and will make sure your men get their justice. I would like to meet with your leaders.”

As soon as Marie's air had changed, the [Miners] had grown wary, hands going to their pickaxes. The short man in front looked over her, eyes no longer friendly. “Is that so? About time someone with a say showed up.”

He gestured at the mine’s entrance, dark and foreboding. “Well, can’t keep a [Lady] waiting, can we?”

He pointed at the others, and they split, opening a path through the barricades for their party. The short man didn’t look back and started walking inside.

After a moment’s hesitation, Marie followed.

Fayette looked at the hill looming over her, and the tunnel inside, lined with wooden pillars as supports. She gulped and walked in, feeling the oppressive weight of a mountain set on top of her. Despite everything, she couldn’t help feeling that she was walking into a trap.

—

The mineshaft was long, but not narrow. There was the walkway, then a rail running beside it, with some minecarts standing still here and there. Magic-powered lights lit the tunnel, an array of gemstones set apart just so the patches of darkness couldn’t grow too oppressing.

Yes, it was a mine tunnel, but Fayette still felt a certain orderliness about it—the place was well-maintained. There wasn’t any trash splayed about or bits of errant rock sticking out of walls. Just the consistent dirt path and stone walls. Even the rail wasn’t rusty or frayed, it seemed to be kept in good polish. The [Maid] rather approved of the cleanliness of it all.

While Fayette may have been satisfied admiring the scenery, the others were growing a little stifled by the eerie silence and lifelessness of a tunnel. For a [Lady] especially, lack of talk was generally a sign of mistakes being made—there was always time to improve bonds.

Marie decided to act. She looked at the miner walking in front of her, searching for the appropriate words. “Mister—sorry, I don’t believe I ever got your name?”

The man grunted, and his oversized helmet shifted to the other side of his head. “Name’s Henri.”

There was another moment of silence. Marie tried again. “So… you’re a [Miner] here?”

“That I am.”

“And there’s been trouble?”

“You could say that.”

“Beasts?”

“Of course.”

“Monsters?”

“Those too.”

Fayette found herself listening, rather approving of the efficient conversation, but Olivia wasn’t quite so satisfied.

“Say, Henri, I heard you have some interesting guests here.”

The man looked back, gaze darkening. “You could say that. You’ll meet them, I expect.”

“Did this idea of a [Strike] come from these guests?” Marie asked, picking up the subject.

The man grunted, and shook his head, helmet swishing back and forth. “Save the words, [Lady], ask the lot yourself. I’ve got a hint of dwarf blood in me, I know what friendly talk gets you.”

Even Fayette felt her mood die down at that.

They passed the rest of the trip in silence, but it wasn’t much longer. Soon a bustle could be heard, the sound of laughter and light conversation. It felt incongruous with the silent, smooth tunnel, but soon the scenery opened up, brightened, and they entered a larger chamber.

A mess hall. Only about a third of the tables were in use, but those that were, were full. [Miners] sat around, chatting, drinking, eating and playing cards. But despite the crowd, Fayette didn’t have trouble finding their target—the leader. Mostly because he was sitting in very strange company.

The lead table where the tall man sat hosted three people, two of very different dispositions. The leader of the [Miners] looked as you might have expected, tall, sturdily built, and skin parched by ever-present stone dust. But the two other men…

They didn’t fit this company.

One was a gangly sort, dressed in bright blue finery, a man with curly blond hair and a friendly disposition. He was laughing as he played cards, jesting, and at the same time—keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. He was first to notice their entry but didn’t make much of a show of it. Just a quick nod in their direction, then he was laughing again, patting the next man on the shoulder.

The man beside him was almost his complete opposite—a figure almost feral. He was hunched down in scraggly dark blue robes which were marred by age and dirt. His face was wild, and so was his voluminous beard. He did not talk, and he didn’t seem to pay much attention to his cards. His eyes were roaming, and as soon as they found Fayette’s party, they locked on, like a predator seeing prey.

Henri led them to the table, and the lead [Miner] at once sat down his cards, face growing serious.

“Sir, the [Lady] Marie Du Noelle has arrived to parlay,” Henri announced, making a mocking bow.

The leader’s eyes moved over their group, one by one, until they focused on Marie. He gestured at the table. “Men, get us some more seats. Seems the time has come. Greetings, [Lady]. The name’s Romaine. I’m in charge here. [Chief Miner] these days”

Marie looked him over coolly. “Congratulations on the promotion. I see you have guests,” she said, glancing at the two other men at the table.

“Ah, allow me to announce ourselves, it wouldn’t do to be rude,” The gangly man said, standing up. He gave a very proper bow. “Greetings, my [Lady]. I am Paul Marat, a humble [Journalist] at your service.” He rose up from the bow, then gestured to his side. “This is my traveling companion Pierre—please forgive his manners.”

Pierre was staring at Marie intensely, and Fayette was pretty sure he hadn’t blinked once. There was something about his gaze, and… Fayette blinked. Is he… measuring her neck?

Fayette moved to Marie’s side, blocking the man’s view, and the bearded figure scowled. The [Maid] glared at him, then admonished Paul. “Your friend is truly lacking in manners, monsieur Paul.”

Paul looked to the side and frowned. “Robes! Stop that! We’ve been over this!”

Pierre shook his head darkly, then turned to glare at Paul.

“Robes?” Marie asked. “Strange name for a Pierre.”

“Oh, just a little nickname,” Paul said, glancing back. He sat down at the table. “We all call him Robes Pierre—you know, because of how he always looks. He saves his words. Thinks it gives them more weight.”

Pierre frowned, then turned to look back at his cards. He still wasn’t talking.

Marie was apprehensive for a moment, but then gathered herself, and approached the table. A few [Miners] had come and set down chairs for the rest of them, so Mireille and Olivia sat down too. Fayette stayed standing behind Marie, ignoring the fourth chair.

“Monsieur Romaine, allow me to express my apologies,” Marie began. She gave the man a small bow. “It is my suspicion that you have been gravely wronged here.”

“Suspicion?” The man asked, voice low and rumbly. “I think it is no suspicion, but a fact. That man Marcel, he’s being damned stubborn about a simple thing, and we’ve had enough.”

“Just how severe is the infestation you’re facing?” Marie asked. “I’m puzzled by his stubbornness in this.”

“As severe as these things get,” Romaine responded. “Spiders. A whole damned nest of them. Don’t mistake me, if it was just that, we could handle that ourselves—we’re not cowards. Trouble is that there’s monsters mixed in. Spiders with a touch of fire laced in. Nasty buggers, burn our wooden supports right up.”

Marie weighed the words for a moment, then nodded. “Look, I believe you, but [Lord] Marcel implied that you were making the whole thing up. Do you know why he would do that? If I found out what he was after, this would be easier.”

“A tale as old as time,” Paul sang out from the side, smiling as if he were a [Sage] parsing out wisdom. “The paranoid master sees every request from a servant as an affront, as an attempt to weasel away from responsibility. The stubbornness of that type could deny the sky and stars.”

Marie frowned. “Excuse me, but why exactly is a [Journalist] down here? I don’t believe you told us yet. Not your usual sort of haunt, is it?”

The man nodded at her, like a parent to a child. “Good [Lady], I am simply doing what my class does best—gathering stories.” He gestured around him, at the mess hall lit by magelight, many now-silent tables full of watching eyes. “It is places like these that hold the best stories man has to offer.”

“Like stories of—” Marie gave the man a measuring look. “—[Strikes]?”

He gave a light smile, betraying nothing. “Perhaps, my [Lady], perhaps. But that is not a skill of [Writers]. Consider me an amateur [Historian] of sorts—I know of many things.”

A new voice spoke up. “Things like what?” Fayette asked, intrigued. She had been running out of books to read, and the man seemed to have a way with words.

For just a split second, Paul looked surprised, caught off guard by the [Maid] speaking out of turn. Then his smile returned to normal. He looked between Marie and Fayette, calculating something, then continued. “Ah, miss, recently I have been writing on…”

He gave Fayette a conspiratorial wink. “—classes. And their relationships. A precious topic to many.”