"An uncontrolled swarm was sighted in tunnel A-12-2. All personnel on the A-10 to A-14 junction are required to evacuate until the situation is fully resolved. Please follow the proper evacuation procedure. We at the association reminded you that during an evacuation process only equipment and materials up to the quarter of your allotted encumbrance are allowed to be carried on your person. We repeat, an uncontrolled swarm was sighted in tunnel A-12-2. All personnel…”
Around him the party stiffen, looking at each other as the farspeak thrummed on everyone’s ears.
What was happening?
Accident? He was very well aware what it took for a fully formed swarm to explode into an uncontrolled one: a bell.
A bell even if the association, as they always did, skimped. Filling all but two of the eight patrol's members with newbs — the maximum number the town allowed and the guild tolerated. Ds that just learn to do the job, Cs that were filling in for friends; people who passed the test but hadn’t ‘passed the test’.
Even then it'd be one in a million.
So what was happening?
The answer didn’t arrive of course. Her light, it would. Instead and like a good bell, the farspeak ended. Replaced by a blaring warning light. All at once the grey rock cavern was filled with red, screeching glare, and the rushes of people who came pouring out.
“Light save us...” Lyd said to everyone’s silent agreement. And he... he didn’t really care. But man, it was chaos, he shook his head mimicking Rene.
People; men and women were scrambling. Pouring out from the tunnel, evacuating at a full speed. They weren’t rushing if that helped. Even new hands knew not to run on 4th. But it didn’t mean that the people were calm or you know...ordered. Despite what the Farspeak had repeated over and over, no one really followed ‘the proper evacuation procedure’.
He meant he wasn’t surprised. This was why he only did guard duty when there was absolutely no other job available. With the amount the association taxed for new equipment and got this: emphasis on each and every employees’ personal responsibility to maintain the state and functionality of their assigned equipment, well, what do you expect? Even erwee wasn’t that shameless.
The first ones that came out were four putters. Two men and two women who most likely just passed through the first fork. It’d be impossible for them to get out as fast considering what were they doing now: pushing their wagons on the maximum speed the track allowed.
Two wind faster.
Not that anyone care about wear and tear rule in the evacuation. But if those wagons broke? Hooo, boy. That’d be fifty golds each. That was why despite how the iron wheels sparked a fire every twenty five rotations, those men and women were racing like their life depended on it.
And sure enough, like how the first morning bell always tolled a shout louder, one of the rails snapped. The wheels had snagged a stray, protuding nail, chipping a section of woods and irons to flying shrapnel. The funny thing was? That section would just cost them at most two golds. And that if the association found out. So worst case: those four putters save forty eight golds each, the other putters, those who a bit behind lose fifty golds each, and the association? The grubby bastard who cost cut everywhere possible? They lost countless work done. Of course they would. The incoming wagons without doubt would clog on the broken section. That, golds. Heaps and heaps of them. Probably they even had to pay fees to all of those putters that got injured trying to save them.
Yeah, he know. Idiocy. He meant looked at that. Lamp-bearers that were dragging their mana braziers even though half of them were scratching against the floor, practically halving their future lighting effectiveness. Bratticemen. Each was taking space that could be filled with five people back to back, people that could evacuate early, and avoid further injuries. And just for what? Rescuing freaking tarps.
The only ones who weren’t mad enough and actually heed the ‘quarter of maximum encumbrance’s rule’ were hewers, colliers, and shifters. Not because the association didn’t emphasize personal responsibility to them. They did. But their equipment — pickaxes, shovels, helmets, and so on were simply a carry-on. So it wasn’t a mad scramble for them. Just scramble.
However and more importantly, it was because they were paid not by weight. They were paid by the bells. Yes, bells. A decision that the town enforced heavily. Which of course they did. The last accident seven calendars ago really opened people’s eyes about the effect of dragging sack and sack of ores in the middle of an evacuation looked like.
“This is the third time! What’s association doin’? Sittin’ on their butt?”
A woman shouted, throwing her triple silver-stripped hat to the ground. The helmet was clattering, thumping against the floor for a while before stopping few breaths later. He managed to glance it. Etched below the topmost silver stripes were a number. Ten. Denoting that the woman was the A-10 senior chargehand. Theirs was the closest to the entrance. That worried him though, if a chargehand even complained this open ...he exchanged a look with Emmy.
His friend nodded — agreeing to his unspoken conclusion. With her signal, they began to move toward the booth. Unlike couchee which were only eaten by the locals, ores were exported. Even the empire needed it. It was too much of a risk even for the association’s tight purse to rely on Adventurers’ duty. Which meant they could just wait until the whole debacle got settled down by the patrol team.
Also by waiting near the booth, they would be the first in line after the evacuation had calm down somewhat.
“...the last one happened because some damn red tooth hid under a hollow, no one realized they were multiplying there!”
“I heard half of Ram’s team got bitten...”
“...Mr. Hossac, when do you think the tunnel could open again? I promise Syl that I could go back today.”
The entrance was becoming crowded as more and more people had been evacuated. Only three or four came out each breath right now compared to the initial tens. Fourteen. People from A-14 were coming now. They were the furthest. Several A-12 too. Mainly those who ran too late or got injured. He saw one was propped by his two friends, his leg secured with a splint.
“...stay yer tall leg, lad. Thar patrol would arrive any wicks now.”
True to that particular dwarf quip, a breath later, the farspeak blared for the second time.
“Responding Party 3, 7, and 12; Responding Party 3, 7, and 12. Responding Party 3, 7, and 12 please report immediately to the A-12 assembly point for further instruction. We repeat, Responding Party 3, 7, and 12; Responding Party..."
[https://i.ibb.co/kHLk3wt/Line-Break.png]
“Emmy. Emmy!” he half-whispered. Half, otherwise it’d be too soft to hear as most people here was clamoring still. Complaining and all that. Luckily, she had been anticipating him. Her hand rested on her hips, took a simultaneous swivel as the rest of her upper torso — turning at him. “Now?” she asked.
“Yup.” he nodded. It was already half bell and while the farspeak was still blaring and you know, being loud, it was mostly updating the clearing progress. Things like which junctions the patrols’ teams currently were. Where the first aid teams were urgently required — things. Which all in all, was going quite well even though it was inevitable that there was several bad news. The most recent one being was how a pack of the swarm somehow had managed to spread to A-11, eating through some of the main scaffolding there. Luckily it was the new part of the junction, so no one died when it collapsed.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Which led him to his current conclusion: it had somewhat calmed down. Somewhat. It’d be two more bells before the patrols did their final sweep. However, since they were in a rush he reckoned it should be fine. They’d get berated sure, but eh. Worthed it.
It worried him though — the signs. He never drew a conclusion too early. Hunch that wasn’t backed with good infos or skills was just that — hunch. And he shouldn’t need to say it but ...most hunches were bad. Stuff that you thought to be true often got confused with the stuff that you wanted to be true. It colored your perception in determining what the heck was truly happening. But, this — this. He could practically taste it. Glancing at Emmy back as she walked toward the booth, he couldn’t even say that ‘this’ was a mere possibility. No. It was almost and unequivocally certain that the break was starting. It was just early signs but the mana storm, the minder’s sign, the uncontrolled swarm. He’d toss his pouch down to Ilo and may the stream carried it to the south sea if he was wrong about this.
What a bother. Like they hadn’t enough problem already. He meant if this delve fail, they’d be set back for at least one season. Not to mention there was that cat, he was pretty sure that guard was sent to—
"What?"
Huh? Who said that?
“We’d like to pass, sir.”
Sir? He realized he hadn't ...blinked. Absorbed by his own thought.
“You — all of you would like to pass?”
“Yes, sir?”
Sir? He took a second look before realizing where he was right now. In the front of the booth. He was standing behind Emmy who was talking to a man. An old man. An old man who Emmy called a sir. Weird. No one called a scribe a sir unless — light damn it...
He made a mistake! He didn’t pay attention too much to the man since a scribe usually was just, you know, a scribe. However, whoever the old man was obviously not just a scribe. His doublet was blue and spotless. His helmet sported five silver ribbons — real silver. Flattened until the metal turned into sheets. Only the best of tailors could stitch it without breaking. This wasn’t just a scribe, he drew a sharp breath. This was an [Administrator]!
And they wanted to pass in the middle of an uncontrolled swarm.
“Party name?”
The older man said giving Emmy a half breath before returning to his own paper. His voice, he winced. It was sharp, succinct. A dagger that was laced with poison — a breath before it ended on your neck. On his table scurries and stacks were mounting. The man didn’t even breathe. His hand was snatching new papers the moment the other finished. Stamping, signing, writing — there was no rest. Even his brief respite, the two breaths when he seemed to be stopping —his quill hung on top of his papers— was obviously used to do mental calculations. The rogue could hear him mumbled alternatingly between [Leap to the Conclusion] and [Hurried Approximation]. One by one by the cooldown.
They were sooo screwed.
“Winged Lance.” No, Emmy, Nooo!
“Winged Lance [Hereby Marked] for crisis disturbance! To dispute the ticket please contact the adventurer guild!” Light smote him! He bit his lips uselessly as the skill leaped from the man’s mouth toward Emmy’s hand—marking their cards in offending red.
“Sir! We...” Emmy said, her eyes bulged, realizing what had happened. She gave him you-said-it-was-okay-glare and quick-say-something-look. Which of course largely useless. He knew administrators and oh man, they were a stubborn bunch. But since he was the one who caused this, he’d try. It’d likely fail but he’d try. Yet before he could open his mouth the man glared again at Emmy.
“Hold it right there, young miss. Rufus!”
“Rufus! Where are you, you little lazy—”
“Here, master Rowan!” a young gnome, bit scraggly and with cheek covered in soot suddenly popped from behind the booth. Unlike the rest of the miners who used hard protective shoes to protect them in case of falling rock, his pair was treated erwee, supple and pliable. A runner.
“Captain Maynard.” the old man handed the boy a scroll. “Assembly room A. Emphasize that she to execute it as ordered. No creative interpretation is allowed this time.”
“Yes, master Rowan!”
The [Runner] sprinted, sliding below the raised gate before running toward the A-marked tunnel. He spared the boy a glance before returning to the still stuttering Emmy. The cards and papers were hanging in her hand. Not that he blamed the old man, he meant the man must be scrambling to execute the association order by the wicks. If he was under that much stress he’d do the same.
“Sir… we.”
“Still want to pass?” the man glared, his hand never stop moving.
She paused. Looking at Rene, then Lene, then Lyd, then finally him. Nod. Everyone was nodding. If they were really passing right now it meant that even if they disputed the ticket, the proof would be against their side. However, it was already too late. Better bite the ticket and succeed with their mission instead.
“Yes, sir...” Emmy replied, her voice stiff. If their mission failed… it’d be one heck of a hearing to not get banned for at least three moons — the guild never spared their hands to people who endanger everybody’s safety. He marked few faces around. Key witnesses that could testify in their favor that the situation had mostly been controlled. But again, it’d be one heck of a hearing.
“Your paper then.” the man snapped, understandably angered. “If it’s not clear, I don’t have time to waste here, young lady!”
“Here, sir.” Emmy handed the man all of their papers which made the man furrowed so deep it almost looked like he had a second set of eyebrows. “Fifteenth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of all the time in the world…” the man signed and stamped the paper in record speed. “Lady you’re a B so I wouldn’t tell you to not do this, because obviously.” —he paused to eye Rishi, giving the transporter a once over— “you understood. However!” he glared at the rest of the party. “I’ll decide the route you lot allowed to take. And you will take it.”
“Not one bend difference is allowed. Not. One.”
“Is that clear?!”
“Yes, sir. Yes. Absolutely.”
“Fine. Take B-1, then B-4, then at the rightmost fork, B-9. The door would be on your right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now go! May her light guide you!”
“May her light so, sir.”
The moment the old man said that the guard who had been observing their party opened the gate, allowing them to traverse inside.
Sighing and with newfound determination, they hurried their step. The place was chock of miners. A swath of them. And as he expected were grumbling and complaining. Mostly about their equipment loss. The ones who were lucky enough not to, were seen playing dice to pass the time. Some were sleeping, eating, or just rested against the wall. He even suspected that some of them, mostly those who got paid by the bells, were kinda glad that the uncontrolled swarm was happening. He noted these people — they’d be useful on the hearing.
The entrance for lack of a better word was expansive. Half the width of the town’s south gate, the floor was stone smooth. Every few steps were cart tracks, a dozen of them. The roof was supported with wooden beams and roof ties, enchanted with [Durability] and [Flexibility] to keep the stones from collapsing.
Still despite today’s incident, fourth arguably was one of the safer floors. The association did employ at least two response teams per junction and an additional one for longer forks. The minimum demanded by the joint force of the town and the guild. Which was why despite him still withholding his suspicion to himself, he was pretty sure that the mana fluctuation outside played a part. He knew for a fact that each morning, after the dawn renewal, sweep teams would check for straggler; lone tooth fang, or newly popped nest. No tunnels went unpatrolled.
And it was not just because of the swarms. But because after six bells left unchecked, the dungeon would absorb any unattended items. Once, a chargehand found out that after a long weekend, a whole section of track had vanished. Apparently, the only [Minder] that was assigned to that place had been getting killed by a hidden blue. Since then, it was a protocol that every operational day that all of the tunnels, opened or not should be swept before they could be mined.
The party took the second tunnel to the right, the B-junction. It was pretty uneventful. A group of red and a couple of blues trying to ambush them. Which of course thanks to his big oaf friend and his steaming, angry wife, was summarily disposed of. Leaving nothing but pieces of skewered, flayed, entrails. It was the sixteenth bell when they reached the fifth floor’s door.
Now let’s see what that cat was up to.