Chapter 2

The new employees of The Righteous Anglian Mining Company of Our Lady's Hallowed Earth were left alone on the cavern floor, holding their pickaxes, shovels and lamps. They watched as the lift rose up out of sight and left them in the heavy shadow of the cave. Other than the steady glow of their lamps, the only light was the weird bluish glow beyond the chapel that turned the dark into a twilit gloom.

One girl, at about the age of seventeen or eighteen years old, appeared to be one of the eldest of the group. She shut her eyes and muttered a prayer while she hugged a younger, smaller girl who wept into her shoulder. 

The oldest looking boy struck a match and lit another lantern. He passed it to the girl who prayed and patted her shoulder. 

'Here, take a light,' he said in a kind voice. The other three miners took up their lanterns and looked about with fearful expressions at the cavern about them.

'What did she mean about things that go bump in the night?' asked one miner as he looked about with apprehension.

They listened to the sound of water that trickled down the rock face, or pattered down like rain. There were scuttles and scratches of what they hoped were merely rodents, the occasional echo of loose pebbles falling, and the noise of an underground river that thundered somewhere.

The area in which they were left had a damp-rotted bridge that crossed an unfathomable, black chasm. There were derelict shacks that leaned-to or had collapsed and a well-trodden pathway marked out by whitewashed rails that could barely be seen in the shadow. There were heaps of discarded litter, scree and broken tools. Timber scaffolding on some cavern walls had become host to a range of plant and fungal life that fed on its remains.

'When we arrived at the Company we were in the same training, but as we weren't allowed to speak, I still don't know anyone's name,' the older looking boy said. 'I'm Dale, who are you?' 

Dale held up his lamp to look around the rest of the group. He was the only one among them who could possibly be considered a young adult. He was old enough to have a developing moustache, and was the second tallest beside the girl next to him.

'Aisling,' the tall girl gave a curt, surly reply. She had a strong build, short, straw-coloured hair and freckles around her nose and cheeks.

'I'm Irene,' the older girl stopped praying to make her reply. She still comforted the younger girl, who wept into her shoulder. Irene's accent sounded strange to the others, and hard to place. She had lively, flowing hair that seemed to want to break free from the bun that reined it in. In her almond-shaped face, Irene had bright, almost wild looking eyes, which seemed to shine with each movement in the dark. 

'This is Flora. We weren't supposed to talk before, but we worked around that,' Irene gestured to the girl she cradled. 

The girl introduced as Flora nodded, sniffed and wiped a tear. She trembled as she hung on to Irene. Flora had a young, childlike appearance and long, bright blonde hair.

'My name's Zachary,' a short, slender boy said. It was hard to place his age, but the first wisps of facial hair were beginning to show on his upper lip and chin. 'I can't believe this is happening to us. How can this wicked company get away with it? This is criminal!' Zachary's voice was high, with a sing-song, theatrical tone. 

'Percy. I-I'm Percy,' the next boy stammered as attention turned to him. Like Zachary, he too was small and skinny. Percy had a head of large, dark curls and intense, restless eyes that seemed to scan every detail around him without pause, but would not meet the others' gaze. 

'Good to meet you, shame about the circumstances,' Dale said. He looked at each of the group in turn and spoke in a reasonable, matter-of-fact kind of way that gave some reassurance. 'Anyone done any mining before? Can't say I have either. Before I was picked up by the workhouse I was a groundkeeper's assistant for a stately home. Until it burnt down.'

'I was a theatre stage hand,' said Zachary. 'The acting lead was a pompous swine and he always picked on me. Until one of my counterweights dropped on him. Oops!' Zachary rolled his eyes.

'I was a housekeeper, until I got caught pocketing leftover food that I was supposed to throw away. They gave me the sack,' said Irene, with a sad, bitter voice.

'I tended plants in a politician's greenhouse,' Flora said, in a small, choked voice. 

'One day he was convicted of embezzlement and fraud and was voted out. All the staff were laid off, because he couldn't pay us no more.'

'I was a chimney sweep,' said Jack. 'The other boys bullied me out of the street I worked so they didn't have to share, and stole my equipment. I was near starved when the Company picked me up.'

The group looked round to Aisling, the only one left who hadn't shared her story. 

'What's it to you?' Aisling growled.

'Alright, how about we shift this stuff to the chapel?' Dale suggested.

Together, they loaded supplies onto a mossy, damp-slimed cart. They discovered that the wheels wouldn't move, rotted together as they were, so, they had to unload it again and haul the goods by hand.

When they came to it, they saw that the chapel was a crumbling ruin. 

A rough dry stone wall stood in a tumble down mess around the central building. Most tiles were missing from the building's roof, and cracks ran down its walls.

For the most part, the chapel seemed to be held together by the ivy that wrapped itself around the stones, along with much moss and lichen. 

'Oh no!' Irene exclaimed, at the sight of the filthy interior. 'We can't live like this. It's filled with old broken things! There's coal, bones, bits of wood… and so many spider webs! There's creepy-crawlies everywhere!' 

Aisling ran a hand through her hair and swore in dismay.

'There's weeds, fungus and potatoes on the floor. They've even sprouted! Oh it smells awful,' Flora cried, with her hands over her nose.

'This won't do! This won't do at all! I'll demand that they let us back up. I refuse to live like this!' Zachary proclaimed. 

Zachary threw down his supplies and made as if to storm out. Dale caught his arm and held Zachary back.

Percy tip-toed around the debris inside the building. 

Percy muttered in disgust as he brushed cobwebs from his face. 'Look at this,' he remarked. He crouched low to illuminate the floor with his lamp. 

'There's tracks going through the dust, and here's a turnip head that's been sliced; it's still fresh; someone's just been here. The ashes are still warm, but they've been doused in some kind of stew, or soup,' Percy muttered.

With hesitation, the others came in to look. 

'Maybe they're still here,' said Flora with a trembling voice. The others listened, but there was only the sound of dripping water, the scratching of rodents and other things with many more legs.

The workers circled the outside of the building. The chapel itself was on a section of rock that was raised from the rest of the cavern floor, like a hillock. It had a full view of the shimmering light, and now they were this close, they could see the cranes that reached up into it. 

Irene gave an exclamation of surprise. 'My God, I thought that was a body handing from a gallows over there!' 

Hand holding her chest, Irene pointed at the sack hanging from a crane. She closed her eyes and began to pray again.

The new workers made a tour around the chapel, and inspected the disintegrating stone wall. Within the boundary of the wall was a collection of rough gravestones.

'I don't like the look of this. I count half a dozen of these poor wretches. I dread to think what happened to them!' said Zachary, as he peered at each stone piece. 

'I can barely read the names. They must be only memorial stones. There aren't any bodies buried here,' Percy replied.

From the chapel were pathways that led back to the dropping point of the lift. They led off to the cranes or on other routes that were signposted as iron ore pits. 

Flora yelped in surprise as a large rat dashed into the shadows from under her foot. She screamed as she turned a corner and came face to face with Zachary.

Zachary screamed alike and dropped his lamp.

'Flora, you scared the daylights out of me!' Zachary scolded. 'Help me find this lamp. It's gone out. I think it's broken.'

After a while, with all the chapel grounds investigated, the workers gathered at the doorway to report back what they saw.

'Nothing,' said Irene.

'Whoever it was, they're not here anymore,' said Dale. 

'Must've been a ghost,' said Percy, with a dry, sarcastic tone. 

'Don't say such daft bloody things! Aisling snapped at him.

'I don't think ghosts eat turnip stew,' said Irene in a scathing voice, also. 'Also, now's not the time to joke about stuff like that.'

'Maybe it's what they meant, when they said things go bump in the night,' Percy said. '

Percy placed both hands together in prayer. 'Our father, who art in heaven…'

'That's not helpful, Percy. Knock it off,' Dale retorted.

At that point, a movement caught the group's eye from beyond the stone wall, as a shadow separated from between two stalagmites.

A collective gasp went around the group as the shadow rose from a crouch to a standing position. 

The dim lights illuminated a lifeless, metal face with an uneven, black-eyed glare. The workers were rooted to the spot; speechless; at the sight of the apparition that moved towards them. It then it took a breath and addressed the group.

'It's alright, you can settle down.' The figure's voice was rough and cracked in tone. It was muffled by the iron helmet but felt aggressive, and ominous.

'I've been watching you since you arrived.' The figure intoned. 'I wanted to see who the Company sent down,' the figure said, and rolled its shoulders. Several cracks could be heard throughout the air.

'I'm Henry.' The figure's statement was less of an introduction, and more of a challenge. 

Henry was not large. In fact, he was smaller than most of the group. The slow certainty with which Henry moved, however, along with the armour which he wore, made him seem formidable, despite his limp.

Henry walked with a stave, which seemed as much of a weapon as anything else. It was a brutal thing. It had a lumpen, metal head, like a mace, and was clearly as much a weapon as a walking aid. 

'It's been a long time since the Company sent me down. They can't know I'm still here. Officially, that is to say; on their books; I'm dead,' Henry told the others, and tapped a gravestone with his weapon.

Trembling hands turned their lamps to the stone marker. On the face of it was chiselled the inscription:

HENRY EVANS

AGE 17

1873

'I know a thing or two about the cavern, and how things work around here. You would be wise to accept my help. From what I've seen, you could use all the help you can get,' Henry said.

The figure drew closer so both he and the others were more visible to each other. Henry cast the hollow-eyed glare of the helmet to each worker in turn, and they could see the misshapen, crude, armour in detail. 

Henry began pacing back and forth. He settled into a hunched stance and leaned on his stave. Henry shot suspicious looks from one new worker to another.

The metal plates were etched in mysterious symbols. Although the metal may have been thick and irregular in form, there was something about the figure beneath them that seemed to be just as uneven and irregular in shape. Nothing could be seen of the person within the layer of armour due to the dirty sacking cloth that stuffed each gap between the plates.

'Who are you?' Flora asked with a trembling voice. 

'I'm Henry!' the figure exclaimed, voice rasping through his helmet in exasperation.

'I think what she means to ask is; why are you here, and for what reason?' Dale responded in a low and careful tone.

'I didn't care for the Company's indentured servitude program, so I made the choice to stay down here,' Henry replied. 

'Why would you choose to stay down here?' Zachary asked, as he emerged from where he hid behind a rock.

'Now, there's a question.' Henry gave a humourless chuckle as he picked at some sacking cloth and scratched himself. 

'Come on, I'll show you around and let you know how to get started,' said Henry.

Henry beckoned the others to follow him, and he hobbled to the chapel entrance. 

'No doubt it will be a lot to adjust to. I've lived in the chapel for a while now. I know how things work; I'll show you,' Henry muttered. 'What does the Company say, about things that go bump in the night? Do they still say that? It's true. You'll need to learn a particular way to deal with it. In the meantime; stick on the paths. Stay in the light, and do as I say.'

'Why should we trust you?' Dale demanded. He and the rest of the group hadn't moved.

'You haven't got much choice!' Henry snapped with a sudden anger. 

'You'll be staying in my home and working my pits. There's a lot to learn, and the sooner we can get through this and get you sent back up to the surface the better!'

'What's the blue light?' Irene asked.

All of them turned to look past the chapel's crumbling roof to the spectral river of light that ran its steady course through the air with its eerie noiselessness.

'It's magic,' said Henry, with a softer voice. The tone seemed like quiet awe.

'What's that?' Dale retorted in disbelief.

'Magic. The living spirit of the earth. It's the life force of the world, and all living things. It's been drawn down into the earth by the iron ore you've been sent here to dig. The Company want it for their own use. They use it in their rituals and for their wealthy clients.' Dale said.

'Nonsense! I don't believe it,' Dale scoffed. 'It must be… trapped light, or frozen lightning...'

Henry threw back his head and brayed with laughter, which surprised the others.

'Frozen lightning? What the blazes is frozen lightning? That's the daftest thing I've ever heard!' Henry crowed.

'You think magic is more reasonable.' Aisling's scathing interjection was more of a statement than a question. It fell between Henry's laughing fit and a bout of his coughing.

'I can't remember the last time I laughed like that. You'll know soon enough what it is. And take it from me; if you put your hand in it, or stay around it too long, you'll know. It's not your friend,' Henry said, and then muttered; 'If you don't believe me, there's others you can ask.' 

'What others?' Dale enquired, still smarting from being laughed at. 

'That there's enough questions for now. 'Specially if you don't believe the answers you've already been given. You should bring your things in,' Henry replied as he went inside the chapel. He sounded weary.

'How can you live like this?' Irene grumbled as she hauled a drum of lamp oil onto a wooden pallet. The rotten wood sagged and made and audible crack under the weight.

Now lit by gas lamps, the chapel interior presented its squalor to view and the routes around the heaps of rubbish, and discarded, rotting things. 

'I got it just the way I like it. Never was one for housework anyway,' Henry grumbled. 

Henry gave a close look at the drum, tapped the label and sniffed the spout. 'Ah, that's the new paraffin stuff. That's good that is; it'll keep the chapel and paths lit for days at a time. "Only the best for our Company workers." Henry gave a sarcastic chuckle then began raking out the coals that were doused by his turnip stew.

Dale, Irene, Flora, Percy, Zachary and Aisling stacked their gear inside the chapel entrance. They then made to settle down and leave it there. 

They flinched as Henry sprang up from what he was doing.

'You can't leave those there!' Henry roared. 'Mining equipment goes here, foodstuffs go there, and the coal goes over here!' Henry pointed in turn at a rusting heap of iron scrap, decaying crates then an inky-black mound of dirt by the fireplace. 

'How can you seriously say that?' Zachary shouted, once he recovered from the outburst. 'This place is wretched! It's tragic! I for one refuse to stay in such filthy surroundings. It's bad enough that we were sent down here, but I will not catch some disease living like this!' 

'This is my home! I'll say what it's like!' Henry yelled back.

Dale ushered the others outside for a word. 

'This poor blighter's plainly been down here for too long, and on his own. He claims he knows how things work, or so he keeps saying. I don't know what he means by that, and he's clearly confused about this magic business,' Dale said to the others in a low voice.

'What I want to know is, what is he talking about? What did he mean about things that go bump in the night, and not touching the light?' Frustration was audible in Irene's voice.

'It matches up with what the Duchess told us,' said Percy.

'I don't feel safe with him around. He's wearing all that armour, he's got a weapon, and he's very unpleasant,' Flora said, again on the verge of tears. 'And he stinks.'

'If he tries anything, I'll rip his head off,' Aisling offered.

'This is too awful, I feel sick with worry. And from the smell!' Zachary wailed.

'I'll agree with you on that one. We had better work out some sort of peace deal with him and see what he has to say, but we've got to be firm on cleaning this place up. And also for things to start making sense. Agreed?' said Dale.

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.

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.'

Curiosity overcame tiredness and everyone left the chapel, with lanterns in hand.

'This time we'll be sticking to the paths. Now's the best time to see who we share this place with. We don't have it all to ourselves,' Henry told the others.

Henry led the others on a path towards the light beam, which had turned from icy blue to moonlit white. Moving a way ahead, he refilled and lit lanterns along the route. 

The others observed how on the way Henry stopped and appeared to talk aloud at something in the gloom, or talk up close to one of the withered, dead trees. Sometimes Henry would jab his stave at something or respond to snatches of dialogue that apparently only he could hear. 

Henry paused to let the others catch up at the peak of a rock pile. 

'Who were you talking to?' Zachary asked Henry.

'Can you not see the crows up in the tree?' Henry muttered, as he crouched and scanned the way ahead.

Now they were nearer, the radiance from the flowing light was brighter. Sure enough, they could see a gleam of feathers and blinking eyes. They had mistaken the shapes for dead leaves. The dark carrion-birds regarded them in return with silence.

'You've got to be more observant. How do you think crows would have got down here? Real crows that is?' Henry asked in hushed tones.

Zachary had no response, but looked with apprehension now at the eerie creatures that seemed ever more unnatural and out of place.

'Crows belong on the surface; not down in caves. But down here there are things which take the form of others. They delight in the chance to mislead and deceive.' Henry said in a monologue, as he picked and tapped at the path ahead with his strange stick. 

'The crow is an old omen; as old as the hills. They're an omen of mortality; of death. They're one of the many creatures that pick bones clean and release the spirit. They return the once-living back to the earth from which they came,' Henry rambled.

'Stop it, Henry,' Irene whined in fear. Henry gave a dark chuckle.

'Those aren't real crows, at least not ones born from eggs and that ever saw the sunlight. Watch yourself; and it always pays to be polite!' Henry gave his cryptic advice, and chuckled once more.

Henry guided the miners to a side path. It wasn't visible from the track they were on before. One would have to know where it was to find it. Together, they wound their way past stalagmites and ducked under a rocky outcrop before they came to a wider opening. 

'This is my allotment, out of the way where the Company might find it,' said Henry. 'Here's how I get by in between the visits from the surface.'

'The only light is the glow from the beam. Magic, as you called it. These plants are pale and thin. There's hardly any green on them at all!' remarked Flora.

'Ya don't say,' responded Henry, with voice heavy with sarcasm. 'Good job I called in a favour to help…' Henry's mutter trailed off.

'Favour?' asked Dale.

'I'm resourceful.' Henry gave a cryptic chuckle.

'How many visits have you had? How many people have come down here?' Irene asked.

'Were they the same age as us? What happened to them?' Zachary couldn't help but interject.

'This has been here so long it's established a bed of proper soil. Where did it come from? And the trees, how old must they be? I never heard of a tree that grew in a cave,' Percy stooped to roll some dirt between his fingers.

'How long have people been mining here?' asked Dale.

'Questions, questions! So many questions!' Henry uttered in exasperation. 'Listen, the Company mustn't know about me or where I do my planting. Growing your own food is against Company regulations. It'll be in the handbook in your supplies.' 

'Why wouldn't they want us to?' Flora asked.

Henry sighed. 'The Company wants its workers to be dependent on it. When they want to punish you they'll do so by withholding supplies, so growing your own food undermines their authority. Also, no-one knows the long-term effects of eating food grown near magic.' Henry gestured at the luminous beam.

'And that's what we ate for dinner, is it? Food near … magic?' Aisling demanded.

'It's fine. Never did me any harm!' Henry responded with a chuckle that turned into a bout of coughing. 

'Well, now you know where this place is. The hobs and bogles haven't seen fit to tamper with it, it seems. Let's move on,' Henry wheezed.