The Humanarium.

Chapter 4. Reflections

Chapter 4.

My illness has started to get the better of me. If I can afford the treatment then I can continue but I need a different approach than just studying these creatures.

Harl sat on top of a massive boulder picking at the last of his meagre mid-cycle meal. The food wasn't much, but he didn't expect it to be. He was a prisoner and that meant hardship. He upended the waterskin and poured its contents over his head, scrubbing his face with both hands to try and dislodge some of the ever-present dust and dirt.

The quarry's sheer cliffs climbed up around him like a set of stairs built for the gods. Three tiers in all, they were a warren of tunnels and worn out seams that had been abandoned long ago. Now the focus was a giant boulder in the centre. The titanic rock was surrounded by a tangle of scaffolding and rickety ladders, like an egg in a nest. Crawl holes pocked its surface and wormed their way inside, as if the starving prisoners had eaten their way deep into the ancient rock as they searched for ore.

When they had first arrived, Troy had looked at the boulder in disgust and then dipped a damp finger into a mound of rejected slag and tasted it. 'Huh. Doesn't taste like cheese.'

Five cycles in and Harl still hadn't got over the shock of his arrest. So many questions buzzed around in his mind that he struggled to swing his pick during the cycle. Why had they been arrested? Why hadn't the Eldermen seen reason? All he and Troy had been guilty of was talk. Was speaking your mind punishable now? He shook his head. He already had an answer.

The whistle blew and the guards waved them all back to work. Harl checked his gear. There was a short length of rope, a candle, flint and tinder, a small hand spade, and a waterskin. It wasn't much to keep him alive in the tunnels. He shoved it all into a bag and slung it over his shoulder, before lifting a small hand pick off the floor. He inspected the head, pleased the previous cycles sharpening had smoothed out the nicks.

'You can do mine later,' Troy said, hefting his own chipped pick. 'I could use it to prise the smile off that stupid guard's face.'

Harl followed Troy's gaze to the burly man. Queeg stood about a head taller than most men. A burn scar stretched along the left side of his head from where someone had tried to set him alight when he was a younger, infecting the man with a permanent distaste of people. The rest of his hair was cropped close, but it was still thick enough to make the scar stand out an angry white against his skull. He was old, grizzled, and hated everyone. In other words he was a perfect fit for guard duty at the mine.

He noticed Harl and Troy staring at him.

'Oi, you!' he roared. 'Get back to your 'oles. You've given us precious little so far, so pick up the pace, or you'll feel more than a tickle.' He raised his coiled whip and gave it a flick. It cracked the air over their heads as Harl and Troy scrambled away. Queeg roared with laughter.

'If I didn't know better,' Troy grumbled as they ran for the nearest ladder, 'I'd say he has personal issues.'

'Then you don't know better,' Harl said, offering a hand to Troy, heaving him up onto the rickety platform. A gaping hole led deep into the boulder beside him. He peered inside. It was too dark to see much, but he could pick out the detail of more narrow holes cutting deep into the rock. Cracks criss-crossed the stone like the patina on a china cup and threaded their way through the tunnels into the heart of the boulder. It was chilling how weak it looked. It was as if the whole thing was just waiting to crumble.

Harl sighed looping his satchel over his shrivelling chest. The ancient planks creaked under their feet as they picked their way along the first level of scaffolding.