Pearls

Chapter Nine

The Fire Agate was trying to turn them against each other, and it worked.

Really, Yellow Pearl had to admit, creating that competition was a genius move. The Pearls were all so afraid of finishing in the last five that not a single one tried to slack off, take a break, or otherwise get up to any hijinks that could take up precious mining time. That included any plotting and rebelling that there was to be done. It saved the camp resources, too. It didn't have to spare many Amethyst guards to oversee the mines, because not a single Pearl was even thinking about doing something that an Amethyst would try to punish her for. Every Pearl worked feverishly, day and night, fueled by nothing but fear as they pounded away at the rocks with their pickaxes.

Primarily, though, the competition did a fine job of sewing distrust and division throughout the group, until the Pearls couldn't even trust their own friends. By the time the blisters on Yellow's hands were beginning to pop, two fights had already broken out. One about who got to mine a new iron deposit first. Another when one Pearl tried to steal silver ore from her neighbor. Although some guards did patrol the mines, none seemed inclined to break up the fights- if anything, they encouraged them, even placing bets on who they thought would win. Sometimes the Fire Agate would take a leisurely stroll through the dank tunnels, looking for brawls or excuses to hit people. Yellow was careful to never give her either.

The mines themselves were made up of dozens of winding passageways that diverged into hundreds of smaller ones. Inside, the Pearls were allowed to go anywhere and dig anything. So long as they were mining, they were free to move about. Not unmonitored, of course. Each wore a tiny metal anklet that acted as a tracker capable of delivering an electric shock to their wearer if she was foolish enough to try to leave the area with one. The furthest the anklet allowed the Pearls to go was to the drop point, which was located in the tunnel leading to the surface. The drop point was where each Pearl would bring her precious hauls of ore to be weighed and recorded by leering Blue Agates every time she got enough to be significant.

It was dark down in the mines. Fluorescent lights dangled precariously from the ceiling every five feet or so, providing just enough light to see by. The air was stale and seemed solid in Yellow's mouth, as if it was condensing in her lungs whenever she breathed in. Inhaling tasted like eating rocks and exhaling felt like spitting dust. At first, her hands bled and her shoulders ached with the work, but after a few days, Yellow felt her palms forming calluses and her muscles slowly strengthening. Well, it could have been days. Or hours. Or weeks. Without any clocks in the mines, Yellow quickly lost all sense of time. All there was was the work, and the threat of death that smothered her like a too-heavy blanket.

And of course, there was the never ending noise- the clang, clang, clang of a hundred pickaxes hitting metal. There was no escaping it. It echoed along the tunnels no matter where Yellow went. Even covering her ears could not block it out. Sometimes she wondered if it was all in her head, if the noise had gotten trapped in there and now bounced around on the inside of her skull, refusing to dissipate into her mind. As a matter of fact, Yellow now wondered if a lot of things were only in her head. Stars, for example. She used to see the stars every day. She was born under them, and she had lived under them. Within them. But now they seemed distant and outlandish, like a good dream that made no sense once you woke up.

"Keep working, you colds!" An Amethyst growled in Yellow's general direction. Yellow kept her head down and again swung her pickaxe at the hard packed dirt. She was hoping to strike a deposit of iron or coal soon, but so far, she'd had no luck. But Yellow didn't really feel disappointed. In fact, she didn't really feel anything at all. After the first dozen handfuls of ore, she had become somewhat numb to her surroundings. Now, all that mattered was that she kept her pickaxe moving.