that’s that.”
With a low curse, Thomas stood and walked away into the dark. I waited a moment before following to where he leaned against a tree and gazed up at the fire-belching stack.
“What will you do?” I asked.
“I’ll speak with Warwick, aye. I’ll convince him that she ain’t done yet. Not yet.”
He shifted his gaze to mine, his eyes bright with the flames burning overhead. “There’s ore there yet, sir. I can smell it. Taste it. I feel it here.” He punched his belly. “I vow to ya, Trey, the vein is there. A big one. Enough to keep these men set and secure for the rest of our miserable lives.”
11
I AWOKE SUDDENLY, FROM A STRANGE AND disturbing dream—the pit again, bottomless and fiery, my face looking up at me, twisted in torment. But there was something else—something more disquieting.
Someone had shouted my name.
The clock chimed in the distance, echoing through the house. Hours yet until I was to rise and traipse over the lea and fell to the mine.
Rising from the bed, I moved to the window. The smelt fire lit the gloomy night, a pale gold veil shimmering above the horizon.
Hurry!
The voice again. I spun and searched the room, dark but for the remaining glimmer of embers in the hearth. Cold touched my face, as if from a wind. It crept up my legs and spine, a whisper brushing against my ear.
Maria! Hurry!
I dressed quickly, led by some instinct of dread that sluiced through me. Something was wrong. Something had happened. I felt it in the pit of my stomach, unnerving, rattling. It made my heart run with the sudden need to see her, to convince myself that she was all right.
By the time I topped the swell I was breathing hard, gasping in the frigid air that made my lungs burn. The cluster of houses below were dark, only an occasional glimmer of light from a distant window. There was no lamp burning in the Whitefields’ cottage.
I sat against a tree and closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and imagined myself foolish to have been rattled so by a dream.
At first, the vibrations were subtle—a tremor so faint, I thought it only my own body shivering with cold.
Then again, stronger, running through the tree at my back.
I looked up to see the dying leaves shimmy and rustle as if fingered by wind. Only there was no wind, just a low growl of what sounded like thunder beneath me.
Christ, what was happening?
Stumbling to my feet, my gaze swept the landscape. Before me the distant fell began to buckle, to open, and suddenly it seemed the world began to disintegrate.
The growl became a roar and an explosion that sent a rush of foul smoke and stench rushing from the mine shaft, as if all the demons of hell had been loosed, and with it, a plume of fire suddenly erupted from the crumbling smelt chimney.
As if time were horribly grinding to a stop, the stones of the chimney began to disintegrate one by one, flying into the sky in fiery streamers to drift back through the cloud of gray smoke and falling debris and settle upon the thatched roofs of the houses that, suddenly, looked pitifully tiny beneath the monstrous enveloping black smoke clouds.
The mine. Dear God, the mine!
I ran, slid, stumbled down the fell, eyes burning, nostrils singed by the hot air and the rank odor, the earth still trembling under me. From the corner of my eyes I could see the hills undulating like a living thing, then disappear in on themselves as if some giant maw was opening and devouring creation itself.
By instinct I ran into the road, unable to see anything but the bright flare of fire rising out of the ground, the streaks of light that looked like shooting stars through the smoke.
Then the screams—women, around me, but I couldn’t see them—wails of horror and grief. The rooftops aflame added to the bilge of smoke, the thatch snapping and crackling like tinder.
I came face to face with Bertha, her flesh gray with shock and fear, and the soot of lead dust and smoke. Her glassy eyes stared at me as
With a low curse, Thomas stood and walked away into the dark. I waited a moment before following to where he leaned against a tree and gazed up at the fire-belching stack.
“What will you do?” I asked.
“I’ll speak with Warwick, aye. I’ll convince him that she ain’t done yet. Not yet.”
He shifted his gaze to mine, his eyes bright with the flames burning overhead. “There’s ore there yet, sir. I can smell it. Taste it. I feel it here.” He punched his belly. “I vow to ya, Trey, the vein is there. A big one. Enough to keep these men set and secure for the rest of our miserable lives.”
11
I AWOKE SUDDENLY, FROM A STRANGE AND disturbing dream—the pit again, bottomless and fiery, my face looking up at me, twisted in torment. But there was something else—something more disquieting.
Someone had shouted my name.
The clock chimed in the distance, echoing through the house. Hours yet until I was to rise and traipse over the lea and fell to the mine.
Rising from the bed, I moved to the window. The smelt fire lit the gloomy night, a pale gold veil shimmering above the horizon.
Hurry!
The voice again. I spun and searched the room, dark but for the remaining glimmer of embers in the hearth. Cold touched my face, as if from a wind. It crept up my legs and spine, a whisper brushing against my ear.
Maria! Hurry!
I dressed quickly, led by some instinct of dread that sluiced through me. Something was wrong. Something had happened. I felt it in the pit of my stomach, unnerving, rattling. It made my heart run with the sudden need to see her, to convince myself that she was all right.
By the time I topped the swell I was breathing hard, gasping in the frigid air that made my lungs burn. The cluster of houses below were dark, only an occasional glimmer of light from a distant window. There was no lamp burning in the Whitefields’ cottage.
I sat against a tree and closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and imagined myself foolish to have been rattled so by a dream.
At first, the vibrations were subtle—a tremor so faint, I thought it only my own body shivering with cold.
Then again, stronger, running through the tree at my back.
I looked up to see the dying leaves shimmy and rustle as if fingered by wind. Only there was no wind, just a low growl of what sounded like thunder beneath me.
Christ, what was happening?
Stumbling to my feet, my gaze swept the landscape. Before me the distant fell began to buckle, to open, and suddenly it seemed the world began to disintegrate.
The growl became a roar and an explosion that sent a rush of foul smoke and stench rushing from the mine shaft, as if all the demons of hell had been loosed, and with it, a plume of fire suddenly erupted from the crumbling smelt chimney.
As if time were horribly grinding to a stop, the stones of the chimney began to disintegrate one by one, flying into the sky in fiery streamers to drift back through the cloud of gray smoke and falling debris and settle upon the thatched roofs of the houses that, suddenly, looked pitifully tiny beneath the monstrous enveloping black smoke clouds.
The mine. Dear God, the mine!
I ran, slid, stumbled down the fell, eyes burning, nostrils singed by the hot air and the rank odor, the earth still trembling under me. From the corner of my eyes I could see the hills undulating like a living thing, then disappear in on themselves as if some giant maw was opening and devouring creation itself.
By instinct I ran into the road, unable to see anything but the bright flare of fire rising out of the ground, the streaks of light that looked like shooting stars through the smoke.
Then the screams—women, around me, but I couldn’t see them—wails of horror and grief. The rooftops aflame added to the bilge of smoke, the thatch snapping and crackling like tinder.
I came face to face with Bertha, her flesh gray with shock and fear, and the soot of lead dust and smoke. Her glassy eyes stared at me as
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