Chapter 9
Bracket laughed at Grandmother Grass encouraging, almost guilt-forcing, Chain to talk about her experiences during and after the Second Invasion. Chain had told her after Carmen went to bed, the two friends sharing warm drinks and idle chatter, a ritual of sorts they followed at least once a week.
“I wondered what it would take to get you to talk about that,” Bracket said, a hint of a smile on her face. “Now I know I'll just have to wait sixty years to find out.”
Chain laughed. “I just... I don't like to talk about it. That was when I was furthest from Sol, a horrible feeling for a Contegon, and one I'd rather not plumb. Even with you.”
Her friend shrugged and sat back in her chair. “Just tell me this: have you forgiven her?”
“Who?”
“The Acolyte Councillor, you screw. I wasn't going to say the First Servant, was I?”
Chain grimaced, but couldn't suppress another laugh. “No, no, you weren't.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
Bracket's eyes went to Chain's hands: they were balled fists. “Have you forgiven Maya?”
Chain looked at her hands too. “The Hereticum cleared her of her Heresy charges,” she said, stretching her fingers out in her white Contegon gloves.
“That's not an answer,” Bracket said, standing to pour another warm milk mixed with whiskey. “Have you forgiven her for abandoning you, then announcing you were pregnant to everyone of any power in Aureu, and connecting it to your unstable state?”
“I... I don't know. Not yet.”
Bracket slid the drink across to Chain. “I think that's the final step.”
Chain looked into her milk, saw her silhouette picked out in candlelight. “To what?”
Bracket sipped her drink. “Redemption.”
The idea of redemption stuck with Chain for the rest of the night, lingering like a disease. When she first failed to stop Maya leaving the Academy, Contegon Ward had granted her instant forgiveness, but now she understood Ward had merely been protecting her reputation. Redemption had to be earned through positive action, and Carmen was one of many routes to earn Sol's grace once more.
It was as she considered her leadership of Buckle the next day, whether she was doing enough good in her position, that Side surprised her, tapping her shoulder. Chain span, went to draw her hand axe, then realised not only that she was faced by a Miner, but that she'd left that axe with Grass.
Side stepped back, arms in the air. He was tall and well-built, a heavy lifter in the Family Mine. As today was a free day, he was clean, his pale skin and unshaven face clear of soot and sweat. “Forgive me, Contegon, I didn't mean to shock you.”
Chain dropped her hand and shook her head. “No, it's no bother, Side,” she said, smiling, “you merely caught me with my mind amidst the clouds.”
“Then I'm sorry I brought you down. Sol must have a lot to say to the likes of you.”
She looked away for a moment, gave a small laugh. It was embarrassing, but she felt her cheeks redden, or at least she imagined so. “I think Sol has enough to do without explaining what he wants and why.”
Side looked up, gestured across the sky. “I don't know. I imagine he doesn't have much to do whilst he's up there, watching over us: a conversation with a great Contegon would pass the time and make his work of pushing Lun into the sky easier.”
“Sol spends his time watching the dark brother, planning to undo what he has wrought.”
“That doesn't mean he can't talk whilst he works,” Side said with a grin. His voice was deep, gravelly and rough, like the Mine he worked in.
Chain shrugged, a smile still teasing her lips. “I suppose not.”
Side watched her closely. Chain had faced the Guardian more than once, had taken part in that Hereticum, but his gaze made her more uncomfortable than anyone else's ever had. In a good way.
She shook her head, tried to clear her childish infatuation. Just before she could ask why he'd come to see her, he said, “Mind if I tag along on your patrol?”
“Now, why would you want to do that?”
“I like a walk, and I like good company,” Side said. His wide grin faltered as he awaited a response.
“Sure, I wouldn't mind company,” Chain said, nodding. “You'll have to leave if someone approaches me with a private matter, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, bowing slightly.
Chain turned away, allowed herself a private smile, then continued on her circuit. Side quickly caught up and walked by her side.
The day was more chilled than Buckle had become used to. A heavy spread of clouds blocked Sol, rolling over the Family, and a slight wind played around her thick Contegon robes. It was only as she walked, considering Geos, that she noticed how unbalanced she felt with only one axe: she hoped Grandmother Grass wouldn't mind her taking the axe back the next time she visited.
“How is Carmen?” Side asked.
“She's brilliant,” Chain replied. “Really brilliant. Every day she's growing and learning, becoming a real person. I mean, she's only five, but she's so advanced: Kick says she will be Contegon or Lord material. She's just so... bright. I guess that's the word, bright. Her personality, intellect, temper... they're all bright.”
A smile spread across Side's face as she talked. “What?” she asked.
“Your whole manner changes when you discuss Carmen. It's... great to see. That's all.”
“I suppose it does,” Chain said, feeling her cheeks redden once more. “I can't help but be happy when I talk about Carmen: she is the best thing that I've ever done.”
“And that's saying a lot coming from you.”
A frown creased her forehead. “How so?”
Side laughed. “You saved Aureu from a Disciple horde, didn't you?”
Chain blinked. “Oh yes, that.”
“'That?'” he asked, astonished. His laugh was deep, like a friendly rumble. “I had heard that you don't think much of what you did during the Second Invasion, but hearing it first-hand is another thing. You are... you are an interesting person, Chain.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” she said. She didn't mention the thoughts of redemption that haunted her, that she no more felt a hero than the militiamen who survived the slaughter by crawling under their dead comrades.
“It was meant as a compliment, Contegon.”
Chain tried to judge his true intentions and thoughts, but came up empty. Her understanding of men didn't extend to the fey elements of their hearts. Rather than risk the conversation remaining on this uncomfortable topic, Chain said, “And how are things down in the Family Mine?”
“Didn't you visit only the other week?”
“I did, but there are some things that people don't tell a Contegon below the ground, when their lives are at risk: things that they might tell a companion on a stroll.”
“I thought this was a patrol?” Side asked, his eyes flashing with amusement.
“We have slowed a little. I think this had become a stroll rather than a patrol.”
“Are there official classifications of what constitutes a patrol, then?”
Chain nodded. “It wouldn't surprise me if the Clerics had produced them.”
He smiled at her joke. “Anyway, the Mine. It's going well. The Sol's Pockets we found last month have increased our output incredibly. Muster must be so glad, huh?”
Chain stopped, held a hand out to make Side halt too. “Wait, what?”
“What?” Side asked.
“Explain in detail what you mean by what you just said. This is important, Side.”
He looked down at her gloved hand, which dug into the flesh of his arm, but didn't say anything about it. “This last month has been our best month,” he said uncertainly, “and that's in comparison to a good few months of mining. We've been pulling huge amounts of gem-rich silt from the Sol's Pockets, which were just the most recent we've found. Our output must have been huge.”
Chain looked
away, to the Family Mine. She gripped the Miner still, like he was a physical link to her responsibility. “For how many months?”
“I don't know, maybe five or six,” Side replied. His jovial nature had evaporated: he seemed concerned, like any Miner before a probing Contegon.
“For five or six months, you have been producing larger quantities of gems than ever before,” she repeated, tasting the words and finding them bitter. “And you're sure of this?”
Side nodded slowly. “I shift the silt, so I know how much is going in. What's wrong?”
She shook her head and looked at the Miner. He looked scared now, as scared as Chain felt about this mismatch between his story and the reports. “I don't know. Perhaps nothing. I need to find out, however, and that means you must tell no one of this conversation.”
“I don't know what I'd say anyway,” Side rumbled, his eyes narrowing back to normal. “Has no one said the Mine was doing this well?”
“Miners don't usually talk to me as candidly as you,” Chain said. “They talk to the robes, not the person, and leave things like totals up to their superiors.”
Side blew air out through his mouth, and then looked up to the sky. “Shit.”
“I am holding to your word that you won't tell anyone about this.”
“You have my word.”
Chain nodded and walked away, abandoning her patrol. She needed to speak to Grain. Sadly, the woman spent her days off camping - Grain once told Chain she spent so much time around paper that it felt good to be with what they once were, to remind herself that paper was a gift from Sol - and, at the time, it had seemed like a wonderful idea, but right now it angered Chain.
If Side was right, and not just boasting or exaggerating, something was wrong: Par had reported a steady income for those months. Chain realised she still had the projections which said this month would be the same as the last, so she decided to consult that and her other paperwork when she got back home.
Under-reporting profits was a serious crime, one punishable by death. Chain shook her head to clear such thoughts: she needed to establish whether Muster was forcing Par to under-report or whether Par or someone lower in the chain was stealing. Grain's numbers would clarify matters, she was certain of that.
Hopefully, it would all be nothing, a mistake. Chain realised how unlikely that was, but she wanted to think the best of Par and the other Miners. An old part of her screamed that she was surrounded by the unfaithful, and it was hard to deny utterly that this instinct was wrong.