Old Acquaintance

Just as the Dawnlight Tavern had its dawnlight and the Fine Wine Lady had her fine wine, Annan had assumed "haunted" was merely a word tacked onto the gold mine's name.

He had not expected it to be a description.

By the time Annan came to his senses, the ghost had vanished, and Martin was nowhere nearby.

Annan picked up the pickaxe Martin had dropped and backed away with his oil lamp. He found Martin in the dark, hacking at a rock wall with a broken pickaxe.

He looked as though an evil spirit had possessed him.

"What are you doing?"

"Mining."

"Was that a Ghost just now?"

Martin answered without hesitation. "Ghosts are just the spirits of dead miners. They've lost their minds and wander the tunnels day after day. Nothing to be afraid of."

"Then what happened to your pickaxe?" Annan asked, leaning on the two pickaxes.

"It's right here." Martin raised the broken pickaxe and cried out in surprise. "How did it break?"

Annan handed Martin the intact pickaxe and thought back to the Ghost. Its reaction had been much like Martin's. Perhaps Ghosts were not as frightening as he had imagined?

Just in case, Annan took Martin back to the shallower tunnels and chose one where other miners were working.

The clanging echoing from deeper in the mine gradually became a reassuring sound.

A few minutes later, Annan crawled out of the low tunnel earlier miners had carved, his muscles aching. He rested beside the oil lamp and watched Martin continue swinging his pickaxe in the cramped passage.

Of the sixty copper coins Old Zoren paid them each day, Martin earned at least fifty-five.

Annan had barely rested when the echoing blows suddenly became monotonous. Soon, chains rattled, and a pair of bare feet crunched over the gravel into the edge of the lamplight.

Tattered burlap barely covered its dark brown skin. The pickaxe that was a little too large for Annan looked like a child's sand toy in its hands.

It lowered its head, and the shadows shrouding its face gave way to reveal horns on its forehead.

"We meet again."

"It's you?"

Annan remembered this Minotaur vividly.

"Stay away from my cousin!"

A shout rang out from the low tunnel. Remembering Aunt Susan's instructions, Martin gripped his pickaxe and charged out. But he forgot how low the tunnel was, slammed his head into the rock, and knocked himself unconscious.

Annan looked at Martin in silence. When it came to being a disappointment, Martin never disappointed.

The Minotaur glanced at the unconscious Martin. "Don't be nervous, boy. I won't hurt you."

"I know."

That was why Annan had not even stood up. No one was going to get hurt—except Martin.

"You two don't look like family."

Martin's hair was yellowish brown, while dust had turned Annan's gray. But the Minotaur had seen his black hair before.

"I was adopted..." Annan brushed the question aside. "Are you free?"

Clank.

The Minotaur stepped out of the darkness, letting Annan see the heavy iron shackles around its ankles.

It had been sold to the gold mine after all.

"I'm curious..." the Minotaur asked in a deep, heavy voice. "Why did you show compassion to a mongrel with filthy blood in his veins?"

It took Annan a moment to untangle the awkward question. Then he answered, "I've met the holiest succubus and the ugliest devotee of the Holy Light."

Annan had stolen that line from a bard, who had stolen it from somewhere else.

In the bard's stories, even a succubus could be a chaste virgin, and even an Elf could be a lust-crazed wanton.

"Did you run into a Ghost too?"

Annan asked the Minotaur, who had come from deeper in the mine. It replied, "That would be no surprise. A gold mine is a place of wrongful deaths, where humanity's brutality is laid bare."

Annan did not understand, but it sounded convincing.

"See you."

The Minotaur said goodbye and left with a rattle of chains. Annan watched it fade into the darkness, wondering if the words he had whispered back then had made it want to come over and say hello.

"Ugh..."

A muffled groan came from Martin. He sat up, clutching his forehead. "Where's that monster...?"

"Gone."

"Did you see how he knocked me out?" Martin grabbed his pickaxe and climbed to his feet. "I didn't even have time to react."

You weren't the only one, Annan thought. He didn't have time to react either.

Still dizzy, Martin could not keep mining. Annan lasted another ten-odd minutes before crawling out again, his arms hanging limp. Old Zoren came by to check on them, looking pale—though the air quality might have been to blame.

Seeing Martin's injury, he told them they did not have to work any more that day.

He was not afraid of Holin, but he was afraid Susan would break his other leg.

Annan picked up the basket of rocks that might contain ore and followed him out of the stifling mine.

The air was fresh and the sunlight warm. Neither had ever seemed so wonderful. Back at the shed, Old Zoren took the basket away. Before long, he returned with it empty, his one good leg trembling nonstop. Annan guessed they had come up empty again.

"One more day tomorrow."

The basket he set down held a few pieces of dark bread and a bowl of salted peas.

The salted peas were very sour, but they went well enough with the cold, hard bread.

Old Zoren was decent enough, if a little impatient. After all, he was paying their sixty copper coins a day himself. But finding just one fist-sized chunk of gold ore would earn him a fortune.

As Annan and Martin ate outside the shed, a commotion broke out at the mine entrance.

A group of miners fled the tunnels with bats squeaking wildly around them. They were shouting words like "Ghost" and "spirit."

It seemed they had run into Ghost too.

More miners came out in ones and twos, refusing to go back down no matter what anyone said. The foremen gathered to discuss what to do. Standing among them, Old Zoren looked out of place.

Annan spotted the Minotaur again. It sat outside its hut holding a worn, yellowed book, looking like a learned scholar in the sunlight.

The foremen soon settled on a plan. They summoned a Mage Apprentice from somewhere, then assembled a group of miners who could more or less fight. Annan saw the Minotaur among them.

By the time the light dappling the distant forest had turned golden, the miners emerged from the Haunted Gold Mine and declared that they had driven out the spirits.

Annan had no idea whether that was true, but he resolved to stay near the mine entrance tomorrow, even if Old Zoren begged him to go deeper.

In the last light of dusk, Annan sharpened a charcoal pencil. Recalling what the bard had said about Ghost, he thought hard and wrote on a sheet of Papyrus:

[To the dearest spirits:

I know you're here, and I know you don't welcome us. We only want to mine. Please give us a chance, and we won't disturb you again after this.]

"To the most terrifying spirits, I know you're here..."

When he finished, Annan glanced over the crooked writing, misspellings, and smudges. For someone who had learned to read only a week ago, he had done quite well.

Ideally, someone would keep watch at night, but no one was that selfless.

Just then, a sharp cramp twisted Annan's stomach. He had been about to paste the Papyrus to the door, but he handed the task to idle Martin instead and headed for the woods, clutching the remaining sheets of Papyrus.

Salted peas were not supposed to be sour.

Annan returned dozens of minutes later, weak and drained. He glanced at the Papyrus on the door and pushed it open.

He did not notice the poorly secured sheet fall as the door opened. When he stepped on it, it stuck to his sole and came along as he climbed into bed.