The dwarf had insisted the work proceed day and night, breaking every rule the miners had established to protect themselves from the salt shadows. Since the damned creatures could not survive in daylight without a host, nothing ever left the mine unless the sun was shining. Even if a shadow had attached itself to someone, a single shift was too short a time for it to completely possess him. Exposing it to sunlight quickly would reveal its presence. The unfortunate host might not be saved, but he could be destroyed before the salt shadow drove him to a life of corruption.
Azrael dismissed it all as superstitious nonsense and ordered the men to keep working after the sun went down. A few of the younger miners agreed, having never seen evidence of the shadows themselves. To them, the creatures were no more real than the Bloody Cobbler or the Whispering Beast. The older workers, though, kept a careful eye on the boxes, in case a shadow should be hiding on it. A few had even burned their palms and the soles of their feet, since dead flesh supposedly repulsed the creatures.
Ogier said a little prayer as the last of the boxes was unloaded and he, Kern, and Ambrose stepped into the lift. The big man did not fear the salt shadows, but he was scared of the trip down the pit. One of the lifts had broken free of its cable recently, killing everyone inside. Ogier asked the fates to keep this one safe.
Kern chuckled at the serious expression on his friend's face. He leaned close so the two dour polit-skae in the lift wouldn't hear and whispered, "You should be praying to the dwarf to keep us safe. The lift never falters when it's carrying anything important to him."
"Enough foolishness," Ambrose said more loudly than was necessary. Kern shot him an angry look, but the shopkeep met his gaze defiantly.
Ever the unknowing diplomat, it was Ogier who broke the tension. "Even if you're right, Kern, Ambrose is important to Azrael, and we're important to Ambrose. We'll be safe."
Silence fell upon the three men as the lift started its descent. They listened to the creaking of the pulleys and the groaning of the ropes. After a time, they could make out quiet voices from a cross shaft far below. The mine usually rang with the shouts of workers and the impact of hammer and pick on stone. The muted sounds took on an eerie quality for the men so accustomed to that din.
With a jerk, the lift came to a stop. The landing was crowded with men and crates. Kern and Ogier didn't recognize the miners. Grunts from the night shift, they assumed.
"Last load," said the group's foreman. Ambrose walked past him as if he hadn't heard. He went straight for a knot of six politskae gathered where the landing narrowed into a tunnel. They were a sullen bunch, half-concealed in the shadows. As Ambrose quietly discussed something with them, the rest of the workers set to loading the lift.
Ogier was quick to lend a hand, hefting even the larger boxes with ease. The crates were a mismatched lot, everything from salt barrels to children's coffins. The only things they had in common were their weight and the clanking sound they made when dropped or jostled. Even someone of Ogier's meager intellect could guess what was inside.
"An attack's coming," one of the workers muttered to Kern. "That's why we're moving this. Azrael don't want the Invidians to get it."
Kern, who was poking around the boxes in search of the lightest burden, yapped a dismissive laugh. "We're about as far from the border as you can get. Besides, if a raiding party attacks Veidrava, this stuff would be safer down here."
"If the Invidian army shows up," someone noted wearily, "we'd all be safer down here."
"Not in this tunnel," hissed an old man named Divelg, who'd been down the pit longer than anyone else at Veidrava. "Better to be sitting in Malocchio Aderre's lap than here. You know what that leads to?" He gestured toward the tunnel.
Ambrose was suddenly beside Divelg. He grabbed the old man by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "What's back there is something best forgotten," he rumbled.
"You're hurting him," Ogier said quietly. "Ambrose, stop."
The shopkeep whirled to face the big man. "Shut your bleating, Sheep, and get back to the boxes."
Trembling with fright, Divelg looked up into Ambrose's face and whispered, "I know what you are."
With a curse Ambrose hurled the old man toward Ogier. Divelg tumbled over a chest, spilling the contents. To no one's surprise, a small fortune in gold and silver coins poured onto the cold stone landing.
"Think of all the bottles of Malaturno this could buy," Kern murmured, eyes as wide as the largest gold doubloon. He knelt down to examine the hoard. The coins came from every land surrounding Sithicus and a few places more distant. There were also currencies that Kern couldn't identify; they'd been struck with odd images and odder names, like Cormyr and luz.
The politskae surrounded Kern. "I wasn't going to take anything," the miner said, smiling up at them. The silver axes that appeared in the men's hands made it clear they didn't believe him or didn't really care.
"We're wasting time," Ambrose boomed. Even the stoic politskae jumped at the uncharacteristic fury in the man's voice. They parted for Ambrose, who pulled Kern up from the floor. "I should let them kill you," he rumbled, "but you won't get off that easily."
Kern and Ogier were herded to the back of the landing while the rest of the boxes were loaded. Ambrose ordered Divelg to gather up the money he'd spilled. The shopkeep and a tight ring of politskae encircled him, ensuring that every coin was returned to the cache. When the work was done and the lid was about to be hammered back into place, Ambrose plucked two coins from the hoard. He handed them to Divelg.
Kern craned his neck to see what was happening. "Did he just give Divelg some money?" he asked.
"Uh huh," Ogier replied, "but the old guy don't look so happy about it."
In fact, Divelg looked heartbroken. He stared at the small black coins in his hand, turning them over and over again. Finally he mouthed a short, silent prayer and faced Ambrose. "It's back there, isn't it? It really exists."
Ambrose wrapped an arm around Divelg's shoulder and led him away from the throng. It might have been the light from the guttering torches, but the shopkeep's expression appeared to flow manically between glee and sorrow. "Yes, it exists. In fact, that's where Ambrose had his little 'accident' all those years ago." With one pudgy hand, he closed the old man's fingers around the coins. "Keep a tight grip on these. You'll need them sooner than you might think."
When the last box was loaded onto the lift, Ambrose ordered the landing cleared. The miners, even the politskae, crowded onto the lift. Only Ambrose and his two friends were left behind as the elevator shuddered, then began its ascent.
Divelg had been one of the last onto the lift. He stood at the very edge of the press, politskae to either side of him. Just before the elevator passed above the shaft's ceiling, he crouched down. "You must've had the heart of a titan to keep control of it for so long," he said to Ambrose. A slight, sad smile on his face, he tossed the coins onto the landing. "Those two will need them more than me. I know Fm not coming back."
The last words echoed after the lift had carried the old man out of sight. Kern stomped on one of the coins, which was rolling crazily across the stone. Lifting his heel, he found a black Sithican penny. It had landed rose side up, a bad omen.
Ogier picked up the other penny. "I don't think I get it," the big man said.
A slither of dread shot up Kern's spine. He understood the pennies' significance perfectly. When a corpse was set upon its funeral pyre, a penny was placed upon each eye. Fired red-hot by the blaze, they would sear through the dead man's eyes. His ghost would be blind, unable to find his home should his spirit rise up from the grave.