In a place where the sun was nothing but a fairy tale, time belonged to the bells.
Three chimes meant crawl out of your straw and grab your pickaxe. Three more meant drop your tools and drag your broken body back for whatever slop they called supper. Between those bells, men bled into the earth and counted themselves lucky if they lived to hear the next set.
The Winkers in their glass cages knew the schedule too. After the night bells, someone would throw cloth over their prison, plunging the tunnels into absolute darkness. Come morning, off came the covers, and the bugs would glow their sickly light across another day of misery.
That's how the underground had operated for longer than anyone cared to remember. Today felt no different.
Men swung their tools in the eternal rhythm-thunk, thunk, thunk-each strike sending sparks dancing off stone. Sweat carved clean tracks through the grime on their faces, and the air tasted of metal dust and desperation. The usual symphony of suffering, played in four-four time.
Then the bells started.
-Gong!
The first chime echoed off the tunnel walls like a dying man's last breath. Pickaxes stopped mid-swing, arms going slack with relief. All around Quarry Eleven, miners straightened aching backs and wiped their faces with hands that would never be clean again.
-Gong!
Eighty-Seven walked toward the tool racks, his pickaxe dragging behind him like a dead thing. His shoulders screamed from another day of breaking stone, but he'd learned long ago that pain was just another type of background noise. Around him, other men shuffled toward the collection point, already dreaming of thin soup and thinner blankets.
-Gong!
The third bell meant freedom, however temporary. Men pushed their carts with whatever strength remained, ore rattling like dice in a drunk's cup. Some were already stumbling, eyes glazed with exhaustion, wanting nothing more than to collapse and forget they existed for a few precious hours.
But then came the sound that made every man freeze.
-Gong!
A fourth bell.
Eighty-Seven stopped dead in his tracks, his blood suddenly cold as winter stone. Around him, confused murmurs rippled through the crowd like ripples on a pond.
"What the hell?"
"Must be some fool drunk on duty again."
"Probably fell asleep on the damn bell rope."
They tried to laugh it off, the way men do when faced with something that doesn't fit their understanding of how the world works. But their laughter sounded hollow in the vast cavern, dying quick deaths against the stone.
-Gong!
The fifth bell killed all conversation. Now men looked at each other with the hollow eyes of creatures who'd learned that surprises usually meant someone was about to die. The silence that followed was thick as grave dirt, broken only by the distant drip of water and the scurrying of rats in the shadows.
Eighty-Seven turned back toward the tool racks, certainty flooding through him like cold fire. His crimson eyes swept over the collection of worn pickaxes until they found what he was looking for-a heavy bastard of a tool, bigger than what most men could swing properly. The kind of weapon that could crack skulls as easily as ore.
He grabbed it with both hands, testing its weight. Perfect.
The time had come.
✧ ✧ ✧
"What do you want me to do?"
When Russ had dangled the promise of seeing sky again, Eighty-Seven would have grabbed onto it even if it was nothing but a rotting rope on the edge of snapping. Hope was a dangerous thing in a place like this, but desperation made men do stupid things.
Russ had smiled then.
"I want you to create a commotion."
Eighty-Seven had squinted through the darkness of his cell, trying to read the scarred man's face. "What kind of commotion?"
"The kind big enough to bring Captain Sarkas running down here like his arse is on fire." Russ had leaned closer, his walking stick clicking against stone. "Something he can't ignore. Something that demands his personal attention."
Eighty-seven waited for more, but that seemed to be the extent of the plan. "And then what?"
"Then nothing. That's all I need from you." The words whistled through Russ's missing teeth like wind through a broken window. "Do this, and I promise you a horse and an open gate. Freedom, boy."
The promise hung in the air as Eighty-Seven studied the man's ruined features, searching for lies in the shadows cast by flickering Winker-light.
"How can I believe you?"
"I swear it upon the name of Lord Vessa."
Heavy words.
Eighty-Seven had heard men swear by gods when they desperately needed someone to trust their promises. The problem was, he'd stopped believing in gods the day they dragged him down here.
"Do I look like someone who believes in the fantasy of gods?" The question came out flat as hammer-beaten iron.
"Well." Russ had shrugged, the motion making his walking stick scrape against stone. "I'm afraid that's all I can offer for your trust. I'm a broken man, Eighty-Seven. The choice is yours-believe me or don't."
Silence stretched between them like a taut rope. Then Eighty-Seven leaned forward, his crimson eyes burning in the dim light.
"I'll kill you if you don't keep your word."
The threat carried no heat, no anger. Just cold certainty, delivered like a statement of fact.
Russ's grin widened, showing more gaps than teeth.
Eighty-Seven knew he couldn't truly trust this broken scarecrow of a man. Everything about Russ screamed danger-the calculating look in his remaining eye, the easy promises that sounded too good to be real.
But even a rotting rope was better than no rope at all. And creating a commotion? Hell, that was practically his specialty. Usually, it happened when some fool picked a fight with him, but he could work the other way around just fine.
"When should I do it?"
Russ had smiled then, the expression making his scarred face look like cracked leather. "You'll know when the time comes."
That was all he'd said before the thick iron door slammed shut, leaving Eighty-Seven alone with his thoughts and the sound of rats scratching in the darkness.
Now, standing in the sudden quiet of Quarry Eleven with a heavy pickaxe in his hands and five bells still echoing off the stone walls, he understood.
The time had come.
─── ✦ ✦ ✦ ───