Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

The hill of coal on the other side of the valley from the mine grew steadily in size, but not without cost.

Kindan heard but kept to himself many late night conversations spoken in low voices in the Harper’s cottage. With the exception of Tarik, nearly all the miners had come to pay their respects at one time or another to the new Harper. Many returned. All were worried.

“Sure, we’re getting coal enough, but for how long?” was the common complaint. “Without new diggings, we’ll soon be reduced to either working the pillars or ... just giving up.”

Kindan hadn’t been surprised the next morning when he had been asked to explain to the MasterHarper what was meant by “working the pillars.”

“A coal field’s a huge field underground,” Kindan had said. “There’s rock on top of it that’s pressing down. When we dig, we leave large pillars of coal untouched to help support the rock above—”

“But that’s not the only way to do it, is it?”

Kindan nodded. “You could build in supports and then pull out the pillars. In fact, if the field weren’t so huge, or when it’s finally mined out—probably not before the end of the coming Pass or even longer—”

“More than fifty Turns?” Master Zist was impressed.

Kindan nodded again. The seam’s a good three meters wide, and there’s acres of it down there. The Camp would have to be proved and then they’d drill some more shafts, one for air and the other just for coal, and they’d probably make roads on the level wide enough for workbeasts to haul the coal out, instead of just men with carts or wheelbarrows.”

Master Zist sighed, shaking his head at his own ignorance. “Let’s get back to the pillars.”

Kindan nodded. “The pillars keep the rock above the coal from bearing down on the field and crushing the coal. They support the weight. If you work your pillars—”

“Then you run the risk of crushing the whole field?” Master Zist guessed.

Kindan smiled at the Harper. “Exactly!” he agreed.

“So when would it make sense to work your pillars?”

Kindan shrugged. “I don’t know everything about mining, Master Zist,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Just give me a guess, then,” the Harper allowed.

“Well... I can think of two times: when you need to get coal out in a hurry and you’re not going to keep mining; and when you’ve mined everything else and you’re willing to build up new pillars to bear the load while you work the coal pillars,” Kindan said.

“So either way, it’s the end of the mine, is it?” Master Zist asked.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed in a troubled tone. If the mine were to close, he thought, what would happen to him?

Master Zist must have guessed his thoughts, for he punched Kindan lightly on the shoulder. “Harpers can work anywhere, lad.” He looked at the window. “And speaking of work, we’ve both chores to get started.”

Classes with the MasterHarper were different, too. They had been different before from those with Harper Jofri, but now, as a fostering in the Harper’s cottage, Kindan was aware of his unique position. He found himself backing Master Zist’s gruff ways out of his strong sense of loyalty, when before he would have done his stubborn best to undermine the Harper’s discipline.

Dalor noticed it and said nothing; Cristov noticed it and taunted him about it. Tarik’s son had always lorded his position over the other children in the Camp, but now he took special pains to rub Kindan the wrong way, taking every opportunity to remind Kindan that he was now sleeping in his room and how nice Kindan’s old house was.

Kindan took the abuse as long as he could, until one day he caught Cristov leaving the hold on his way back to his house for lunch. One deft hook of his leg and Cristov was sprawled in the mud and snow that was the pathway between Miner Natalon’s hold and the rest of the camp.

“You need to watch your feet,” Kindan said to him roughly. “As well as your tongue.”

Cristov jumped to his feet, but before he could do any more, a huge hand grabbed Kindan by the ear and dragged him back into the hold.

“I’ll deal with this,” Master Zist’s deep voice said. Cristov’s opened mouth closed into a sly grin as he watched Kindan being hauled away.

“Wipe your feet,” the Harper told Kindan when they reached the entrance to the hold. Kindan complied, still smarting at the grip on his ear, and followed the Harper back into the classroom.

“Sit,” Master Zist ordered, indicating a seat at one of the long tables. Kindan sat and raised a hand to rub his injured ear.

“Leave it alone, you earned the pain,” Zist told him. “Now I want you to tell me what you did wrong and what you should have done.”

Kindan furrowed his brow and tried to ignore his sore ear. “He’s been saying—”

“Remember that you’re training to be a harper,” Master Zist reminded him. “Words are supposed to be your trade.”

“But—”

Master Zist held his hand up, and Kindan stopped. “Tell me three good things about Cristov,” the Harper ordered.

Kindan closed his mouth and thought. “Well, he’s strong.”

Master Zist raised one finger and gave Kindan an encouraging look.

“His mother likes him.”

“That’s a good thing about his mother,” Master Zist said wryly.

“Aren’t harpers supposed to be trained at the Harper Hall?” Kindan asked, hoping to change the topic.

“A Master may take an apprentice wherever he is,” Master Zist responded, “and send him on to the Harper Hall later.” He raised his hand with the one finger extended. “But you have not finished.”

“Urn, well... he’s not good at figures ... or writing—”

“Those are faults, not virtues,” Master Zist said with a sigh.

“I know,” Kindan protested, “I’m just trying to think—”

“I see,” the Harper said. “Well, this is taking too long and we’ve both work to attend. So, to help you think, in addition to your other chores, you will go down to Tarik’s every evening after you’ve done your usual chores and wash all their clothes for them. You will continue doing this until you can report to me three virtues of Cristov. And you will apologize to Cristov for your behavior.”

“But—but—” Kindan spluttered. “How will I get Cristov’s mother to let me do their laundry? I can’t imagine her being too eager to let me do it.”

“How you get her to do it will be up to you,” Master Zist told him. “But do it, you will.”

Kindan rolled his eyes.

Master Zist wagged his finger at him. “I don’t think that rolling your eyes will work with Dara,” he said. He rose from his seat. “Get going; there might be a bite to eat left in the kitchen if you run.”

“What about you, Master?”

“I,” Master Zist stretched to his full height and assumed a lordly pose, “have a date with a young lady.” Catching Kindan’s surprised look, he added with shushing motions, “Go on! Off with you!”

It took Kindan two grueling days to come up with three virtues Cristov possessed: honesty; loyalty; integrity. He managed to ingratiate himself with Dara by explaining that he had fond memories of doing laundry in his old house and could he please do a few loads for them to relive the memory? Cristov looked ready to die of laughter at the question and Tarik looked sour, as always, but Dara relented after giving Kindan a long, searching look.

All the same Kindan was delighted when he reported his findings to Master Zist and got out of his extra chore.

“Describe the house to me,” Master Zist ordered then.

Kindan started to run down the layout of the house from memory, but the Harper stopped him with an upraised hand.