Mercedes Lackey - Foundation

Questions! Questions could lead to bad things, too! What if he got the answers wrong? What if the answers made the man angry?

It was with difficulty that Dallen finally persuaded Mags that it would be all right. Both Jakyr and the stranger must have found out in some way that Mags was afraid, and that Dallen was calming him down, because both of them stayed quiet until Mags was finally ready to talk. And even then he was shaking inside and regretting he’d had any breakfast at all.

“This is going to be difficult for you, Mags, I understand that,” Jakyr said carefully, as the other man took pens, a pot of ink, and a sheaf of clean paper from his case and set them up on a table. “Your condition, and that of the other children I saw at Cole Pieters’ mine is fairly convincing testimony of neglect, if not outright abuse. But I need more than that if I am to be able to take a company of the Guard there and close the place down. I need testimony from you, and as much as you can tell me about the place.”

Mags scarcely heard the last sentence, since the one before it was so astonishing. “Close the mine?” he whispered. “But—what ’bout the rest of th’ kiddies? If ye close th’ mine, Master Cole belike won’ feed ’em!”

“Master Cole won’t be in charge of them,” Jakyr replied, with a certain grim satisfaction. “And Master Cole will have other things to think about. Now, let’s start with something simple. Tell me about your day, just an ordinary day from the time you would wake up. Where did you sleep?”

Slowly, haltingly, still trying to comprehend what it was that Jakyr was about to do concerning Cole Pieters, Mags obeyed, beginning with the description of the sleep-hole and moving on.

And that was where things got ... odd. It hadn’t really occurred to him before that there was anything out of the ordinary about how Pieters treated his workers. That is to say, he understood vaguely that Master Cole was not treating them well , especially in contrast to how the Guards were treated, but it had not occurred to him that there was anything that other people would see as wrong about it. It was, after all, Cole Pieters’ mine, and they were his workers, and there were all those priests in the place, and how could anyone prevent him from doing what he wanted with them? Well, short of killing people. Would that ever be found out? Would anyone believe the word of the kiddies over that of the Pieterses? He didn’t think so.

When it came to how the workers were treated, well, there just didn’t seem any reason why Master Cole couldn’t do exactly as he pleased with the workers in his mine. But from the moment Mags began talking, it was obvious that both Jakyr and this stranger were caught off guard by what he was telling them. Not only that, but they both were angry—though not at him. He caught sight of a vein throbbing in the strange man’s temple almost at once, and sensed thoughts full of outrage as Mags carefully detailed what life was like at Cole Pieters’ mine. That astonished Mags, astonished him so much that he actually forgot his own apprehension. That this stranger would actually care that the kiddies went cold, starved, and bare was the most amazing thing he had ever encountered in his entire life. It came near to making no sense at all. Because all he could think of was— why? Why should he care? What difference did it make to him? And wasn’t that how things were everywhere for the kiddies nobody wanted? If all those priests hadn’t been outraged, then why was this stranger?

When he had finished with telling about a typical day, with Jakyr questioning him minutely about the meals, and how one earned or lost those precious slices of bread, Jakyr took him back over a day again, this time in the dead of winter. He asked how they protected their feet from the snow, and how long they had to work at the icy water in the sluices, then what kind of bedding they had once the winter set in. As he questioned Mags ever more closely, Mags described how many of the kiddies would get chilblains and how they had to be careful not to lose fingers or toes to the cold, and he thought the stranger was going to burst. Except that anger was all on the inside. On the outside, he looked just as calm as calm, and never once faltered in his writing down of things. He could have been writing down what everyone here had for breakfast, for all that he showed. It was strange, listening to the silence in the room broken only by his voice and the steady scratching of a pen. Very strange, as it occurred to him that he probably had not spoken so much in an entire year.

Then Jakyr asked about the injuries to the mine workers. And the dangerous question, “How did people die?”

That was when Mags got frightened all over again. This was dangerous, dangerous stuff. Everyone knew what would happen if you told such things, and Pieters found out about it. You’d end up in a “cave-in” yourself. And Mags had suspected more than once that the Pieters boys had a very special punishment for those who really transgressed. He had the feeling that the ones that woke their worst ire were sealed into those played-out shafts—broken, scarcely able to move, but still alive. Though of course, they didn’t stay that way, not for long. The question would be whether they ran out of air first or whether they died of their injuries before then.

He could see it in his mind’s eye. He could see himself in the absolute dark, gasping out his last breaths. Pieters would find a way. He knew it. His insides went cold and knotted up, his hands began to shake, and he wanted to go and curl up in a corner behind something and hide.

“I cain’t—” he whispered, tears starting into his eyes, his voice choked off into nothing by the fear. “I cain’t. When Master Cole finds out who ’twas told—”

“Master Cole cannot reach you, Mags.” It was the stranger who spoke, voice tight with rage and mind so full of the same anger that his thoughts were lost under a red wash. “Master Cole can never touch you again. Now don’t you want to make sure the rest of the children get that same protection?”

:Mags, this is not a premonition you see, it is only your fear. Don’t let Pieters keep you a prisoner!: Dallen’s voice rang with conviction in Mags’ mind. Mags quivered with fear, but deep in his heart, he knew the stranger was right, and so was Dallen.

The stranger’s reaction had told him so. He knew now that no one should have been treated as he and the others had been. He knew that Cole Pieters deserved to be punished. He couldn’t leave the others there, not now that he knew Master Cole was an evil, bad man. And what he had said so far might not be enough to win them free.

But it was hard, hard, hard. He had to fight past the fear of Master Cole that made his throat close up, fight past the knotting of his gut and the hunching of his shoulders against the blows he knew must come for breaching the silence.

And then, in a whisper, he told everything he knew.

To the best of his ability, he drew a map of the mine and showed where the bodies were. As far as he could, he detailed what they had really died of. And when it was over, he was shaking, his clothing was soaked with nervous sweat, and he felt as weak and drained as if he had run for days.

When they let him go, he had barely enough energy left to drag himself to the bathing room and pour himself a bath. He stank of fear and sweat and—suddenly he was feeling fastidious, being around all these cleanly people. He didn’t want anyone to think he didn’t know better. Not now. And besides, he was so wet through, and so drained, that he was shivering with chill as well as reaction. His stomach was still in knots, and he still kept wanting to hide. It took forever to fill the bath, his hands were shaking so that the buckets sloshed.