Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 207 by Neil Clarke

Author:Neil Clarke [Clarke, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magazine, science fiction, Science Fiction - Short Stories, science fiction magazine, short fiction, short stories
Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
Published: 2023-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

The main office of the Gheer family is an unusually large, pale, spherical antechamber. It’s covered in sigils of gems, drills, and hollow, many-spoked stars, which are possibly explosives.

Nobody has searched us.

That’s a good sign, right? I think uneasily. That no disgruntled workers have come here with explosives to blow up the mine managers?

Maybe it just means that any previous workers’ revolutions have been met with such punishment that nobody’s ever tried again

Fern mats, dried and dyed yellow, cover the spongy floor. Direct sunlight through the unpainted portions of the walls makes a shadow-puppet show on my hoof-boots.

My feet hurt even more than before.

The door attendants make Darkness Two stay outside.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Wipwai says. She’s hunched over to fit inside the antechamber. Her pointed ears are bent by the curve of the ceiling. “Marino, as I told you, these are the Gheers.”

Two Eligarans stand beside an iron-bound wood and ivory cabinet. It seems entirely made of tiny square drawers, each drawer with a keyhole. I don’t see the keys.

Squinting, shrewd-looking Instructor Gheer—the fourth generation—and alert, weapon-strapped Guardian Gheer—the sixth generation—are both a head shorter than me.

Which means they’re tiny compared to Wipwai. If she had to fight in these cramped quarters, her added range would be a disadvantage, instead of an advantage.

Which is probably the whole idea.

They’re not close enough for me to read their thoughts.

While the Guardian begins silently circling us at the room’s margins, with an air of menace, the Instructor unrolls something like an illuminated parchment on white seaweed-eater skin. The capitals are ornamented and the words themselves tiny and cramped, like lines of marching ants.

“The ancient, treasured and venerable Miner’s Contract,” Instructor Gheer says, holding it up to the filtered sunlight in a spot where there aren’t any sigils. “You can’t read it, so I’ll tell you what it says. The value of the digging and sieving equipment, food, accommodation, and safety supervision our family will provide to you is seven kernels per day, or at least two complete towercrown crystals. We’ll keep a tally if you fall behind. Debt must be repaid.”

Whatever she says next, it’s difficult to comprehend, because I’ve started squinting at the brandished document.

O Peoples Of The Wet City, Tremble! it reads. The Queen Of The Gheer Will Cross The Fork At Dusk. Ten Times Ten Families Who Resisted Have Been Slaughtered And Their Children Adopted. Ten Times Ten Times Ten Foodbeasts Have Been Taken In Tribute. Five Tall Mirrors Of Towercrown Reflect Her Glory. Two Times Ten Dogs Swim Ahead Of Her Barge. Three Metal Dogs Walk The Riverbed, Three Who Obey Her Commands, For The Name Of Obedience Is She Who Cuts Without Fear Calls You Here.

Interesting.

Bizarre.

“I don’t think that’s a contract,” I interrupt without thinking. “It says something about a Queen coming across the Salt Fork to kill everyone. It says we should tremble.”

Wipwai draws a very sharp breath.

“You can’t read,” Instructor Gheer says with a sneer. “Don’t try to impress us. Who would teach a male to read? Just sign here, if you want to enter the mine.

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