Rebels of Vulvar (Vulvarian Saga Book 2), стр. 43
I stepped into the cage with five others, and the overseers lowered us down the shaft. When they lift stopped, other overseers were waiting. They directed us to a door of iron bars. They opened it and ushered us inside. The chamber already held about twenty of our fellows when the overseers pushed us inside before closing and bolting the door.
The room was dank, moldy, and unpleasant, repelling the senses. There were pools of water here and there on the floor. The walls were damp, and in places, water dripped from the ceiling. The builders had inadequately ventilated the chamber with circular holes in the wall covered by circular iron apertures. The air was stale and oppressive.
I leaned back against the damp, solid stone that formed the sides of the room. When we had stepped off the lift, the overseers had again shackled us together. They had chained me to five other men, including Jumah.
Two of the mine overseers unbolted the door and entered the cell with a large wooden tub. From it, they dumped a mixture of moldy brown bread and rotting vegetables into a wooden trough affixed to the wall. Once the overseers departed and locked the door, men rushed upon the trough like animals, pushing, jostling, shouting, and cursing. Each tried to thrust his hands into the trough to carry away as much food as he could before it was gone.
Jumah said to me, “For those who are not fond of life, this place offers many attractions.”
“To be sure,” I agreed.
Revolted, none of the men of my chain had approached the melee at the trough, perhaps because we were newly arrived and not starving. The food smelled like garbage and was unpalatable to us. I slid my back down the wall and sat upon the damp floor of the cell with my legs stretched out in front of me.
Six men of another chain approached us with bread and vegetables in their hands and sat down with their backs against the wall. The man at the end of the other chain sat beside me and ate greedily. He turned and regarded me. I looked at him. His tunic was in rags and revealed his gaunt body. The man’s shockingly red hair and beard were long and straggly. Suddenly he gave me a toothy grin, and I recognized him.
“Greyson!” I cried. “By the Goddess Queens, you live.”
“After a fashion, brother,” Greyson said. He leaned toward me and whispered, “I dare not call your name. There or those who would slay you even inside this chamber.”
Greyson thrust an onion and a crust of moldy bread into my hands. “Take this, eat,” he said. “You will learn to scramble with the rest of us.”
“Thanks, brother,” I said. I took them and chewed the food. I knew as Greyson had said, I would learn to compete at the food trough, for I had no wish to die of starvation. I would not presume to continue living on his charity.
“Are there others of Cooke’s former warriors here?” I said.
Greyson nodded as he chewed. “Almost all of us,” he said. “Finally, you have come back to us, it seems.” He gave a short laugh.
“My business detained me after I departed the training cohort,” I said.
“I heard of your exploits,” Greyson said. “That’s why others here who are also aware of your story would slay you if they knew your identity.”
“But not you?” I asked.
Greyson shrugged. “Are we not all already dead men here?” he said. “The past is the past.”
“What happened when I failed to return to the cohort?” I said.
“The officers were unaware I helped you depart the training area that day,” Greyson said. He grinned broadly. “But, they whipped me for not reporting your absence since I was your barracks mate.”
“I’m sorry for bringing grief upon you,” I said.
“Forget it,” Greyson said. “It wasn’t my first whipping. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
“We must think of escape,” I said to Greyson. “With many former warriors here, and using the picks as weapons, surely we might overcome the overseers of this hellish place.”
“Be quiet, fool,” Greyson hissed. “Beneath this chamber is an enormous cavern filled with water. The overseers must continually pump the water from the cavern, or it would soon rise through the lift shaft and flood the mine, drowning us all. Others who have been here longer than I told me that years ago there was an uprising in the mine. The administrator shut down the pumps and flooded the entire mine to quell it. It took weeks to pump out the water and clear the mine of the bodies. If anyone hears you breathe a word about revolt, either they will strangle you with their chains or inform on you to the overseers.”
I smiled, wondering why my fellow prisoners here and I were so determined to cling to life even in this infernal place. Why was it that men still chose life over death under such harsh conditions? Perhaps it was a foolish question, but it did not seem so in the mines of Nisa.
“What more can you tell me about this place?” I said.
“If we do not meet the daily quota, the overseers do not feed us that night,” Greyson said. “If we fail to meet the quota for three consecutive days, the overseers will whip us all.”
“So, the quota is collective rather than individual?” I said.
“Yes,” Greyson agreed. “Mostly. However, others here say that when the overseers identify slaves who are lazy or who fall ill and consistently cannot meet the production quota, they