I awoke to the choking stench of lizard dung and the low rumble of wagons. The vibrations battered my tender nose, blocked at one nostril as well as both numb and painful at the same time. I rolled onto my side, and groaned at the eye watering pain from my ribs. The flesh around them felt as if a butcher had taken to them with a meat tenderiser. Every leg and arm muscle felt weak, and ached. I’d been in pain yesterday too of course, but I hadn’t had time to concentrate on it. But now I’d slept and things were calmer, everything hurt.

I realised my gem wasn’t cold anymore. I looked up at the ceiling, and the ghosts had gone. A sense of unease came to fill the absence. Where were they hiding?

“Get out the way you louts!” cried a voice. I looked around and saw a wagon driver shaking his fist at me. Two of the other wagons were already unloading at the other side of the entrance, and the other miners and I were obviously in the way. Grumbling and rubbing sleep from my eyes, I forced myself to stand up and walk further into the cavern with the rest of the miners. All around white tents had been set up, and I wondered how many wagons had come through as I’d slept.

“Come on you lot! Get some breakfast!” shouted Tradfast. He stood in front of a drooping and scuffed tent, beckoning us with a violent inwards gesture. I rolled my eyes. Even inviting us for food, Tradfast managed to be angry. The smell of carrot wafted through the air, somehow more paltry and thin than usual. Then I realised it only smelled faint because of my nose. I poked one inquisitive finger into the blocked nostril, and came out with a lump of dried blood. That couldn't be good.

The miners lined up with none of the usual pushing, shoving, and good natured joking that had taken place every morning back in the miner barracks. I never thought I’d miss that place, but now I did. At least I’d had stability then. And at least one friend.

As I ate, I took some time to look around the mining area. Soldiers swarmed around the white tents, unarmoured; they were vaguely reminiscent of newly moulted lizards. Would they go into the caverns without protection? Their steel certainly hadn’t been much help against the ghosts, so I supposed they might.

“Stony!” I jerked my head up, nearly dropping my soup onto my lap in shock. It was Tradfast. “Go get that nose seen too. The triage tent’s over there.”

Was Tradfast up to something? I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d spoken of owing me yesterday, but I was still convinced he was after the sapphire.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. Go get it fixed, it’s bent leftways.”

I touched the bridge with two fingers and pressed lightly. It was bent leftways, and really did need seeing to.

“Fine then.” I stood up, and made my way over to triage tent, along with half a dozen other dwarves.

It was a vast rectangle, so well lit it nearly hurt to look at, with rows upon rows of beds. We walked in to stand in a row behind a small desk. Only one doctor was present -- more were meant to be arriving in the afternoon -- older than nearly anyone I’d seen before, his grey beard reaching under the desk. His nose and ears were drooped, but his eyes were as bright as any young dwarf’s.

I ended up first in line.

“My nose is broken,” I said.

“I know,” said the doctor, looking me dead in the eyes with sudden intensity. “It’s obvious from both the bruises and your voice.” His voice was quick, almost like he clipped the end off each word to save time. “Setting it will be two marble tetras. An extra one if you want the blood cleared out as well.”

“Pardon?” I said, not quite able to believe what he was saying. A portion of our salaries was set aside in case medical treatment was needed. “You can’t make us pay.”

“Yes I can. If you don’t have any money, come back when you have some.” He leaned sideways to look behind me. “Next please.”

“But I don’t have anything either!” The dwarf behind me wrung his hands. One arm was in a sling; if it wasn’t fixed, he might not be able to swing a pick again.

“I don’t have any money either!” came another voice.

“Neither!”

“Neither!”

The doctor threw his hands in the air. “Well I'm very sorry, but I can’t treat any of you. Goodbye.” And with that he leaned back on his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

"Excuse me?" I said. "The company's meant to cover us."

"I'm not a company doctor, I'm an army doctor."

"But I need my nose fixed!" I banged both hands on the desk.

The other dwarves crowded forward, pressing my gut into the table edge, shouting right next to my ear.

“We pay this stuff out our salary!”

“Are you really going to let us stay like this? Look at my arm you bastard!”

“You bastard!” I echoed, really spitting the words out. The greedy dick, trying to steal money from helpless poor bastards like me who couldn’t do anything about it. It should be no less than I expected, but it was still disgusting. That bastard Captain Lorsson dragged us out here, and expected us to pay not to die. Wait, if Lorsson was in command here...

“Settle down,” cried the doctor, scraping back his chair and standing up. “I’m sorry it’s just--”

“The Captain will be expecting us to get treated!” I raised my voice and kicked the table leg , rattling it, to cut over the rabble of voices. “He’ll pay for us.”

The shouting died down. The doctor looked me hard in the eyes, probably trying to detect the lie. His irises were blue, and cold and unforgiving as stone.

“Did he now?” he said, and folded his arms. He snorted. “It does seem the sort of thing Lorsson would do, yes, he’s always been a strange one. But I can’t believe you until you show me some paperwork, or get him over here yourself.”

“He’s busy now, but he promised said he’d pay double for it.” I said. “He’s got money to spare, after all.”

“Did he now?” He tilted his head to the side as if to consider. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll treat you. I understand his him, he won’t mind paying. Even if he pays double.” His eyes lit up greedily. “Alright then, come round here and I’ll take a look at your nose.”

Not even the camp doctor respected Captain Lorsson.

The doctor sat me down on a bed and gave my nose a prod.

“Ow!”

“Yes, it’s broken. But not too badly.” He peered up my nostril. “Ah, it’s a little blocked up here.” He rummaged around with his finger, and I cringed at the pain. Something that wasn't meant to move was being moved around. He pulled out his finger, a little wet red on the tip on it. “And it’s a little torn here, but not too badly. I can set it normally.”

Normally sounded good.

“I’ll get some tape,” he said, and left to get it from under his desk. The other dwarves watching me in anticipation. A few smirked at each other, no doubt hoping I’d give them something to titter at.

I smiled, nearly laughed! It was good to worry about something normal for a change. I hadn’t had normal since yesterday morning.

‘Here we go. Hold still.”

Without warning the doctor clapped one hand around the back of my head, and squeezed my nose with the other. Before I could register what was happening, he wrenched it to the right, there was a crack and I screamed. I flung my hands to my face and touched around; it was straight, but the operation hurt more than breaking it.

The dwarves watching me stifled laughter. There’s nothing funnier to most miners than someone else making an arse of themselves. That simple humour was all that kept most of them going down here. It was banal and irritating, but my nose throbbed and stung too badly for me to care.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” said the doctor. “Let’s get the tape on.”

He slapped a bandage smelling strongly of mushroom glue onto the bridge of my nose. A sting of pain went through it.

“Ah!” I yelped and pulled back, nearly falling from the bed. The doctor came forwards after me, and put his hand around my back to stop me falling. His palm smacked against tenderised muscles around my ribs and I winced.

“These are badly bruised.” He frowned, then smiled slightly, his eyes taking on a greedy sheen. He prodded then, and I jerked sideways to get away. “Might even be broken, which will be expensive to fix. Very expensive.”

“They’re fine,” I said. “They didn't hurt yesterday, they won’t hurt tomorrow.”

“Oh yes they will. The only reason you didn't feel them yesterday is because of the adrenaline running through you. Take your shirt off and I’ll have a look.”

“My shirt?” My heart skipped a beat. I didn't want to take my shirt off, if the sapphire fell out... I clutched at the pocket, forgetting in my moment of panic how suspicious it looked.

“Yes, your shirt. I need to take a look at your ribs.”

I glanced around. The other miners as well as the doctor stared intently. I took a deep breath. I just had to take it off carefully.

“Oh, OK, fine.”

I stripped off slowly, wincing at every muscle pull and ache. Making sure the sapphire stayed secure in its pocket, I folded my dust-caked shirt into a small square. The doctor put his face right up close to my ribs, one side then the other, ran his hand over them and bit his lips.

“Hmmm.” He sounded disappointed. “Nothing broken. I fear.” His face lit up, and he looked up at the other miners. “But on the other hand, how would you all like to buy some new shirts? Yours aren't very hygenic. We have some around for soldiers whose own get bloodied or torn. They’re simple affairs, but clean. All at the Captain’s expense, of course.”

The miners watching turned to each other, eyes wide with amazement. Free shirts?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the doctor. “They’re in the back somewhere, with the bandages.” The doctor grinned and grabbed my old one.

‘Wait!” I cried, and grabbed it myself. “You can’t take it.”

“Why not? Look at the thing. The most hygenic thing to do is burn it.”

“It’s, it’s,” I racked my brain trying to think of an excuse. I felt the gaze from the other miners bore into my back. There was no avoiding the extreme suspiciousness of my action. New shirts were a luxury miners could rarely afford. In fact, clothes were at a premium in all levels of dwarf society. The poor could barely afford anything, the middle classes refused to wear cheap stuff and saved for something decent, and the rich spent a fortune on impressing each other with the latest fashions. Refusing a free shirt was unthinkable.

The other miners looked at each other, frowning. Damn it! I needed an excuse.

“It’s a memento,” I finally came up with. “From my grandfather. Like a lucky charm. Keeps me safe.” I patted my ribs and tried not to wince. “Might even be the reason these aren’t broken.” I laughed weakly. “You know how superstitious us miners are.”

The doctor rolled his eyes, and let go of it. I scrambled to catch the end he dropped, terrified the sapphire might fall out.

“I’ll sell you a new shirt anyway though,” said the doctor. “Can’t lose my profits...”

So in the end, I received a new shirt, and once my heart calmed down, I hit upon an idea. While the other dwarves were busy with their medical treatment, I snuck away to creep around the throngs of tents and soldiers, looking for someplace quiet. I stayed away from the miners, and the soldiers took no heed of me, too busy training, or chatting, or gambling with dice. I discovered a quiet spot behind a gold trimmed tent, and took the needle and thread from the pocket of my old shirt.

Doubtless once we got into the caverns, we’d be moving around a lot. Climbing, mining, throwing ourselves to the ground at first sight of the ghosts, etcetera etcetera. During any of these activities, the sapphire might fall out. But if I sewed it into my new shirt, there would be zero chance of that happening.

I grinned at my own brilliance, licked my lips and began to work. Two patches of threadbare cloth were easy to tear from my old shirt, and I placed them inside the new. In and out went my needle, each prick and pull exactly where I wanted it. I’ve always been a dab hand at sewing; it was just something I had a talent for. I even used to do Airon’s shirts.

I blinked back some tears. Was my friend still alive? I rubbed my eyes and got back to work.

Before long I’d sewed three sides of the hidden pocket. I frowned, noticed that the coarse brown threads I’d used stuck out like fat brown worms. So I took some dust from the floor and rubbed it on the white fabric so they wouldn’t show anymore.

With that out the way, now came the most dangerous part. I glanced right and left, making sure no one was there. Then, slowly, with two trembling hands, and a giddy head, I lifted the sapphire out of my old shirt. And I couldn’t resist bringing it close to my face for a peek. Like all dwarves, I could appreciate mineral beauty when I saw it, and this was beauty in its purest form.

The sapphire was just as perfect as when I’d set eyes on it. Despite my grey fingers, not a mote of dust stuck to it, and it remained wholly blue. The orange torchlight, from the lamps hanging off the ends of the triage tent, glinted green on it. Then the light caught it straight on, and beamed through the front facet, revealing something I hadn’t noticed before. Little lines and squares were etched on the inside, like three-dimensional runes, strangely reminiscent of corridors. Little green sparks, on the very edge of visibility, danced inside. I watched them, so intently all sound and light seemed to die from my surroundings and I felt I was actually inside the sapphire, walking through azure corridors carpeted with softest green.

The noise of footsteps snapped my attention away. Shit! I stuffed the gem into my new pocket, and began to sew it in with broad, clumsy strokes, pricking my finger twice. Ow! Stupid! I shouldn’t have let my attention drift like that. I was going to sell the damn thing on the black market as soon as possible anyway. No point getting attached to it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” came a voice brimming with venom. Bushy-Beard. I’d been expecting him show up sooner or later.

“You,” I said. “What do you want?” I tried for the most neutral tone I could, but it came out defensive.

“I’ve come to let you know I’ll never rest until you’re brought to justice.” No shouting this time, just quiet threats. He’d calmed down since yesterday, his boiling rage replaced by simmering determination.

“Justice for what? I defended myself, that’s all.”

“Liar. You took something from old Jost, and killed him for it. I’m going to find out what, and have you executed for murder.”

He really believed it. I stood up, doing my best to loom over him.

“I never took anything. The old man attacked me. You’re never going to have the evidence to prove me wrong.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Because there isn’t any,” I added hurriedly. “So just lay it off, and do your best to survive with the rest of us. Don’t cause pointless trouble with me, or I’ll make you pay.”

I jabbed my finger at him, although if he did cause trouble, there was little I could do about it. All he had to do was give the soldiers a reason to search me, and concealed pocket or not, they’d find the sapphire. But then again, with Captain Lorsson’s desire to see the miners treated well, I doubted that he’d stand by his men rifling through our personal belongings.

As much as I disliked Captain Lorsson and his hypocritical favour for us, he was very useful to have around.

“You’ll be brought to justice, no matter what anyone else says,” continued Bushy-Beard. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“You do that.”

“Oh, I will. When you least expect it.”

He spun on his heels and left, leaving me sucking beads of blood off my thumb. Justice? What a fucking idiot. There was no justice among dwarves. After being stuck in a sweaty hole day after day swinging a pick, how could he believe there was? Crack crack crack on the wall, never getting anywhere, just cracking away until you expired. Was it just for us to live like this? At the bottom of society, being spat on and abused by those above.

The only justice down here was what you could pay for.

Whatever. Once I got out of here and sold the sapphire, I wouldn’t have to worry about justice again. I’d pull me and Airon out of poverty, and spend the rest of my life living it up high in the mountain.

I just had to survive until then.