The mushrooms we were to cut had thick white stalks, composed of hundreds fibres as big around as my arm, which ended in bulbous purple spheres. They bulged from every orifice of the crumbling house, disgusting to look at, and no doubt even more disgusting to eat.

For a moment we stood around confused, not sure how to begin. The soldiers had knives, and spears, but the miners had nothing to cut with.

Tradfast made the first move. He rammed his fingers between two of the fibres with a ripping sound, and managed to grasp hold of one. Pulling and grunting, he slowly tore it from its neighbours, but it wouldn’t break, instead stretching stiffly.

“Get me a knife!” he roared, red and sweaty. A soldier hurriedly obliged him, and Tradfast began to saw through part of the fibre near his face, knife squeaking with each pull and push. I half expected foul-smelling juice to spurt out, but nothing came but a light musty smell. After a few minutes of work, Tradfast stopped, took a step back and tilted his head as if thinking. Then he knelt down began to cut the fibre nearly where it met the ground.

I watched all this with intense boredom.

Finally he finished cutting, grabbed the fibres to pull and the white length came away with little apparent effort. Holding it up over his head like some kind of champion strongman, he gave a shout of victory. Some of the miners clapped politely.

I didn't.

“Right!” said Tradfast, grinning. “We’ll split into pairs, since I don’t think we have enough blades to go around. One dwarf with a knife to cut, one dwarf without to pull.”

He began to divide us up, pointing meaty fingers at each soldier and each miner in turn. “You and you. You and you. You and you...”

I was left alone, the last to picked out of an odd number. Typical.

“You join those two on that mushroom over there,” he said. “It looks tougher than the rest.”

The mushroom he gestured to was taller than the building itself. Fibres as thick as my legs, it jutted out a hole in the side of a side wall, somewhat apart from the rest of the mushrooms. Tougher than the rest seemed an understatement.

Trust me to get the hardest job.

“Get a move on then,” he said, and waved me away.

I followed after my assigned pair. The soldier was a gruff looking dwarf with a short red beard and a horizontal scar on his forehead. The miner was lanky, with brown hair turning to grey, who’d been with us all through the hall of pillars and the city, but whom I hadn’t bothered to speak to.

“I’m Yor,” said the soldier. He wore armour, grimy with the fungi and dirt we’d brushed past on our way here. But he didn't have a spear. He looked at mine.

“Could I have that?” he asked, giving an apologetic smile. “Us soldiers are meant to have one. I’m a bit embarrassed I lost mine to be honest. In fact--”

“Fine,” I said. “Take it.”

I handed it over, mouth sour. There was no real reason I should keep it instead of giving it to someone who knew how to fight, and in fact the whole group was probably slightly safer if he did have it. But all the same, it had made me feel safe.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll make a start.”

The other miner and I squatted down on our haunches, so as not to get out pant seats damp and covered in who-knows-what gunk.

Yor gouged at the first fibre. This mushroom was obviously tougher than Tradfast’s because spear point, with a sharp ripping sound, only made it about a fifth of the way through. It put me in mind of trying to cut through the toughest, grisliest meat imaginable with a blunt knife.

“Damn,” he said. “This might take a while.”

I stared blankly, out of disinterest but Yor seemed to take it as something else. He sighed.

”Sorry. I wouldn’t have had to take your spear for this if my knife hadn’t been stolen a couple weeks ago. Beauty it was, saved up a months salary to get it. Lovely silver finish on the handle, and the blade was sharp enough to score anything. Silly of me to bother really. Loads of stuff gets stolen in the army.”

He looked at us expectantly.

Great, I’d been put with a talker.

“Oh, really?” answered the miner, when it became clear I wasn’t going to.

“Yeah.” He gave a firm nod. “Your valuables just disappear from your kit one day. Never to be seen again, unless they end up on display in some local merchant’s place. That happened with a friend of mine.” He took another stab at the mushroom. “It a similar story down here, or not really?”

The other miner gave me a knowing look. “Yeah. Some dwarves like to steal, that’s just how it is.”

My heart rate increased slightly, and some goosebumps pricked me. If he suspected me of stealing something, that could only mean one thing. Bushy-Beard had been spreading rumours ever since the scaffold collapse. The sapphire in my pocket felt a little heavier, and I fought back the urge to run my hand over it.

“Right you are,” said the soldier, seemingly, and thankfully, oblivious to the miner’s look at me. “What’s your name then?”

“I’m Vorgur,” said the miner. “You’re Yor right?”

The soldier took another stab at the mushroom, this time getting the spear firmly lodged, so that he had to put his foot against the stalk to get the weapon out. He stumbled backwards a little.

“Actually Yorith, but everyone calls me Yor. Comes off the tongue a bit easier.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” replied Vorgur.

“What about your name?” asked Yor, gesturing to me. “Sorry I wasn’t polite enough to ask before.”

“Stony,” I replied, trying to seem friendly, but not too friendly.

Oops. By the look on Yor’s face, it must have come off as the latter.

“Right,” he said, and turned back to Vorgur, who wore a slight smile. Was he grinning at my misfortune? No, he was probably just happy to have some conversation, like a normal dwarf. I was just paranoid.

“What do you two think about all this?” asked Yor. “All this expedition and like.”

If there was one thing I didn't want to talk about, it was the disastrous situation we had found ourselves thrown into. But Vorgur was happy to give his opinion.

“Terrible, terrible,” he said, shaking his head. “We never should have come down here. Why did we? For treasure, that’s all dwarves are after nowadays. Most of us aren’t even going to get any.”

Well, that we could agree on at least. Yor nodded slowly.

“Aye, that’s right. Captain Lorsson’s fairer than most though, we’ll get a better share than usual.”

“We miners never get a share of anything,” continued Vorgur, glumly. “Not even a chip of the rock we mine out.”

Yor stopped his work in surprise. “Nothing at all? Not any of the gems and metals you mine out?”

‘Gems and metals?” Vorgur shook his head again. “Not in these parts. Not usually, at least.” He gave me a stare that seemed to bore through me and lay both I and the sapphire bare for all to see.

What the hell was his problem? This went beyond some rumour Bushy-Beard had spread about me. But what could I have ever done to elicit this grudge? I’d never even spoken to him before, avoided it in fact.

“Never any gems and metals,” I added. If I did my best to agree, maybe it’d allay Vorgur’s suspicions. “Just mounds of worthless rock, and we get paid a pittance at the end of the day. Worst job in the world, being a miner.”

“Worst job in the world?” Yor chuckled, and gave a snort. “Hah! Soldiering is far worse.”

“Oh really?” said Vorgur, eyes narrowed slightly. “How so?”

“Yeah, how so,” I echoed.

“Soldiering is mostly endless marching,” said Yor, with a sigh and the air of a drunk beginning some long and miserable tale. “Some of it outside, with the sun burning any exposed skin and heating up your armour like an oven. If that’s all it was, it’d be bad enough. But then there’s the fighting.”

He lowered his voice, rested his spear and leaned towards us for a moment.

“I tell you, some of the lizards out in the wastes are even scarier than the ghosts. Huge monsters, long as a wagon train, followed by hundreds of smaller ones.”

Vorgur shrugged, unimpressed. I wasn’t impressed either.

“They’re just lizards,” I said. “You get them everywhere.”

“Not just lizards, my friend. Lizards that walk on two legs. Lizards that carry wooden spears, and slings. Nearly as smart as dwarves.”

I felt a little blood drain from my face.

“There are worse enemies than ghosts down in the mines too,” said Vorgur.

“Rubbish,” spat back Yor. He put one last stab through the top bit of the fibre, and angled his spear down to work on the lower.

“It’s true,” insisted Vorgur. “Your fellow miner can be your worst enemy down here.” He gave me a sidelong glance, and I couldn’t keep a snarl off my face. “Mugging from you when you’re out, stealing tetras from your pocket when your asleep. It’s a nasty world down in the mines.”

I glared at Vorgur. He glared back.

“Hah!” Yor glanced back to look at us, and must have caught our looks of hatred. He frowned, then smiled. “Sounds like you two have some history.”

“We have none,” I said. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Is that true now?” said Yor. “I’ve finished here, by the way. You two might want to come and pull this out now.”

Vorgur and I stood up, staring daggers at each other. I bit my lip.

“Let’s just get to work,” I said. Vorgur nodded once.

I took the top half, Vorgur the bottom. I tried to jabbed my hand into the gap between the stems like Tradfast had done, but instead of ripping through, I bent my fingers.

“Ow!”

I took them back, shaking pain from them. I’d made naught but a slight tear between the fibres. I tried again, this time grabbing one hand with the other and forcing my hand in slowly. Below me, Vorgur did the same, grunting with the effort. The moronity of Tradfast’s disassembly method began to dawn on me.

“You should really have made a cut in the sides here,” I said to Yor under my breath. “In fact, we really ought to take turns cutting it apart, and ditch the pulling.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Yor. “But orders are orders, no matter how silly they seem.”

That gave no consolation to my straining arm muscles.

Finally I got my hand in to grasp the fibre. I repeated the process on the other side, cursing Tradfast all the way, until I had both hands wrapped around the thing, ready to tear it out.

But Vorgur was still struggling.

“Want some help?” asked Yor.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” replied Vorgur. “Got it.”

We pulled together, Vorgur’s half ripping away first, then mine following. The tear fibres met in the middle, and with the sudden loss of resistance I fell back.

My foot flew up and powered into the space under Vorgur’s ribs.

“Ah! You bastard!” he cried, clutching his side and doing a sort of sideways limp away.

I scrambled to my feet. ‘It was an accident!”

Vorgur stood up with a groan.

“That hurt, damn you,” he spat.

“Calm down,” I said. “It was an accident.”

“Accident? Accident?” He gave a scowl of pure, hot venom. “Bit hard to believe after what I’ve heard of you.”

“Oh yeah? And what have you heard of me, huh? Spit it out. You’ve been acting like a shithead up to now, and I want to know why.”

Behind us, Yor chuckled. “Alright, calm it you two. We can--”

Vorgur spun round to glare at him. “I won’t calm it,” he said. “Do you know what I heard this scumbag did back in the mine? I’ll tell you.”

“What do you know?” I spat back. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. You didn't work anywhere near me.”

“I’ve heard from Urist. You murdered his uncle and stole the diamond he’d found.”

Yor’s eyes widened. I bared my teeth.

“That’s a damn lie!” I shouted, shoving him back.

“It is not a lie!” He raised his fists like a boxer. “I know, because I’ve seen you before. Skulking around the barracks, not talking to anyone. We all know you. Whenever something went missing we’d all blame it on you, you bastard.”

“Oh did you?” Inside I shook a little. This was news to me.

“Yeah we did. You, stalking around like you were better than us, never talking to anyone. Why not huh? You thought you were above us, didn't you?”

I froze momentarily, clenched my fists, breathed hard through my teeth. Me? Arrogant and aloof? Like the rich bastards I despised so much? No, that wasn’t right.

“Above you?” I shouted. “What the hell are you talking about? All us miners are equally at the bottom, you know that!”

“You didn't seem to think so when you ran away back at the mine. Leaving us trapped under the rubble while you buggered off to save your own skin.”

“I ran away because--”

Obviously I couldn’t tell him the reason.

“Because you thought we were below you, didn't you?” His face was as much an etching of hatred as Bushy-Beard’s ever had been.

“I’ve never thought that! You’re jumping to conclusions here.”

Yor began to walk towards us.

“Calm down!” he said. “I’m sure Stony doesn’t think--”

“He bloody well does!” shouted Vorgur.

The fight-picking bastard. Don’t listen to his lies. Don’t listen to his lies. I had to remain calm. I couldn’t get carried away. I--

Fuck it. What right did he have to call me arrogant. A red fog hazed over everything. Tears streaming from my eyes, cheeks flushed hot, I sent a flurry of punches at Vorgur. He focused his vision, he blocked, one two. But my third brushed right through his forearms. For a split second his eyes grew wide, then my fist slammed into his nose. Hot blood splurted out, and the force of the blow sent him to the damp stones with a thud.

I stood over him and began to shout.

“Thief? Thief? I’m not a thief. I could never be a thief, not after I had everything I owned stolen, before I got thrown into the mines with you scumbags.”

Yor grabbed me on the shoulder. “Woah, woah, calm down.” I slapped his hand away. A vague awareness that everyone else had stopped their work and chatter, and was staring at me in silence entered my head. I ignored it.

“I just try to mind my own business, try to get my work done and scrape out a living, and this is what I get. Rumours and lies. Who cares if I don’t like to talk to people. You lot should mind your own business! If I’d had any sense I’d have--”

A blur ran at me.

“Shut up!” roared Tradfast, grabbing my shoulder with one hand. Wrenching his arm down, he propelled me to the ground so fast I didn't even register that I was falling. One moment I was upright, the next all the wind was shaken from me. I bashed my nose, still not even half healed, against the stone. Stinging pain shot through it, bringing me to my senses. What the fuck had I been thinking?

“You were ordered to work you miserable slimes! Not bloody punch each other! No more talking! No more arguing! No more anything unless it involves pulling these damn fungi apart so we can have something to eat and somewhere to sleep! Do you understand!”

I nodded, clutching my nose. Twin streams of blood ran from it, mixing with the tears and painting my hands watery red.

From then on we worked in silence.

Eventually Yor’s arms got tired, and we took turns at using the spear. A routine settled in, not too unlike the monotony that until a couple days ago had been my whole life. I’d stab in a few dozen times at the top section of a fibre, then again at the bottom, life ebbing from my arms to be replaced with ache. Then I got to rest, then pulled the next one out, then rested, pulled the next one out, then took up the spear again, and the whole process repeated.

Despite the strangeness of our surroundings, and the simmering tension and silence throughout the small fungi cutting camp, the work was depressingly similar to mining. This was manual labour, done for long hours for little pay. Same story wherever you did it.

Maybe this was better than being chased by ghosts. No, not maybe, it was. But it was not the life I’d imagined when I’d found the sapphire.

Would I ever get that life? If Vorgur’s attitude was anything to go by, I might not last long before I got pushed into a river. Or a ghost.

And if Bushy-Beard -- or Urist, as Vorgur had called him -- got Captain Lorsson on his side...

I didn't want to imagine it.