The cavern passages went down, down, twisting wormlike through the stone.  Hot lava had honeycombed this structure long ago, and been folded under, again and again, and powdered out at last to leave the endless passages.

Can all this really be sealed off, Aton thought, when the wind booms through so readily?  Surely this hot blast comes from somewhere, and seeks its freedom somewhere.  And where the wind escapes, so may a man.

But Tally's strong, narrow back, half hidden by the water-skin, was unresponsive.  No use to inquire there.  Even in this buried prison, mention of the minionette brought fear and hate.  Safer not to bring up the matter, below.

At the lowest level a guard sat on a great flat slab of rock.  A heavy rope was anchored beside him and tied to a large basket.  Tally spoke sharply and the man stood up.  Together they strained and ground the stone aside, exposing a sunken hole: this was the orifice leading to the nether prison.

Tally tossed the basket in, letting the cord writhe after it.  Aton climbed into the hole, gripped the rope, wedged his book between his thighs, and handed himself down into the other world.  A final glance at the peering face above: Will I ever see you again, you superstitious highbrow?  Not likely.

He went carefully, unbalanced by the full water-skin and the book, unable to look down.  Was there a landing here, or had he been tricked into a descent into a furnace?  Had he been a fool to trust the man whose girl had -

Thirty feet below the hole he touched the floor.  Rope and basket whisked up the moment he let go.  The slab of rock ground over again, and for the second time he was isolated is an unknown hell.

There was light, at least - the same phosphorescent product of the walls.  There was the wind, too; he had fought it on the rope without even thinking about it.  The lower caverns were, after all, habitable.

"Garnet here.  Take it."

Aton spun to face the speaker.  This was a large man, topping him by three inches.  His body, though running slightly to fat, displayed impressive musculature, and he shouldered a heavy double-bitted axe.  His bushy hair and beard were brown.

Aton raised a hand to catch the glistening pebble tossed at him.  It was a red translucent crystal, rather pretty: a garnet.  He waited.

"You'll be working Garnet's mine.  Any trouble, I'll settle it.  Bossman.  Come on."

So this was the farmer Tally had warned him about.  Aton followed, watching the motion of the man.  He did not appear to be in condition to fight, at least not Aton's way.  Perhaps his reputation had made him soft.  Or his axe - how had he managed to bring that with him? - might have provided a foolish security.  There would come a time to make certain; but for now Aton planned to stay well clear of trouble while he scouted the situation for himself.  Information was far more important than physical triumph.  Knowledge, in time would become mastery.

And - escape?