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14: Under the Holy City
It was arranged that Trini and Sindi would take me down into the mines. The mines, although technically owned by the Holy City, were actually operated by the city, which drew out tons of valuable minerals and metals every year. The two priestesses arranged through an Upholder connection with the city that we would have fake identity passes and borrowed white safety suits. We would enter the galleries under the Holy City from the public sector side, through an Upholder syndicate called King City Mining & Recovery, PSTA (Public Stock Tendered Anonymously). What surprised me as the elevators took us down into private underground galleries was the size of everything down here. The surroundings were utilitarian and inelegant. Water dripped noisily from concrete ceilings coated with minerals. The lighting was biolume, sickeningly greenish in places, in long bulbs protected by sturdy metal grills. Hundreds of workers of all skill levels passed us willy-nilly, each going on his or her errand with a quiet sense of urgency. People working in mines are closer to death and mutilation that most other working people, and thus take their responsibilities more seriously. There were caution signs everywhere about a thousand ways to screw up.
Trini led the way, while Sindi followed behind me to watch my back. I had the precious item in a secret pocket in my boots. As we went deeper into the public mines, we met fewer people. It seemed warmer and more claustrophobic. The elevators seemed more cramped and moved more slowly. I felt uncomfortable standing in a dimly lit, dented metal box clanking slowly deeper and deeper through a raw concrete shaft.
We came to a level deep down that had a lot of bare rock showing. It was wet, and grilled lamps shone glaringly in puddles and on wet boulders. Men tromped by us covered with mud and grease as well as sweat, and some were bare chested. The pounding of muffled engines in the galleries was like a constant headache, and I wondered how people could stand working in these conditions.
Trini had us sit in a narrow gauge train, just wooden seats in steel boxes on heavy wheels, and driven by a gas engine operated by a skinny woman in blue overalls, we rolled laterally for about a mile until we came to an empty dock. The woman made the Horizon sign and quickly rolled away backwards down the tunnel. We climbed up on the dock and rang a bell.
Trini and Sindi's people had bribed a monk on the other side to let us in for some purported safety inspection. We waited in the dim light, in air that smelled faintly of machine oil and kaptan, a gas odorizer. Presently, a loading dock door rumbled open. A frightened young man in a long black soutane studied our papers and waved us in before lowering the door again.
We were in the Holy City mines. Beyond this point, the scene was much like that on the outside. Following the Abbot's directions, Trini led us along inumerable winding passageways, far from any other humans. We walked along dry, clean service corridors that were cramped and lit by biolumes. Everything was compact here, but clean and odor-free. Once in a while there was a whiff of fresh paint or soap, indicating that the area was carefully tended.
Gradually it grew dimmer, dustier, more abandoned, and it was clear we were coming into an area that few people ever trod. That was where the door to the great engine room was. Trini had a special pass key, an electronic embed in one fingertip, and she touched a heavy wooden door crossbelted with brass staves like an ancient beer barrel. The door swung open, and we stepped into a void. A second later, some form of automatic lighting kicked in. As the light grew brighter, I said "Gods. What is this?" Trini and Sindi both stared at the huge machinery down here. "Nobody has any idea," Trini said.
We were in a hall at least ten stories high and so dimly lit that one could not really make out its limits. I saw level upon level of heavy machinery. Maybe it was one gigantic machine the size of St. Apollo Basilica. Huge cylinders or pipes spanned from floor to ceiling. Vents and harmonica elbows and flues and you name it created a visual tangle that the mind couldn't wrap around. It was all dead and still and mysterious. Not a light burned anywhere, just the metallic joints and elbows gleamed dully with reflected light.
"What now?" I asked.
The two women looked at me. "We were hoping you would know."
Sindi added kindly: "If you can't help us, we'll just take the key back to the Lord Abbot."
Trini added: "For centuries, Popes and Popesses have come down here and stared at all this without a clue. Maybe our generation will be no different."
I racked my brain as I walked about before this monstrum. What was it? I noticed that it seemed to be in layers or etages, floors if you will. Was there some overall pattern, something that would clue me? I looked for repetitions, samenesses, or maybe variations, themes, anything that made sense.
"You two stay down here and watch for nosy priests," I said as I clambered up a brass ladder. "I'm going to take a closer look."
For about two hours I climbed as high as I dared, until the two woman looked like ants below. What puzzled me most, I think, was that I saw no real moving parts. With machinery you expect to have belts and gears and levers and gauges and what not. This entire monumental construct had only raised, ribbed, or sunken surfaces no more than a few inches either way. It was almost as if someone had made a poorly detailed mold of some giant machine, and all the detail was terribly blurry.
Finally, however, I noticed that halfway up was a layer that contained faint images. I walked along the gangway for a long time, staring at the various reliefs and embosses that included some human-looking faces. My walk took me almost the whole way around the tenth level gangwalk. Then I saw this Geo Wash In Ton staring at me, as he had from the coin Sam had found. The Wig Man. Here he was. I eagerly stepped close and touched the brassy surface with its tiny imperfections. I remembered that the face on Sam's coin had looked pitted, and here the pitmarks looked more like finely manufactured hairline cracks in the metal, cut so fine that you couldn't have pushed a micron-blade into them.
"Are you all right?" Trini hollered up faintly from ten stories below.
"Yes," I bellowed as best I could. "I found Wash In Ton, the Geo."
"What?" Sindi cried.
"Don't feel bad, I don’t know either," I shouted back down.
Instinct made me take out the sacred object my grandfather had entrusted to me. I held it up, and had the odd perception that the light around me was brightening slightly. The closer I held the coin or key to the metal surfaces, the more this seemed to be. I touched it lightly to Geo Wash In Ton's face, and an array of six tiny studs popped out soundlessly, just a few millimeters. I nearly dropped the key in my excitement as I compared the depressions on the back of my coin with the expressions sticking from Geo Wash In Ton's face. I pressed the coin against them so that the expressions fit into the depressions.
At the same time I shouted excitedly downward: "I've found something!"
I'll inject this clue here: This was a moment at least as life altering as my initial encounter with Timony in the turret stairwell.
I had just time enough to hear one of the women shout back: "Are you all right?" and I started to yell back "yes" but at that moment it seemed that the face of Geo Wash In Ton took on a life of its own and flew at me.
It was just a momentary sensation. I didn’t understand what was happening to me then. I do now. After that brief blink of an eye, I was again standing on that platform. I heard the rattle of Sindi and Trini's boots as they came running up the stairs. "Are you all right?" they shouted again in unison.
"I think so," I said. Something was different. But what?
The light. Around the corner, the light seemed brighter. Slowly I walked toward the nearby corner, no more than 30 feet away. The two women clattered up the stairs and fell in behind me. Both had their guns drawn. We advanced cautiously.
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