Case #17: The Mystery of the Giggling Gobber (Chapter 8)

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"Damn it to the depths, mate, stop swinging yer bow into the tumbler!"

"Sir, your speech pattern ..."

"Yes, I am quite aware of it, just slow down if you please," I responded irritably.

Not ten feet in a sudden turn and the dust had conspired to eliminate most of the ambient light in the mine, leaving me clutching Orsch's coattails like a child as I stumbled through the dark. The useless goggles lay discarded near the entrance; due to my allergic reaction to mechanika they would have blinded me as surely as the inky blackness of the tunnel. To spare Cora's feelings we'd retrieve them on our sojourn back to the light, assuming we survived whatever was down here. Unfortunately due to her generosity I'd not been able to request even a lantern, so I'd been reduced to cursing with an increasingly rough demeanor over the better part of an hour as I tripped over rock and rail. I knew that an electric light system ran across the ceilings of the mine utilizing the latest in Cygnaran transmission techniques, but I also knew that after the explosion it had been shut down for fear of released gases igniting from a spark in any compromised lines. It was cold comfort that I'd likely not have been allowed any other sources of light for the same reason, but every minute we descended further I felt more vulnerable, more exposed due to my blindness. Not for the first time I missed the Jameson lantern that I'd lost in the altercation at the ruined mansion; it's design would have made it relatively immune to igniting gasses, and it's blue-white beam would have been a godsend in the stygian confines.

Orsch's voice showed none of the irritation I was feeling at our slothful pace; indeed, he was more than happy to delay as much as he could, and oftentimes it seemed that he was overly cautious with his footing, deliberately slowing us further. The rails running throughout the depths of the mine were evenly spaced for the carts, and by following them we stayed to the main corridors. Bereft of sight my hearing tried to compensate, and I strained to discern the sounds of the creature, anticipating the attack at every breath. Crumbling rock and creaking support beams worried me, and more than once we'd been forced to stop and use our handkerchiefs to shield our lungs against the rush of a dust cloud that had been disrupted from deeper in. It didn't matter whether it was the creature or the instability creating the disturbances; either one was a dangerous end.

Without warning my skin prickled, as if a cold blast of air had passed by. An overwhelming sense that the shadows were stalking us shook me, and I fumbled with my pistol, almost dropping it. I nearly discharged it in blind panic when Orsch stopped suddenly and I ran into the back of his massive form.

"What do you see?" I whispered desperately. Visions of gore covered abominations, legion in number, shambled through my imagination and into the caves. A sickening fancy struck me as I thought of my own flesh woven into the fell creations, arms and legs subsumed into an ocean of horror, brass rods twitching beneath my skin and forcing a jerky marionette pace. The coppery tang of blood intermixed with gagging sulphur filled my nostrils, and it took a moment to separate my nightmare from reality as I realized the scent was not part of any dream.

It was real.

"We are at the site of the accident," Orsch stated flatly. "Sir, I must urge you once more to reconsider this course of action. It is not wise to tarry here."

"I've never labored under that accolade; I fear not the departure of a quality that was never present. Now describe what you see."

A lengthy pause preceded an irritated sigh of capitulation from the large ogrun. "Rubble. Broken beams. A cave-in resulting from an overly large detonation. There really is very little to describe of a mine collapse that is not contained in the words themselves."

"And the bodies? What condition are they in."

Another lengthy pause.

"There are no bodies."

Jonathon Worthington: Strangelight InvestigatorWhere stories live. Discover now