Under Rodaz Mountain
Chapter Two
UNDER RODAZ MOUNTAIN
Alison
“W ell, that settles it then. I’m coming, and that’s final.”
The tabby cat pawed at a phrase in the letter sitting on Alison’s desk:
Of course we’d be happy to accommodate your cat. Many of our students opt to bring pets of their own.
“They’d be ‘happy’ to accommodate me. Not that I particularly like being called ‘your cat,’ but that matter can be corrected when we arrive. And before you start, no, I’m not going in that basket.”
“Willow, it’s not like I want to carry you in the basket. It’s for your own safety. There may be dogs on the rail-wheeler.”
There also might be fairies or pixies or any of the other small folk that Willow could just barely avoid chasing, but Alison knew better than to add that.
Truthfully, it would be nice to have Willow along for the journey to Winwold College. Alison knew from her time living at the College of Numbers that university accommodations tended to be somewhat messier than the average adult block of flats, and having the cat along would mean fewer dealings with mice and other such scurrying creatures that loved to chew through ‘lectric cords.
Ah, ‘lectrics. It would be nice to be somewhere with working ‘lectrics again. And with any luck, by the time they returned, much of the wiring work would be finished in Weldan House and Fossholm, with the extension into Herot’s Hollow not far behind.
Of course, much of the success of that endeavor depended on the conversations she and her friends would be having during their journey.
Gwenla, Alison’s dwarf neighbor, had managed to arrange a meeting with her cousin Yordin, an industrialist who made his fortune on the manufacturing of some sort of ‘lectric machinery. At first, he had been skeptical of the design of their solar-powered machine, and he was reluctant to commit to the project. When Gwenla explained the king’s involvement, his mind suddenly changed, and now he was begging them to stay longer to see the first machines come off the lines.
But that wasn’t possible. The designs weren’t exactly finalized: the machine produced ‘lectricity, but only in the brightest sunlight, and even then, not consistently. And so they’d written to the originator of the design, Professor Mircalla Marin of Winwold College, for help.
Professor Marin was thrilled to hear of her design in action, and she agreed immediately to help resolve their issues. But, for reasons that were kept somewhat mysterious, she refused to come to Herot’s Hollow to see the prototype. She insisted that they travel to her instead. She had arranged their accommodations at the university, arranged the transportation of their entire group and the prototype, and had even worked with the dean to have Idris brought in as a guest lecturer for the term.
It was quite a bit of fuss just for one little invention, although Alison had to admit that it had a lot of promise. Maybe it really could change the way ‘lectrics worked all around Loegria and Wilderise, and maybe even beyond.
And so she wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that they’d be able to accommodate Willow. It surely wasn’t much of an ask after all else that had been arranged on short notice.
The day before their journey, Alison stopped by Keir’s house to see his sister, Charlotte. She would be caring for their homes and gardens while they were away, and she had also become the neighborhood expert on cat care, having befriended Willow and Dinah instantly on account of her skills as a fisherwoman.
“Willow prefers the trout, although you can let her have some tuna on occasion as well. Not too often though,” said Charlotte, handing Alison a stack of tinned fish. “Don’t let her boss you around.”
Dinah purred and brushed against Charlotte’s legs, clouds of creamy tan fur floating into the air. “Treats,” said Dinah.
She had learned a second word under Charlotte’s tutelage, and Willow had been most impressed.
“After dinner, sweet girl,” said Charlotte. Dinah playfully nipped at Charlotte’s hand, earning her a nice stroke and some cheek scratches.
Alison thanked Charlotte for the fish and for taking care of everything while they were gone.
“You’re welcome to come too, you know,” said Alison. She enjoyed Charlotte’s easy-going company and had hoped she would change her mind about joining them.
“School was never really my thing,” said Charlotte. “But thank you.”
Alison returned to the cottage and finished packing her things into the great green trunk she’d first carried to Herot’s Hollow just a few months earlier.
It would be strange to return to Loegria. It didn’t feel like going home—not just because Winwold College was on the opposite end of Loegria from where she’d lived most of her life, but also because Herot’s Hollow was her home now. She never would have believed it to be possible in such a short amount of time, but it was true.
Still, they were only going to be gone for a few weeks at most, and half the town was coming along: Gwenla, Alison’s elderly dwarf neighbor and champion of all things related to saving Herot’s Hollow; Keir Ainsley, Alison’s human partner who was out bringing the doctor who would be covering for him up to speed on his current patients; Lady Sibba, the elf schoolteacher who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet with fellow scholars, and Weyland, the human blacksmith who didn’t really want to go, but he’d made the prototype so he had little choice. They’d be meeting Rinka, Alison’s former roommate, and Idris, the crown prince of Loegria and Wilderise, at Winwold.
And, of course, there was Willow.
Alison used Willow’s basket to carry her fish and some blankets. “Just in case,” she said to Willow, who looked indignant but did not protest.
The journey to the headquarters of Rodaz Mountain Industries near Landsend had been thankfully uneventful. They managed to cross the Sallin Sea without any pirate encounters, and once they made it to Loegria, Alison was pleased to reunite with the orc who had brought her to the dock from Landsend Station in the spring: Hyruk, whose high-wheel carrier taxi operation had expanded from one vehicle to five.
“It’s been quite a summer,” said Hyruk as he loaded their trunks into the carriers. “The king brought the entire court through here. I’ve never seen so many people coming and going. They’re saying Wilderise is where everything’s happening. The next time you see me, I might be on the other side of the sea. Hey, wait a minute,” he said, spotting Alison. “I remember you. You were supposed to be coming back months ago. What happened?”
“It’s like you said. Wilderise is where everything is happening. At least it is for me.” Alison smiled at her friends. “We’re just here on a short business venture. We’ll be heading back there in a couple of weeks; I’d love to meet you here again when we return.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Hyruk with a wink as he dropped them off at the station.
The rail-wheeler journey to Rodaz Mountain took less than an hour. The station appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. It sat in an empty field of browning grass, the only sign of nearby civilization being the ‘lectric wires that ran high on poles, vanishing into the mountainside.
“Home,” said Gwenla, brushing the grey hair from her eyes as she surveyed the seemingly empty land.
A dirt path wound down the hillside, leading to the wide mouth of a cavern. Several sets of rails, thinner than the rail-wheeler’s tracks, extended from the cavern’s entrance. Gwenla pulled a lever on a nearby podium, and a minecart thundered from the cavern, coming to a stop before them.
Gwenla glanced at the crew: perhaps if Weyland hadn’t been there, they would have fit in a single cart. But the blacksmith was large enough to practically require a cart of his own, never mind all their luggage.
Gwenla lifted the lever and pulled it again. “The carts navigate themselves,” she explained. “If we get separated, just wait until we reach the Central Plaza. You’ll know it when you see it.”
Alison climbed into the first minecart with Keir, who regarded the device with some trepidation as he lifted their trunks inside. “No safety belts or bars,” he murmured so that only Alison could hear him. “I’ve seen more than a few amputations—keep your arms inside. You too, Willow.”
The cat jumped from the ground and came to balance on the thin metal side of the cart. She looked down the tracks with displeasure. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
For all her bravado, Willow had not enjoyed the voyage so far. Except for a stretch on the ferry, she had spent much of the time in the basket. “It’s not natural to move this fast,” she had said.
Alison couldn’t help but disagree. Although she found carriage rides uncomfortable, she loved the rail-wheeler, and she thought the minecart seemed like it would be good fun.
She was right.
Alison pulled the lever on their cart, sending it rocketing into the darkened cavern. She found it difficult to follow Keir’s well-intended instructions to keep her arms inside: the urge was to put her hands up into the air and to scream with joy at the thrill of the ride. Even Keir couldn’t help but laugh as they came around a corner and went soaring down a slope, the wind whipping through his dark hair.
(Willow, on the other hand, had crawled back into her basket, growling softly when the cart’s movement shifted it a fraction of an inch between Alison’s feet.)
Alison’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the cavern. The only thing she could make out was the trail of Lady Sibba’s golden curls just ahead as their carts whizzed through narrow passages, crossing over intersecting rails and descending into cooler air. On more than one occasion, the passage opened, bringing them into an open cavern with a crisscross network of elevated rails suspended in the air, thin streams of water falling beyond sight into the depths below. Sometimes a shaft of light pierced the darkness, revealing ancient carvings in the stone and boarded up mineshafts, some still blocked by the kind of heavy machinery Gwenla’s family was known for.
It was incredible. There was an entire world hidden down here. Alison had known it, had heard about the ancient dwarven cities from the dwarves she’d known in Arcas Dyrne, which was itself built over something that had once been like this but was now unrecognizable, lost to generations of progress and sharing the land with the other races. But experiencing a true dwarven mine—flying through it in the cart, feeling the drop as the world fell out from beneath her as they went over a rise—was something else.
Soon they entered a different series of tunnels. These looked more familiar to Alison, more like the underground rail-wheeler stations she knew. They were lined with polished stone and decorative tile in modern designs, and they were filled with dwarves coming and going, some in carts like theirs, others walking on dedicated paths. Their cart stopped to accommodate crossing traffic and to allow other carts in ahead, a complicated symphony of motion controlled by countless levers pulled by unseen hands.
Finally, they arrived at the Central Plaza—Gwenla had been right; it was easy to recognize. The cavern itself was the largest one yet with an enormous number of buildings carved right into its walls, layers and layers stacked on top of each other, reaching right up to the top. There were dozens of bridges crossing over the open spaces between them, some intricately carved grey stone, some gleaming brass reflecting the ‘lectric lights which illuminated the space in a warm, hazy glow.
Alison’s cart pulled to a stop at a busy station behind Gwenla’s, which had arrived moments before. A crowd had gathered there. As Keir removed their trunks and a somewhat shaken Willow in her basket, she saw the familial resemblance among them.
“Gwenla!” The dwarves that greeted Gwenla shared her stout stature, but most of them were a good bit younger than her: nieces and nephews, cousins and second cousins and third cousins once removed, all come to see the legendary old woman who had left the mountain for a life under the sky decades earlier and had seldom returned since.
“Where’s Yordin?” asked Gwenla to a dwarf woman who looked to be near to her age as others loaded the trunks onto carts and wheeled them up a ramp with the rest of the party following behind.
“He’s up in the dwelling,” said the older woman. “He wanted to greet you but—well, you’ll see why he didn’t in a moment.”
“There’s a surprising amount of greenery,” said Lady Sibba as she came up alongside Alison. As an elf, Lady Sibba stood out perhaps the most of anyone in their group except for Weyland, whose sheer size kept him apart from the dwarven crowd even though he shared some of their features. Though there were others around with dark skin and golden hair, none had Lady Sibba’s long limbs or pointed ears. Few elves enjoyed spending long in the deep places of the earth where the dwarves preferred to dwell.
Few humans either, but Alison couldn’t really see why. It was noisy here in the cavern with the sounds of a great number of people at work and play echoing on the stone walls, but no more so than the city where she’d grown up, and there was a comfort in the darkness and the cool, a refreshing feeling like walking into her bedroom after a long day toiling under the sun.
Lady Sibba was right about the greenery as well—quite a few of the homes and buildings had window boxes filled with shade-loving vegetation: ferns, mosses, and a variety of edible fungi, too. “Good for the air quality, probably,” said Alison, though she wondered how the plants made do with so little light.
Just as Alison began to wonder how much more her legs could take, they arrived at a large pair of brass doors.
One of them creaked open slowly, but no one was there.
Inside, high-pitched voices were raised in confrontation. Gwenla hesitated at the door, a question in her look as a collision deep inside shook the walls, causing the door to once again slam shut.
“They’re overrun,” said Gwenla’s relative. “It’s been this way since little Mari was born.”
The door burst open again, and this time, a small dwarf girl with pigtails greeted them. “Dad says you should come in. He’s gotta pick the ‘frigerator back up, then he’ll be right with you.”
Before Gwenla could respond, the girl had vanished inside once more.
Alison noticed that she wasn’t the only one who had vanished. The dwarves that had carted their luggage up had gone as well, leaving her friends with just the sole relative as a guide, and even she refused to enter. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said to Gwenla. “It’s good to have you back again. I hope you’ll stay awhile. For Yordin’s sake as much as anyone’s.”
Alison, Lady Sibba, Keir, and Weyland followed Gwenla inside. Willow, sensing the commotion and perhaps imagining the pulling on her tail that would ensue if she entered, opted to look around the neighborhood instead.
The interior gave Alison the vague impression that some kind of explosive had gone off. Though the furnishings were clearly finely made, they were all askew: chairs toppled over, carpets curled into dangerous trip-hazards, picture frames with shattered glass hanging precariously by wires at strange angles that surely hadn’t been intended. There were lines of wax crayon running the length of the hallway, red and purple paths at waist height leading them into the current center of the chaos: the kitchen.
Inside, a large dwarf man with greying hair was struggling with the ‘frigerator. He’d managed to get it upright again, but the door would no longer close.
“Let me take a look at that,” said Weyland.
The dwarf simply nodded, too exhausted to ask any questions about the giant, red-headed human who offered him help.
“Gwenla,” he said, rubbing his neck with a wince. “So glad you could make it. I’d offer you an ice-cold ale, but I’m afraid the ‘frigerator is out of commission.”
“That’s alright,” said Gwenla. “What’s going on here, Yordin? Where’s Marna? What happened to your nanny?”
Yordin laughed at the word “nanny.” “Marna’s up there somewhere with the rest of them,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind him to elsewhere in the house. “The nanny quit this morning. It’s the third one this year. This one only made it two weeks.”
Gwenla shifted uncomfortably. Yordin gestured at her to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Won’t they need you in the office?”
“The brothers can handle it. Dad would’ve had a fit if he knew I was skiving off on account of the youngins, but he’s six hundred feet under out there down in the shaft. I reckon he’ll be rolling in his grave a long time before we hear him up here.”
Gwenla had told Alison of the dwarven tradition to bury their dead deep within abandoned mineshafts, the depth correlating to the esteem with which they were held by dwarven society. Yordin’s father must have been quite esteemed indeed.
“You must be Gwenla’s associates. Which one is the prince?” Yordin gestured to the others to join them at the table. “That one, I reckon.” He pointed at Keir, who smiled and shook his head.
“I’m only a marquess, I’m afraid,” he said. “Prince Idris is busy at the university.”
“I never could keep all of those titles straight. Prince, marquess. It’s all the same to me. How’d you lot manage to get tangled up with Gwenla?”
Alison explained how she’d joined in Gwenla’s schemes to save Herot’s Hollow when she moved there from the city, omitting the part about reuniting Keir with the town following his accidental imperiling of it through a magical vine he hadn’t realized he’d unleashed upon it. And also the part of how she’d helped play matchmaker for Lady Sibba and Weyland. She explained the chance meeting of Prince Idris by her former roommate, and how his sister Princess Ceridwen had forced them to come up with an alternate power source on the spot when they sabotaged a hydro-‘lectric dam demonstration by Andsaz, a rival dwarven industrialist.
“Oh boy, I bet Andsaz was furious. He probably fired his whole engineering team. I need to have someone reach out—there could be an opportunity there,” said Yordin.
It was funny to hear this man, dressed as he was in stain-covered pajamas (stained with both sweat and some kind of reddish sauce) talk about business over a kitchen table.
Gwenla then explained her idea about harnessing the power of the sun, and how they’d turned it into a nearly working prototype with the help of a journal article published by the very professor they were going to see next.
“It was a good idea to use magic to make it seem like it was working,” said Yordin. “If you’re looking for a job, let me know. The number of times we’ve had a prototype fail during a live demonstration—magic could be a game changer.” He nodded approvingly at Alison.
Alison smiled back but said nothing. She wasn’t sure she felt using magic for fraudulent reasons was the best practice in general, but maybe if it were for a good purpose like saving the town, she’d consider it.
“You brought the plans?” asked Yordin.
Lady Sibba retrieved the schematics drawn up by Weyland from her satchel. She had annotated them with the terminology from the original journal article, and Alison had provided some calculations based on formulas Professor Marin had provided.
“I’ll need to have my number-checkers take a look, but this looks like good work. And you say Professor Marin will sort the power-saver issue?”
The professor had written back with promising news regarding the issues they’d had with the prototype, including an issue that even Yordin wasn’t able to solve: none of the current power-savers, the devices used to store ‘lectricity long term, had high enough capacity to be used in the ‘lectrical grid. His engines and machinery used power-savers, but there was an issue of scale.
“Professor Marin has several experimental technologies she’d like us to test. We’re hoping to have the final designs within the month,” said Gwenla.
“Good, very good,” said Yordin. “We’ve got the line running components now. It’ll just be a matter of assembly and power-saver production. We should be able to meet your timeline for the first delivery. I wanted to talk to you about the coin.”
Gwenla glanced at Alison. They’d agreed to split their new venture nine ways: one part each to Gwenla, Alison, Keir, Lady Sibba, Weyland, Idris, Rinka, Professor Marin, and Yordin, with Yordin receiving a double share due to his production costs. (They’d offered the same to Professor Marin, but she’d refused.) But Gwenla had been worried that her cousin would think they were trying to cheat him and might demand more.
Gwenla had been wrong.
“It’s too generous of an offer. I’ll accept my share, but I won’t let you double it. I’ve had my solicitor draw up a new contract; it’s at the office so it doesn’t get covered in soup. But there’s just one more condition I have.”
“Name it,” said Gwenla. “I’ll do anything to keep the king from stripping Herot’s Hollow.”
Yordin laughed at that. “There are worse things than a mine, you know. Most dwarves know that. But you’ve never been like most dwarves, have you?”
“I suppose not,” said Gwenla. “Name your price, Yordin.”
Yordin took a deep breath in, drawing his pajamaed body upright into as dignified of a position as was possible. “Take Finnli with you.”
Gwenla scrunched her grey eyebrows together. “Finnli? Who’s Finnli?”