Page 402 of Coal Hearts

“And yes, he is.” May answered Rachel. “I know Dr Belford trusts you guys not to overindulge, and usually he’s so careful not to incapacitate himself, knowing the consequences of not obeying, but...” She dabbed at a sudden tear in the corner of her eye. “I’m scared he doesn’t really care anymore.”

Rachel glanced at me, her dark hair making her skin milky with horror. “Of all the days for him to snap.” Grabbing my wrist above my cuff, she squeezed me. “We stick together, okay? No matter what happens out there, we don’t let each other out of our sights.”

I cupped her elbow and nodded, sharing in her quaking. “I promise. I won’t leave your side.”

She gave me a small smile. “I have no idea what Victor is planning, but...he’s in a bad mood, new girl. And when he gets in a bad mood...well, our numbers always seem to go down.”

May drew a cross over her ample bosom and lifted her eyes heavenward. “Please, Jesus, keep these dear ones safe. They’ve suffered enough. Let freedom come soon. Amen.”

Rachel sniffed. “Prayers don’t work, May. But I appreciate it.”

“Prayers do work...if enough people do them at once,” May said. “It’s all about faith.”

“Faith that if we repent and are punished enough, we’ll be allowed out of hell?” Rachel asked with a snide tone.

“You know I mean well—”

“Yes, I know.” Rachel shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“May,” the chef by the huge pot barked. “Get back to work. Let them get on now. If they’re not finished by the time the gong goes, there’ll be even worse hell to pay.”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right.” May pressed a dry kiss on Rachel’s cheek and then on mine. “Get one of those muesli bars into your tummies. And look after each other. We’ll be here when you need us.”

Unwinding her fingers from my wrist, Rachel went to move, but she stumbled.

Moaning, she cupped her middle as she snapped in half. “Ahhh.”

“What is it?” I hugged her close, trying to take some of her weight. “Cramps?”

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded. “Fucking bastard...owww...”

Sweat broke out over her forehead.

True terror filled me.

I had no idea what this game entailed, but she could barely stand up, let alone do anything else. Glancing at the camera, I whisper-hissed, “May...”

The older woman looked at us from her position stirring the big pot. “Yeah?”

“Is there a cellar down here? Could you hide Peter and Rachel? Just until tonight?”

She wrinkled her nose with sorrow. “Victor will do a head count. He always does. There’s no getting out of it. Just...eat up. And...good luck.”

“Come on.” Rachel wiped at the sweat on her temples and stood upright. “I’m okay. It’s passed.” With her chin tipped like a queen, she guided me through the bustle and out the back door.

Just like a typical working castle, this forgery fortress was no different.

Cobblestones led left and right toward outbuildings, no doubt housing potatoes, mushrooms, and other produce requiring dark, cool places. A red brick larder with a huge slab of beef hung in the shadows, and bushels of leafy greens waited by the wall to be washed and prepared for dinner.

“Come on.” Rachel guided me down the little laneways until we popped out into a small field where a hen house sat with its blue shingled roof and a busy flock of hens going about their morning.

Around another bend and my feet slammed to a stop.

A few sheds dotted about. Handyman sheds complete with tools, ladders leaning against dusty bricks, and a wheelbarrow full of gardening implements.

Amongst the litter of life—the everyday drudgery by those unseen who kept the flowers pruned and gutters clean—hovered every jewel in this godforsaken place.

They seemed out of place.