The Mines

‘They say you can help. Build things.’

The speaker paused. It was cooler in the shadows of the mines, the faint gleam of the Gruthium Crystals casting opal lights around the room. Jagdish watched a moment longer as the man fumbled over his words.

‘What?’

The speaker blushed. He was dressed nicely, but the dust and general clutter of the mines wasn’t suited to rich cloth. The effect was rather shabby.

‘You’re good at shaping the crystals? You are... Jagdish, correct?’

Jagdish didn’t consider himself to be the bastion of human communication but even he felt capable of giving a few pointers to this strange, short man.

He grunted.

The speaker’s face brightened.

‘Fantastic! It was rather difficult getting here, you know. They really should get some proper ventilation. Perhaps a ma-’

Jagdish interrupted.

‘What do you want?’

The speaker blushed again, before giving their surroundings a conspiratorial glance, utterly failing at any attempt to be subtle. Jagdish briefly entertained the horrid idea he was being cornered for some illicit rendezvous and that “shaping crystals” pertained to something else entirely.

‘I would like to hire you to design and shape a focusing crystal of shorts.’

The speaker whispered.

It echoed down the mine shaft.

Jagdish couldn't control his sigh. Most hopeful people had the decency (or laziness) of just trying to reach him (unsuccessfully) via post.

He suddenly looked rather alarmed and Jagdish raised an eyebrow.

‘I could think of worse things.’

He replied, thinking of nothing.

‘You have a name?’

Previous anxiety gone, the man straightened into a practiced smile and a handshake.

‘Call me Mr Black.’

What a ridiculous name.

‘Sounds good Shabs.’

Shabs spluttered, apparently unenthused with his new name.

‘This is a highly sensitive operation! I will not be referred to as Shabs!’

Shabs hissed.