“Is that beer?” asked the mining spirit.
I gave a hapless shrug. “Didn’t have mead, figured the honey and this could split the difference?”
The gnomelike being tilted his head, regarding me in silence.
“It’s the thought that counts?”
He snorted and grabbed the lager, downing half of it in a single go. “Suppose that’s true enough.” Then the coblyn smacked his lips after scarfing down two of the strawberries, dipped in honey, whole.
Coblyns are from the Old World, hailing predominantly from Wales. They once lived in mines, deep-earth creatures that, according to the folklore, would look out for human workers underground. They’d lead some to riches. Others to doom. They’d migrated to the New World long ago with the people who believed in them, and then they took root here. If anything had an idea of what was going on in the mine, it’d be a coblyn.
“I was wondering when one of you would grow wise and consult one of us folk.” The coblyn tipped back the container of honey, guzzling it as if it were water.
“You know, diabetes is the cause of all blood sugar–related deaths.”
The coblyn didn’t care much for health advice, finishing off the lager soon after the honey. “So, let me guess,” said the mining creature, “you’ve realized you’re in over your head and don’t want to end up a dead man.” He blinked, then leaned forward, sniffing at the air. “Or…you already are. Curious.”
Yeah, it was, because as a rule, most things weren’t able to sniff me out as easily as that. But I avoided the obvious question behind his realization, turning to one I had in mind instead. “All that means is that you know what’s going on?”
The coblyn nodded vigorously before polishing off the strawberries. “Obviously. Wouldn’t be much of a mining spirit if I didn’t rightly know what went on in ’em, eh?”
I arched a brow, making it clear I was waiting for the answer. The coblyn caught the gesture and replied in kind with a smile.
“I’m tempted to make you bargain for it, human.”
I tensed at that. My history with supernatural bargains hasn’t been the greatest, and often, it’s been a method for them to get their hooks into me long term.
“But answer me this question first: Why do you care? Why do you want to do anything at all?”
I frowned. “It’s my job.”
The coblyn shook his head as if the answer was unsatisfactory. “It’s not your problem, is it? Why make it that?”
“Someone has to get vengeance here,” I said.
“And is that what you think you’re doing, getting vengeance for the living, if you go after what’s in the mine?”
I nodded.
“What about justice?” he asked.
A fair question, but at times, I didn’t know just how much of that you could get with the supernatural. But he didn’t wait for me to reply.
“You lot have forgotten the old ways. Don’t honor the spirits down there anymore. You just dig and blast and tear at the earth, never thinking if you’ve gone too far, or what you might stir up.” The coblyn tossed the strawberry container to the ground.
I couldn’t help it; I opened my mouth and recited, “They delved too greedily and too deep.”
The coblyn didn’t get it, instead jabbing a finger at me in both agreement and accusation. “Exactly. There’s a lot of bad things that go on in mining. What men do to profit from the earth. No longer taking care of their own, or those they’ve wronged. Doingnothing to set things right. That sort of behavior comes back to haunt you, and others. Maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way, little spirit.”
I blinked, then thought back to the papers I’d seen in Wayland’s home. The signs in the mine crashed through my mind next. I knew what I was dealing with, and worse, what had caused it. “Oh…son of a…”
The coblyn didn’t wait for me to say my piece and get confirmation. His eyes widened in glee as he clapped his hands. “There we go! Now go see it sorted, spirit.” With that, he vanished into the brush before I could shout for him to stop.
“Fuck.” I stormed back inside and pored over all the papers with my journal open beside me. Part of this had stared me in the face the whole time.
And Wayland had done the research. The missing inspector from years ago, and a history of PPE being cut to save what could total tens of millions over all that time. Shoddy equipment leading to accidents that meant death. And if someone had been investigating this before Wayland, it wasn’t crazy for a businessman to kill a person to keep that kind of skulduggery quiet. Not with that much money on the line.
And while that might not be supernatural, what happens when you kill someone like that often can be. The knocking and the thing lurking in the mine…
