Aton ignored him, observing for the first time the full complement of lower Chthon. There seemed to be hundreds of people, and many more women than men. Most were from other garnet mines—people he had never seen before. Tall, short, hirsute, scarred, handsome, old—every one an individual, every one condemned both by his society and by his fellow prisoners. Here was the ultimate concentration of evil.

Every person was unique. Aton had become adjusted to a smaller circle, as though this were all there was to know of cavern society—but the people he knew had been selected by circumstance and not decision, and were representative. Bossman, Garnet, Framy, Hastings, and the black-haired one—bitter and violent, yes. But evil?

If there is evil here, he thought, I have not seen it. The evil is in the minionette. The evil is in me.

Bossman strode to the center of the spacious cavern, double-bitted axe over his shoulder. He stood on top of a small mountain of talus. Above him the intersection of a half dozen ancient, gigantic tubes traced the history of the formation of this violent nexus. How many times had the rock been rent to form this jumble? As many times as human sensitivity had been rent to form this group. The wind eddied from several tunnels, now and again stirring up little dust devils which were in turn sucked screaming into the mouths of others. This room reflected the essence of subterranean power. It was a fitting meeting place.

Bossman hallooed, establishing his claim for the attention due the leader. The call reverberated across the passages and mixed with the sound of the wind. Once more, cynically, Aton sized up the man. The chatter stopped.

“They’re giving us a hard time upstairs,” Bossman said without further preamble. “They want more garnets.”

There was a general bellow of laughter. “We’ll give the bastards all they want!” someone shouted derisively.

“All they have to do is trot down and fetch ’em!” a woman finished.

Bossman did not laugh. “They mean it. They’re cutting down our rations.”

Now the murmur was angry. “They can’t do that.”

“They can,” Bossman said. “They are. Each one of us got to give three stones for two meals to keep up the pace.”

“They ain’t that many stones!” Aton looked around and saw faces suddenly haggard with fear. There would be hunger.

“Why?” Hastings called out. A few snickered bitterly; he would be the first to suffer from a tight market. “What set them off?”

“Because they gone crazy,” Bossman said. “They got some fool notion we got a blue garnet down here—”

“Tally knows there’s no such thing. What’s the matter with him?”

“Tally swears he’s got proof.”

Framy looked at Aton and leaned over. “You didn’t tell nobody—”

Aton shook his head. “Never said a word.” The evil is in me, he thought.