If only he could talk about it all so that it would make an impression on people. But first he must reach Stig. All roads lead to Stig, it seems to him.

The note lies in him like a chill. It has alighted on a spot that has no resistance, but turns cold instantly: a cold hollow to which warmth will not return; a feeling that a trap has been sprung for him that he cannot see, but which may encircle him at any moment.

He will go to Stig.

That’s where I belong.

But he stays where he is. He does not know how to get his foot in. That way is closed. Without having tried to come in he knows, without wanting to know, that he is not welcome. To go to Stig with a smile, and just stay with him, most certainly can’t be done. They see the work he is doing and do not understand him.

Stig must help. In a while he could be walking alongside Stig through the dark side passage. Then he would be saved. After all, he need not go with him underground.

His hands reflect his uncertainty as he polishes. He is frightened and weak. A man with gilded arrows approaches. The arrow polisher straightens up. One must straighten up and work for those good wages.

With what confidence and power he walks! The arrow polisher watches him respectfully. He is not one of the really powerful ones, but he has them behind him. Look at him, walking through the cracking house, aware that it wishes him ill, that it would rejoice if some pitfall were to open in the corridor and he were to plunge into a bottomless chasm. He walks down the middle of the corridor, his head held high. A glittering power is behind him. He has just emerged from the thick stone walls in the centre and will most likely go back there soon.

Will he look at me? wonders the arrow polisher. Perhaps give me a greeting and exchange a few words?

No, he goes straight past, not even glancing to one side. Well, it wasn’t to be expected really….

The arrow polisher stands respectfully. He is weak and frightened and miserable, and here is power passing, confidently, down the middle of the corridor, soon to turn back and enter the stone wall.

Anyone who is frightened need only follow him inside and hand in the note he has received, as a pass, and then feel safe inside with the powerful ones. And they can just stay where they are, the ones outside.

The arrow polisher thinks this over. He watches the straight back as it disappears out of sight, with the feeling that they will not be the stronger, however powerful they may be now. The knowledge is there as a suspicion, almost a certainty. The strong ones are the men in the cellar. They may be bent and worn out by all they are doing, by the struggle against superior odds, but they are the ones who will finally be the stronger.