(56) Get A Move On

Nephthys watched as workers sifted piles of soil, others dumping water. The sifters would shake their sifts back and forth in the stream of water, washing dirt and mud away, though Nephthys thought that was mostly just to keep their hands busy.

The real work was done by the spores themselves, which shifted and moved toward the side of the sift nearest the workers’ bodies. These spores were live and mobile. Though they had fallen from the air, they were no deader than a bird resting on the ground.

This was a question that had been plaguing Nephthys’ mind since she discovered the scheme: how were the spores deactivated? If the spores were simply harvested from the Gloam’s soil, surely anyone imbibing them would run off toward the Gloam to join the wandering infected after a single dose, yet they did not.

The answer seemed to be fire.

After sifting, when the spores, now just a fine powder, had separated themselves from the soil, workers would dump them into clay vessels, which were then loaded into what seemed to be makeshift kilns. Circular holes in the wall of this underground facility were sealed by a large stone, carved in the shape of a wheel. It was rolled over the kiln entrance by several workers and left for hours.

As long as Nephthys watched, she could not find a consistent amount of fuel used for the burns. Sometimes workers would dump large piles of chopped firewood; other times, they used scraps of timber of varying sizes, likely collected from dilapidated buildings around Gloamview.

The piles would be ignited and left until a worker could safely touch the enormous stone covering the kiln without wincing. Nephthys was unsure if the fires burned out after consuming their fuel or simply suffocated themselves, but the workers were not particularly discerning regardless.

They dumped the deactivated spores into new vessels and shipped them out of the facility. The spores, though deactivated, were most assuredly not dead. Nephthys could see their glow, even from her vantage point high against the ceiling. They were crippled but not inert, their weak life energy still plain for those who could see.

Of course, that was the goal. If they wanted to destroy the spores, they needed only to burn them directly rather than bake them slowly. However, ash and char would make a poor drug.

It had taken the better part of a week for the organization to burrow all the way out into the mountains that Hannibal had pushed the Gloam back to. Technically, the Gloam was not supposed to be in those mountains at all—it had not been during the Prelude era. However, after seeing the already colossal strip of char that his ‘pruning’ had left, Nephthys was hesitant to push it further.

She had not spent the entire week solely watching the diggers make progress, as what she was most interested in was here, the center of their operation. While they dug, they had no reason to coordinate with their base. They had led Nephthys to where the tunnel originated, a small shack near the northeast edge of town, but not their base.

They simply left their homes in the morning, met at the shack, entered the tunnel to dig, and then went home at the end of the day. If she did not already know what this operation was, it would seem like a normal day shift job.

Finally, after several days, they completed the dig—or got far enough to resume operations, at least. The dig continued even now, but the tunnel was stabilized with extra supports, and the harvest had restarted in the mountains. Small offshoots to the surface were dug, supervised by a mage, and the Gloam dirt was collected and transported through them.

The mage would collapse the tunnel after every single harvest, sealing them and ensuring there would be no unwelcome Gloam guests wandering into their tunnels. It was an efficient operation, and following the dirt had led Nephthys to this underground chamber. It was accessed via a bar in a rough part of town, strangely.

She had assumed that this operation would have a more formal base of operations closer to the noble districts, considering the count was involved. Though she supposed it made sense for him to keep his involvement…well, if not hidden, at least plausibly deniable.

Nephthys had quickly identified what she presumed to be the leader, though whether he was the leader of the entire operation or just overseer of this facility, she did not know.

Jace was his name, and he was a charismatic man, likely in his early twenties. He had long brown hair that he kept tied in a low tail, which she assumed was so that he could raise and lower his hood quickly and easily. His build was thin but athletic, the sort an athlete had rather than a bodybuilder, and he walked with obvious confidence.

His most notable feature was his eyes, without a doubt. They seemed to glow, their color changing with the light source. Most of the time, they appeared deep brown, yet in the torchlight’s reflection, they shone like polished amber, sometimes even a fire-red. Nephthys thought she recognized the unmistakable sheen of ambition within them.

His presence was of particular interest to her, as his leadership indicated something more than a drug operation. Frequently, he spoke of this ‘Rennet’, which Nephthys began to notice was significant not just to him, but to every worker in this facility.

What it was or meant, she was unsure. The word itself brought to her mind cheesemaking, but they did not use it in a way that matched that definition.

No, their usage of the word carried more energy, more intent. They were building toward something, and Nephthys had a few guesses about what that could be. However, without any information, it was all just speculation.

The greater issue she was struggling with was, what if she was right? What was her role here? Maybe they were building toward a grand attack against the nobility.

That was one possibility that she considered, but so what?

What did that have to do with her? She knew very little about the nobles in this world, let alone this specific region. Sure, she condemned violence on principle, but she also recognized that violence was the largest catalyst for change in her own world. How could she judge this one?

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Hell, maybe these people were planning a full-blown revolution, but again, so what? She was not a resident of this city, this nation, or even this world. Who was she to become involved in its affairs?

A memory of her past flashed through her mind. The franchise owner’s son visited her store once during rush hour, demanding this or that and threatening to have employees fired if his outrageous demands were not met quickly, despite the drive-thru line backed up around the block.

She always hated how the little weasel threw his father’s authority around.

He did nothing for his position in life. He just happened to be born to the right people. At least the owner had worked in the store at the start of his career. Sure, his demands could be equally outrageous, and it was directly his decision to pay Addy and her coworkers so little, but at least he had some time behind the counter.

Nephthys shook the memory away, noting its message. She hated the owner’s son throwing his weight around willy-nilly, so she was determined not to do the same here.

Still, could she live with herself if that meant turning a blind eye toward violence happening right in front of her? She did not know, but ultimately, it was still just speculation at this point.

Nephthys looked up and, without a sound, vanished from the chamber, appearing above the Gloamview streets. It had been a few weeks since she left Nemesis, and this job was taking longer than she intended. An eventual supply line was a long-term goal, but food was an immediate concern for the people currently sheltered in Nemesis.

She had to take care of the short-term if she wanted to continue working on the long-term.