I jogged to catch up with Gunther who looked down at me as I pulled alongside him, "Are you alright Ramos?"
"You know I have thick skin, boss," I grunted out as I adjusted my grip on the drill head.
"Enough rain can reduce a mountain to pebbles," Gunther responded sagely, his eyes not moving from me, "But I won't patronize you any further. Now let's get back to work."
I looked away as a small smile crossed my lips. A few minutes later the crowded market atmosphere faded as we entered our sector of the floor. The stalls gave way to a crude stone wall made up of different boulders slapped together and held in place by a mix of cement and metal slag. At the main entrance a solid gate of thick wooden lumbars jostled on its hinges before swinging open as we approached.
"Jorgen, Borgen, how did the night shift go?" Gunther asked as two identical burly men almost the same size as the boss stepped into view from behind the wall.
"Peaceful as normal." The man on the right replied nonchalantly to which the other snorted, "It's been almost a month since anyone has tried to break in. Things are starting to get boring."
"There's nothing wrong with being bored," Gunther responded as he strode by making his way into the camp and I followed after him nodding at the twins as I passed.
The moment I passed through the gate a sense of security washed over me as I quickly made my way through the various tents arranged in neat orderly rows making the most use of the space we claimed. But shoved into the back corner of the camp as if an afterthought lie the true gem.
A grin spread across my face and my eyes landed on my workshop, a sprawling mess of scavenged resources, several work benches, and even a small khin all covered by a ratty tarp to shield me from the sun when it rose overhead heating Iron Hold to an almost unbearable degree.
But no one new to my workshop would notice any of the miscellaneous items due to the giant industrial drill propped up on a wooden frame. It had the rough shape of a battering ram with handles along its length for a team of men to heft it up on their shoulders. But instead of a heavy stone tied to the front a series of drill heads were bolted onto a metal plate connected to the main body which consisted of a cold forged steel I had hammered into shape to form a long rectangular box. Inside were the disassembled remains of the ten hand drills that made up the larger machine each wired together to work as a whole. And attached to the sides of the body stood four long wooden poles for the team of eight needed to lift the drill off the ground.
It might have seemed impressive at first glance but I had to actively fight the urge to not tear it apart one bolt at a time. Every imperfection and short cut I had taken due to lack of proper materials stood out like a beacon in the back of my mind.
'If I was back at the Institut…' I squeezed my eyes shut and forced away the images that thought conjured. Focusing on my task I walked the last few feet to my workshop and I sighed when I finally dropped the hand drill on a workbench letting my tired arms rest.
Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand I wicked away the sweat before reaching into my tool belt and pulled out a flat head screwdriver.
Turning the hand drill on its side I angled the flathead just below the edge of the side panel. After applying a bit of pressure the metal sheet popped off with a clang revealing the single component that made the drill run.
A small finger length piece of magicite the crystalized form of aether sat atop of an inscription plate. However the center of the inscribed metal was rotated ninety degrees from the outer perimeter turning the beautiful piece of work into a useless piece of scrap. Fortunately it was by design and the inscription would line up when the trigger was pulled completing the inscription.
Reaching inside the drill I first removed the magicite crystal, without a source of aether the drill was essentially a piece of junk metal. I then went about disassembling the drill taking it apart piece by piece, even if I only needed the inscription magicite and drill head, having a surplus of scrap metal always came in handy.
Gathering the pieces in my arms I walked over to the main drill and kicked the side of the machine and a hatch popped open revealing a tangled mess of wires.
Shoving my torso into the opening I reached around blindly until I grabbed the wire I was looking for. Taking the inscription plate I wrapped the copper wire around the metal square. It was a crude solution but the only one available without the proper tools. Most metals had the ability to conduct aether, but only the mythical ores like celestial bronze, malachite or mithril had a true affinity with magical energy.
After slotting the wired inscription plate within the machine I connected it to the trigger mechanism before removing the old drill head and replacing it with the new one.
Ducking my head as I backed out of the drill I closed the panel before walking to the back of the machine where a small porthole was cut out of the metal between two wooden handles with triggers slotted underneath. Taking the sliver of magicite I dropped it in the hole then after muttering a quick prayer I pressed down on both of the triggers.
A high pitched whine filled the air and the machine started to vibrate as the drill heads slowly wound up spinning faster and faster until they were almost a blurr. Running the machine for a minute straight I checked for any errors as the wires and plates had a tendency to jostle loose if the drill ran for too long. But when no malfunctions happened I stepped away from the machine with a wide grin, "Another successful repair."
Grabbing a rag I wiped the grease and soot off my hands as I left to tell the boss the good news.
---
Walking into the large tent we called the mess hall I looked around the room seeing the usual faces idly talking and eating the meager food given to us everyday that were picked up everyday from the rationing stations.
My eye landed on the boss sitting at the head table with Frankie on his left and Gerun the head of operations on his right. Without sugar coating anything Gerun was a balding old man who's personality and temperament had more in common with spoiled milk than a regular person.
But it was a personality born from spending decades within the mines spending day after day working dawn to dusk. It also gave him far more experience with the various dangers of tunneling through hundreds of feet of bedrock, which unfortunately made him an invaluable asset.
Gerun's milky eyes slid over to me as I walked up to the head table and he grinned flashing a smile that was mostly gums and a few crooked teeth, "Well isn't it the scrap monkey? Here to tell us we need to buy more replacement parts for your little projects."
Before I could open my mouth to respond Gunther raised his hand, "Today is not the day for idle banter. Speak your piece Ramos."
"The drill is repaired but I want to travel with the mining crew today just in case anything decides to act up." The boss nodded agreeing to my request, before he stood up and instantly the conversation in the room quieted before coming to a stop, "To the Mines!"
"TO THE MINES!"