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Roberto didn’t answer.
Franco was king of the mountain.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, in horror and victory.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Dante and Gaetano made it to Don Bruno’s mine, and Tonelli had gone inside the office, telling them to wait for him in the clearing. Oddly, nobody else was around the mine site, which was buried in the foothills of the mountains. There was a vast clearing between a steep hill and a ramshackle wooden office, an equipment shed, and a barracks with corrugated tin walls and a rusted, sloping roof. Set off by itself beyond that was a large kiln.
Dante looked over at Gaetano. “When do we confront Tonelli?”
“Maybe tonight, when we’re sure he’s alone.”
“Why not now? I think we’re the only ones here.”
“A miner’s in the office with him.”
“We can take them, two on two.”
Gaetano frowned. “First, we need to understand what’s going on. I don’t know why no one else is around, unless they’re underground. Pox said this was the biggest mine, so I expected a lot of miners.”
“So did I.” Dante’s eyes watered, and his nose stung. The acrid stench of sulfur hung in the air, worse than a hundred chamber pots. The clearing offered no relief from the beating sun, containing only a weigh station, with a large scale next to a rickety table and chair. The table faced the desiccated brown hill, strewn with rocky dirt and devoid of any vegetation. The mine had been dug into the hillside, and it hadthree entrances reinforced by heavy wooden planks. Each entrance was small, dark, and shaped like a horrified mouth.
Gaetano gestured. “Here he comes.”
Gaetano and Dante looked over as Tonelli emerged from the office with a sweaty miner in white shorts and a white scarf around his head. The miner’s skin had an odd grayish pallor, and his bloodshot eyes were sunken in a gaunt face. He had lean, ropey muscles, but was skinny and bandy-legged. His ribs showed.
“Gaetano, Dante, listen.” Tonelli held a crude pick. “We’re shorthanded today because Don Bruno took our men while I was in Mussomeli. It happens, we’re at his disposal. So, Dante, instead of helping our kiln men, you’re going to pick. Understand?”
“Yes.” Dante accepted the pick, which was hefty in his hands, even lethal. It had a rough wooden handle and sharp iron point, a weapon for revengeandjustice.
Tonelli gestured to the miner. “Dante, this is Constantino. He’s a picker and he’ll take you down Shaft One and show you what to do.” Tonelli turned to Gaetano. “Palermo, you’re the scale man, at the weigh station.”
“Fine.” Gaetano nodded.
“Let’s get started. Dante, go with Constantino. Palermo, come with me.”
Dante followed Constantino to themine entrance, then doubled over after him to fit inside the mineshaft. There were steps going down, but they were short, uneven, and slippery, so he ran his fingertips along the rough stone wall. It was pitch-black inside except for Constantino’s oil lamp, which cast flickering light. Wooden tree trunks shored up the mineshaft on the sides and the top.
They descended the stairs, and soon Dante didn’t have to double over, though he had to stoop. The fumes stung his eyes, and his nose ran. His throat burned, he coughed. The air felt as hot as the noondaysun, and sweat soaked his clothes. He understood why Constantino wore only shorts. He took off his shirt and pants, bunching them under his arm.
The sulfurous odor and heat intensified as they went lower, making it hard to inhale a full breath. Dante felt like his lungs were burning and coughed until his throat was sore. They kept going lower down the mineshaft, and the air grew even hotter.
“Stop here.” Constantino raised the oil lamp and illuminated a wall of grayish-white rock, craggy and pitted. He pointed to a skinny vein of faint yellow crystal, glinting in the lamplight. “See this, Dante?”
“Yes.”
“The yellow is sulfur ore. This section is picked over, but down below it’s not. Pick out the ore in as big a piece as you can. Don’t pick surrounding rock. Don’t hammer the ore or you’ll break the crystals. The more you break the crystals, the more dust it makes and the harder it is to breathe.”
“Okay.” Dante just wanted to get through the day so he could take a pick to Tonelli.
“Let’s go.” Constantino resumed their descent, speaking over his shoulder. “It’s good for you, starting when everyone’s away. The boss won’t expect much. I can’t stand the guy, he’s astronzo. You’ll see. All the pickers hate him.” Constantino snorted. “Anyway, picking is hard work, but you’re strong. There’s water down there. Drink as much as you want. Take breaks, but not too many.”
“Can I go to the surface on the break?” Dante could barely fill his lungs. His hair dripped with sweat.
“No. Believe me, the trip up and down takes more effort than it’s worth. You’re better off down.”
“But the smell—”
