A Slow Ascent of Madness - Chapter 1
Arrival into Sageburn
The merchant’s cart jostled over the worn cobblestone road. The wheels creaked against the grooves carved into the stone through centuries of use. Whoever built the roads knew a thing or two. Charles leaned against the side of the cart, legs dangling off the backend, sharing the space with barrels of oats, caskets of wine, reams of cloth, and Abigail, his wife, a little bump in her belly. She held her hands defensively over her midriff while leaning on Charles shoulder, her legs tucked up beneath her skirts to make space for an extra keg of ale. Cornelius, of Cornelius & Sons, insisted it was the only way Charles’s mere twenty silver pennies would foot the bill. ‘I could fit a cask of good wine where you sit,’ he’d said. For Charles’s the twenty pennies were the result of three weeks labouring on Jack’s farm back in Two Rivers, hard work tilling the ground for the new crop. Hard ground too.
Charles allowed himself to be tossed left and right as the cart trundled up the last hill to Sageburn, happy to be free of the rolling moors and dense woodland covering the land between Two Rivers and the hilltop town.
Stories of gold had piqued Abigail’s interest. The once poor Richard who’d gone missing months before had turned back up in the pub dressed in furs and fine linen with a razor sharp steel rapier on his belt. Rabbiting on about Sageburn and the newly discovered gold beneath the hills. How the local nobles had yet to act. That the veins were as thick as your arm and that every woman dressed in silk. Most ignored him saying he robbed some do nothing baron on the road and that the constable would be along any minute. The constable never came and Abigail grew discontent with her lot.
‘Here we are,’ Cornelius shouted. ‘Get out here, don’t want the town to think I’m a carriage service.’
Charles hopped off the back of the cart and held his wife’s hand. Abigail yawned and dropped onto the road, smile beaming up at him. ‘We’re here?’
Charles nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Cornelius.
‘No bother. Don’t be telling anyone you got here on the back of my cart. Not that anyone is like to want to leave,’ Cornelius laughed. He snapped the reins and his dabbled pony flinched into action.
Sageburn bristled atop the highest hills for miles around. The packed earth and timber buildings were not plated in gold but they shone gold in the afternoon sun all the same. The sounds of the day bubbled up and out of the town, hundreds if not thousands of voices all yammering at once in joyous tones. Charles absorbed the town, the sounds, the golden walls of the buildings, and for the first time felt the same yearning as Abigail. A lust for gold and a life of comfort and luxury. No more back breaking work on Jack's farm, no more scrounging for pennies just to afford a meal of yesterday’s bread and chicken bone soup. He’d return to Two Rivers like Richard, dressed in fine linens and a pouch full of gold on his belt, able to buy Abigail fine silks and their future child warm furs for winter. Abigail dug her fingers into his arm, ‘Shall we go get rich?’ her eyes wide and bright. She bit her lip as she smiled.
Cornelius’s cart clattered up and into the town, women in fine linens, one with a silk scarf, and men in proper jackets, shuffled out of the way. ‘We’re going to be alright,’ Charles said as he and Abigail entered Sageburn. A single street went through the centre of the town, a gorge cut the town in half but all Charles could make out were the tops of the ladders that led down into the mine. Stalls, made from fresh cut wood, lined the main street, and narrow alleyways wound down either side of the hill.
The townsfolk greeted him with tips of their hats and well wishes. There were tongues from distant towns, the words similar but different enough to cause confusion, and from further afield. The streets were rammed with folk buying and selling pots, clothes, food, ornaments. One farmer was selling plots of his land for small fortunes. Charles approached him, ‘Why don’t you go down the mine?’
‘Well my old knees won’t manage the climb and I’ve got no sons to do it for me. But I’ve got plenty of land, don’t ask how,’ the old man knocked Charles’s arm and laughed. ‘Land for gold seems a fair trade to me and don’t worry I’m not selling all of it, not even most of it. Got to leave my daughters something after all, their husbands don’t have land I’ll tell you that much. Poor sods. A nice strip o’ land to tend is the greatest thing in the world and I reckon I can provide that to a man, for a price,’ his smile went from ear to ear, teeth yellow and broken. ‘What’d’ya’say?’
‘No gold,’ Charles showed empty palms.
The old man grimaced, ‘Then get down there and find some and let those who have speak to me. Go on, get!’ He clicked his tongue and his fingers, pointing off up the road to the ladders.
Abigail clung to Charles’s arm as they walked on, her head resting on his shoulder as she yawned. The man’s rudeness gnawed at his mood. All the while kindly folk greeted him and his wife, wishing them luck on finding a good vein down the mine, yet the old man tarnished all of it. Charles admonished himself and said to his wife, ‘Should we go down and try today? Sun’s still up for a couple hours.’
Abigail yawned, ‘Let’s find a place to sleep, or at least a meal. Travelling has made me starving,’ she stroked the bump of her unborn.
A young man dressed in maroon greeted the couple and Charles said as he passed by, ‘Where can I find a place to sleep the night? Preferably with a meal.’
The man hmm’d and then pointed down a nearby alleyway, ‘Most the new hostels are built a little ways down there. Inns are all full I’ve heard. I’ve places to be, pardon me,’ he nodded and continued on his way.
‘Thank you,’ Charles said. He led Abigail into a narrow alleyway wide enough to walk single-file. The shimmering buildings turned a pale grey in the shade, the wooden beams old and cracked. Charles pressed ahead, guiding his wife by the hand. The alleyway led to a square, one without stalls nor people. A cluster of two storey boarding houses, doors open, enclosed the space. Charles inspected one, the wood was still fresh and beads of sap gathered in parts. None were made of packed earth like the old town but instead were entirely pale wood. He approached the nearest, the step off the ground creaking. How can a new building look and sound rickety already? he thought as he entered the dark interior. A few candles burned along a bar facing the door. Six tables, with room for six people at each, filled the room. A middle-aged woman sat at one with half an ale, she stared into the dark liquid with impassive eyes.
‘Good day! You two make a fine pair,’ the man behind the bar called out. Tall, clean shaven, and slim. The man struck a figure, one that made Charles wonder why he wasn’t down the mine.
‘Good day, name’s Charles. This is Abigail. Looking for room and board for a reasonable price,’ Charles said. A fly buzzed overhead.
‘Roger,’ he looked up to the ceiling, unpainted and rough. ‘Reasonable price? Given demand that means something different today than it did a couple weeks ago,’ the man chewed his gums and leaned against the bar, arms wide.
‘Haven’t got much but we’re here to mine gold. Does that interest you?’ Charles was certain it did. Given the state of the building and the lack of drinkers he was sure the man had started out in a hurry and was losing out to others.
‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a meal and one night on the house. In exchange you will both go down the mine tomorrow and give me… an eighth of the gold you mine. Deal?’ He held his hand out.
‘An eighth, just tomorrow?’ Charles sucked air between his teeth. ‘How many you got staying here?’
‘I’ve one room free.’
‘I’m sure you tell everyone that,’ Abigail murmured. The fly buzzed round her, threatening to land on her cheek a couple of times.
Roger gave Abigail a tortured smile, ‘Well given you don’t know either way you gonna have to believe me.’ He turned back to Charles, ‘An eighth the first day, then I’ll charge the going rate the rest of the nights you’re here. The rate may change day to day, fair warning for you.’
Charles scratched his forehead. He had no money left after Cornelius, ‘Deal. One eighth tomorrow and day rate thereafter.’ He embraced Roger’s hand and shook.
‘Excellent. I see you have no tools, picks, spades, and whatnot. I do, penny a day, free or the first day. Hungry now?’ Roger reached below the bar for a tankard and filled it with a dark ale.
Of course, tools, ‘Do they not have tools down the mine?’
‘Yeah but it’s two pennies a day down there,’ Roger set the first pint on the bar.
Abigail swatted at the fly, ‘Get lost.’ The fly landed on the bar. She slammed her hand down, squashing it.
Roger hissed, his eyes flaring orange and cat-shaped. He shook himself, ‘Oh that gave me a fright. Ale for the missus too?’
‘Aye,’ Abigail wiped her hand on her skirts. She caught Charles eye, her expression part fear part that was bizarre.
She saw it too, Charles thought. Roger’s eyes. ‘Which room is ours?’
‘Top of the stairs, end of the corridor,’ Roger slid a key across the bar. ‘I’ll bring the lady’s ale and your meals up to you.’
‘Thanks.’
The room was small and smelled of sawdust. A bed, space enough for one, sat under the window opposite the door. In three steps Charles crossed the room. A chair sat in the corner and there was no fireplace. ‘His day rate’s going to be extortionate.’
‘We’re here. We’ll get more than enough gold for it not to matter,’ Abigail said. She sat on the bed and yawned.
‘You’re right,’ Charles rested in the chair and held his ale in his lap. He shivered. His glanced around the bare walls and open window, thankful for the breeze but knowing he’d be chilly in the night even with the shutters closed. He shivered again and felt a presence behind him. He turned to find naught but the corner of the room, a fly crawling up the wall.
Thanks for reading! A Slow Ascent of Madness is free during Autumn 2023.
Good one
Good start! Oh how a little greed can get people into a pickle.