The Giver of Stars(40)

‘Can you see how many they took out?’

‘Looks like about half remaining.’

Sven cursed. ‘Don’t go any further in,’ he said, and, twisting, turned to the men behind him. ‘No man is to go into Number Two. You hear me?’

‘You tell Van Cleve that,’ said a voice behind him. ‘You got to cross Number Two to get to Number Eight.’

‘Then nobody is to go into Number Eight. Not till everything’s shored up right.’

‘He ain’t going to hear that.’

‘Oh, he’ll hear it.’

The air was thick with dust, and he spat behind him, his lower back already aching. He turned to the miners. ‘We need at least ten more props in Seven before anyone goes back in. And get your fire boss to check for methane before anyone starts work again.’

There was a murmur of agreement – Gustavsson being one of the few authority figures a miner could trust to be on his side – and Sven motioned his team into the haulage-way and then outside, already grateful for the prospect of sunlight.

‘So what’s the damage, Gustavsson?’

Sven stood in Van Cleve’s office, his nostrils still filled with the smell of sulphur, his boots leaving a fine dusty outline on the thick red carpet, waiting for Van Cleve in his pale suit to look up from his paperwork. Across the room he could see young Bennett glance up from behind his desk, his blue-cotton shirtsleeves marked with a neat crease. The younger man never looked quite comfortable at the mine. He rarely stepped out of the administrative block, as if the dirt and unpredictable nature of it were anathema to him.

‘Well, we got the boy out, though it was a close thing. His hip’s pretty bust.’

‘That’s excellent news. I’m much obliged to you all.’

‘I’ve had him taken to the company doctor.’

‘Yes. Yes. Very good.’

Van Cleve appeared to believe that was the end of the conversation. He flashed a smile at Sven, holding it a moment too long, as if to question why he was still standing there – then shuffled his papers emphatically.

Sven waited a beat. ‘You might want to know what caused the roof fall.’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’

‘Looks like props holding up the roof have been moved from the mined-out area in Number Two to support the new chamber in Seven. It destabilized the whole area.’

Van Cleve’s expression, when he finally looked up again, betrayed exactly the manufactured surprise Sven had known it would. ‘Well, now. The men should not be reusing props. We have told them as much many a time. Haven’t we, Bennett?’

Bennett, behind his desk, looked down, too cowardly even to tell a straight lie. Sven swallowed the words he wanted to say, and considered those that followed carefully. ‘Sir, I should also point out that the amount of coal dust on the ground is a hazard in every one of your mines. You need more non-combustible rock atop it. And better ventilation, if you want to avoid more incidents.’

Van Cleve scribbled something on a piece of paper. He no longer appeared to be listening.

‘Mr Van Cleve, of all the mines our safety crew serves, I have to inform you that Hoffman’s conditions are by some distance the least … satisfactory.’

‘Yes, yes. I have told the men as such. Goodness knows why they won’t just get on and rectify matters. But let’s not make too big of a deal of it, Gustavsson. It’s a temporary oversight. Bennett will get the foreman up and we’ll – uh – we’ll sort it out. Won’t you, Bennett?’

Sven might reasonably have pointed out that Van Cleve had said exactly this the last time the sirens had gone off some eighteen days previously because of an explosion in the entrance of Number Nine, caused by a young breaker who hadn’t known not to go in with an open light. The boy had been lucky to escape with superficial burns. But workers came cheap, after all.

‘Anyway, all’s well, thank the Lord.’ Van Cleve lifted himself with a grunt from his chair and walked around his large mahogany desk towards the door, signifying that the meeting was over. ‘Thank you and your men for your service, as ever. Worth every cent our mine pays towards your team.’

Sven didn’t move.

Van Cleve opened the door. A long, painful moment passed.

Sven faced him. ‘Mr Van Cleve. You know I’m not a political man. But you must understand that it’s conditions like these here that give root to those agitating for union membership.’

Van Cleve’s face darkened. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting –’

Sven lifted his palms. ‘I have no affiliation. I just want your workers to be safe. But I have to say it would be a shame if this mine were considered too dangerous for my men to come here. I’m sure that would not go down well in the locality.’

The smile, half-hearted as it was, had now vanished completely. ‘Well, I’m sure I thank you for your advice, Gustavsson. And as I said, I will get my men to attend to it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have pressing matters to attend to. The foreman will fetch you and your crew any water you might need.’

Van Cleve continued to hold the door. Sven nodded – then as he passed, thrust out a blackened hand so that the older man, after a moment’s hesitation, was forced to take it. After clasping it firmly enough to be sure he would have left some kind of imprint at least, Sven released it and walked away down the corridor.