The passageway grows hotter and narrower, and the air fouler and somehow thinner. After a time the passageway slides upward and Fred finds himself climbing up slippery blac rock that leads to a key hole shaped opening barely big enough for a man to squeeze through. Fred is not sure how he gets through with all his armor. Beyond the keyhole the air is hot enough to make Fred's face run with sweat. The passage also branches in four or five directions. Parked in the middle of the passage is a bin like the ones he saw chained together behind the horse. A man stripped to the waist, body stained with streaks of black soot, pokes his upper body out of one of the passages. In his arms is a shovel that he uses to shovel pieces of black rock into the bin. In another passage, a woman dressed in breeches and a soiled shirt also shovels black rock into the bin. Suddenly seven or eight faces poke their ways out of the passages. All the faces are stained black and grimey. "It's not the foreman," one of the faces says. "He's dressed like an old fashioned knight," says another. "Could this be some kind of a joke?" asks a third. "When that bin is full, it's going through the keyhole passage whether he is there or not," says a particularly rough and angry male voice. "I'm not going to be docked because some weirdo in armor is blocking the keyhole." Poor Fred. What does he do now?
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11/26/2004 8:05:03 PM
Extending Enabled
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