Chthon by Piers Anthony Page A

stone.”
    Aton left, tired and angry. His hands were raw and blistered, his lungs choking from the dust. He was hungry, but the vacant wall offered no hope.
    His little neighbor approached: coarse black hair, bright black eyes. “No food?” Aton nodded. “Look pal, she won’t never give you nothing to eat ‘less you got a stone. You got to have a garnet.”
    Aton was unimpressed with the news. “I know that,” he snarled. “I forgot to pick one up.”
    The man dropped his voice confidentially. “Well, look, see, like if I was to do you a favor, would you be my pal? Name’s Framy. Like if I was to give you a stone…”
    Aton studied him, not certain of the gist. What kind of proposition was this? The man was cringingly eager. If he were a pervert…
    “No, I ain’t!” Framy exclaimed. Aton made a mental note to be more careful of his expression. The man’s petulance seemed genuine. What could he want, then? Company or protection? Was he a pariah? Was his friendship dangerous?
    Aton’s stomach growled. The man might very well be useful, if he had garnets. Protection was a useful commodity. “Maybe,” he said, and introduced himself.
    Framy poked a dirty finger into his mouth and popped out a glittering stone. Aton concealed his surprise. How else could a naked man safely store a semi-precious jewel? “Here,” Framy said, proffering the moist garnet. “I got an extra. You take it and get a package. Then you come back to me. Remember, I done you a favor.”
    Aton accepted it. Moments later he turned it over to Garnet.
    She took it and examined it suspiciously. “Well, I guess you got one,” she conceded reluctantly. She kicked the last package over to him. “You can have what’s left.”
    He moved off, tearing it open hungrily. The cloth unraveled and fell free, empty. “There’s nothing here,” he said, showing it to her.
    “I forgot to tell you mister. You came too late. Food’s all gone.” She turned her back to him.
    “But my garnet—you took my garnet!”
    She didn’t bother to look at him. “Too bad. No refunds.”
    Aton fought down the urge to grab the tangled mat of hair and drag her through the coarse gravel. The incongruity of the situation struck him: here he was, quite naked, facing a similarly unclad woman—and his most immediate ambition was to knock out her teeth.
    But he didn’t dare. He could not be certain that Bossman would meet him alone, in case he were to offer careless resistance to the crude hierarchy. Massed force might destroy him. Escape was far more important than immediate satisfaction.
    He could not take vengeance physically. But there were other weapons. Many times would Garnet regret the enemy she had made this moment.
     
    5
    There was a certain feel to garnet hunting, a talent that permitted some to discover the stones easily, almost intuitively, while others strained all day (Chthon definition) only to finish hungry. Framy had it. He seemed to smell the precious quarry, and his appetite for riches was insatiable. Aton developed a fair talent; he did not go hungry again, but his reserve never grew large. Each man maintained a private cache, and Framy, at least, labored regularly in the mine more for the sake of appearance than need. A man too quick at finding garnets could become unpopular, and he and his cache were in danger from the hungry ones. Framy had done well to befriend a man like Aton; this was soon apparent.
    There were many types in the lower caverns. Not all of the inhabitants were wholly sane, but once their idiosyncrasies were known life was compatible. One fought when one had to, never for amusement; one yielded upon occasion to unreason and stayed clear of trouble unless one wanted it.
    One man stood out amid the steady grind for garnets. He was notable because he was a nonsurvival type who managed to survive nicely. This was the grossly obese Hastings: intelligent, knowledgeable, cheerful, quick with his hands, but with a complete vacuity of