Solomon

His hands were turning grey from the rock dust that worked into open cuts and raw flesh. Hours of frantic work after the tunnel collapse had removed several layers of skin, and not enough debris. Water was scarce, food nonexistent.

He slumped on the side of the stone well. Sweat wormed down the sides of his chest, already swarming with mites. They bit and chewed. His muscled ached from fatigue toxins, without a fleck of nicotine to encourage him on his way. Withdrawal and malaria both made him shiver as he watched fat larvae writhe in the greasy mud underfoot.

His rope was still in place. Two days in the pit and unknown more in the tunnel, and he hadn’t found a single other route up. Creepers were already in place over the anchoring pin and twining down the nylon. He grew sick watching them and holding what he’d dug so deep to find.

It was possible to make it from the well to the outpost without equipment. If he stripped naked, as he’d done to test the rope’s capacity, he would survive the run, bloodied, infected and infested. But the diamond weighed too much, and despite every weight-saving measure the rope trembled with overload, corroded by the plants’ secretions.

It couldn't be long before the government troops closed in. They would let him survive if they found him, but his treasure would be forever lost.

He’d slashed wildly at his hair that morning, trimmed his fingernails, then dropped his knife and tried everything he could think of to lighten, except dropping the gem that was larger than his skull.

He could not scratch or break it in his frenzied chopping, and he could not abandon the single best thing his life ever held. Yet the alternative was to starve to death and feed the grubs that waited for his liquefied flesh. He had perhaps hours before the rope lost another strand and he was imprisoned.

As he drew blistered fingers across his forehead, skin breaking and drawing more mites, the burn of salt shocked him into clear thought. Not rational, but clear. There was a way to wrench true victory from this yet.

He drank the last of his water, then gathered knife and belt.





For the rest of his life he would pride himself on his ingenuity and tenacity. His story had made him briefly famous, and the diamond had furnished him money beyond every estimate.

Far more than enough to buy a new arm.