Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 247
and then the overseer. "You got me up in the middle of the
night for this?"
"Sir. Look!" The overseer pointed. Lavin stepped up to
the slab.
There was a man buried in it. The outline of a man,
anyway, blurred and distorted, visible through the pale milky
crystal crystals. Lavin stepped back in shock, then moved in
again, repelled but fascinated.
"Where..."
"The whole slab came off the face over there," the
overseer pointed, "about two hours ago. Killed the man it fell
on. When they went to get him they thought he’d climbed out
and died on top of the thing--they saw the outline, see? But his
leg was sticking out from underneath." He laughed richly.
"Three legs was a bit unlikely, eh. So they looked closer.
Then they called me. And..." he seemed to run out of steam, "I
called the colonel."
Hesty traced the outline of the figure with his fingertip.
"We have the quarry foreman. He thinks the layers we’re
working in were laid down eight hundred years ago, by the
desals."
Lavin lifted whitened fingers to his face. The sea. "So at
that time, this area was a salt flat? How then did it become
hilly?"
"Mostly runoff, but this is more of an underground salt
mountain than a flat. Otherwise the whole area for kilometers
would be mined. But sir: look at this."
Below, and a little to the right of the body, a dark line
transected the crystal block. "What is it?"
The soldier, Lavin saw, wore some kind of uniform. He
could make out the bandoliers. And poking over his shoulder
was, unmistakably, the barrel of a musket.