[Merelani Hills, British Tanganyika – 6:42 AM 12/07/1920]
By the third day in the sun-scorched Merelani Hills, Matthews could feel the weight of the land pressing against him, the heat rising in waves off the blackened soil.
He shaded his eyes and studied the ridge ahead, noting its extraordinary precision: a narrow, intensely folded metamorphic belt, where graphite-rich gneiss and vanadium-bearing zoisite had been fractured and compressed into a lattice so natural, so exact, it seemed almost deliberate.
Each fold, each cleft, hinted at something concentrated beneath the surface, something worth the months-long voyage from London.
Looking back, he could scarcely believe the distance they had travelled from London to reach this place.
He remembered the damp chill of early morning in the city, the gas lamps flickering as they loaded equipment into carriages at the docks. Steamships had carried them across the North Sea and down the Continent, the rhythmic creak of deckboards beneath their boots marking the slow passage of days.
Ports and plains blurred together in memory: Antwerp, Marseille, Genoa, and finally Mombasa, each stop a reminder that the world was larger than any map in his cluttered London study had suggested.
The voyage itself had been a test of patience. Equipment and provisions jostled in cramped holds, the tropical heat leaching sleep from weary bodies. Matthews had spent hours poring over sketches and mineral notes, trying to imagine the hills through the lens of Sullivan's descriptions of what he guessed was a narrow metamorphic ridge with vanadium-bearing zoisite that produced crystals that glimmered with a violet-blue hue.
He remembered the strange camaraderie that grew among the team in those long days at sea: silent meals punctuated by bursts of argument over the best way to handle delicate instruments and shared laughter at minor missteps.
From Mombasa, the journey had become physical as well as mental. Trains, carts, and hours on foot took them through landscapes that Matthews had once only seen in books: rolling savannahs, scrubland scorched by equatorial sun, and finally jagged, rocky terrain that hinted at the hills to come.
The nights had been startlingly cold, not what he had expected for Africa, and he remembered staring at stars so brilliant they seemed almost close enough to touch, thinking of London and his comfy fireside study where Mr. Edward Sullivan had first outlined the expedition and wondering where he would be now.
When at last the hills had emerged on the horizon with their craggy, precise, and almost unnatural folds, Matthews had felt a mixture of relief, awe, and apprehension.
The Merelani Hills were nothing like the drawings from the few German cartographical missions done before British annexation of this territory after the Great War.
They were more vivid, more alive, almost as if the earth itself had been holding its breath for centuries, waiting for someone to uncover its secret. Each fragment of blue-violet crystal, glinting through burnt soil and scattered graphite, promised him and the group as a whole that the man had not led them on a fool's errand.
In hindsight, he found the journey had been as transformative as the discovery itself. The physical fatigue, the disorientation of foreign ports, and the monotony of travel had all sharpened the mind, focused attention, and forged the small expedition into a team capable of handling the mission.
Recent controlled burns had left patches of blackened soil, and in those charred strips, small glimmers caught Matthews' eye. He stooped, brushing away ash with careful fingers, and there they were: crystal fragments, shifting from blue to violet as the light hit them differently while glinting in the sun as if they contained some inner flame.
They were unlike any sapphire he had ever seen. His mind flashed to the story Sullivan had recounted in London, of an officer who had been gifted a similar stone by a local man after a fire had revealed it. That tale had seemed fantastical at the time, the sort of story told over brandy in a book-lined study.
The funder of the expedition had been clear in its goals. The instructions had been exacting: map the deposit's rough boundaries, locate a suitable crystal for his fiancée's engagement ring, and most importantly…maintain absolute secrecy until the colonial administration granted him mining rights.
The promise of generous payment that had been accompanied by the lure of future expeditions has been more than enough to get a few other geologists on board, but it was the work itself that stirred Matthews' curiosity. Each crystal fragment promised more than mere monetary reward.
He ran his fingers along the soil, following the tiny veins where the colour shimmered in flecks and shards. The first fragments suggested immense richness.
A narrow belt, yes, but one likely capable of producing spectacular crystals. Some of these, he could imagine, might reach monumental size, stones to rival the Mawenzi of legend, weighing thousands of carats.
Harrington had already settled on a name in jest, Matthews recalled, and the idea had stuck: Merelanite. The "Blue Fire of Merelani", to be coveted by royalty, aristocracy, and collectors alike.
Its origin would remain singular, ensuring a luxury legacy from the very moment it emerged from the hills. For Matthews, the thought sent a shiver through him; it was waiting millennia for eyes like theirs to uncover it.
He rose, brushing dirt from his sleeves, and signalled to the others. The expedition continued moving methodically along the ridge, measuring, sketching, and collecting fragments with the meticulous care demanded of them. Each piece of data and each glimmering shard, was catalogued with notes, graphs and sketches.
The sun beat down mercilessly, but no one complained; the work was too intoxicating to admit discomfort.
[Cardiff, Wales – 09:12 AM 03/11/1920]
"Ninety-Four…Ninety-Five…Ninety-Six…Ninety-Seven…Ninety-Eight…Ninety-Nine…One Hundred!" I dropped, letting go of the pull-up bar, the familiar sting in my shoulders and forearms a welcome proof of effort. I'd done this so many times now that my balance never wavered from the motion, despite my missing foot.
My bare feet pressing against the worn rubber mat of the laboratory floor, I weaved between glass flasks that caught stray beams of sunlight and glinted like captured fireflies.
I heard the usual metal vats hissing softly alongside the static of pipes running overhead.
Charts, notes, and scattered tools lay among what looked like a battlefield frozen mid-action, a testament to weeks of trial and error. The faint, sweet smell of latex hung in the air, mingling with the sharper tang of chemicals, grounding me in this little corner that was my domain, which I'd carved for myself.
I moved toward the shower I had rigged in the corner, letting cold water sluice over me in some vain attempt to cool off my tumultuous emotions.
Neither that nor my workout succeeded, however.
Steam curled around the metal and glass, blurring the edges of the room and leaving my thoughts blank. My nerves clattered silently behind my skull, insisting on attention I wasn't ready to give.
Once clean and dressed, I dried quickly and found the small, velvet box nestled among my coat pockets. Despite its weight, it felt like one of the heaviest things I'd ever felt. The expedition was still in Tanganyika but had sent the gem by courier, and thereafter, I had simply been waiting to get it cut and placed on a ring.
I slipped on my coat and made my way outside, greeted immediately by Kitty's bright smile waiting at the kerb of the half-office, half-laboratory as she leaned against the recent Rolls-Royce Ghost I had purchased for the whopping sum of almost £4,000.
My heart leapt at the sight of her chocolate hair catching the dim autumn sun, the wind tugging playfully at a stray curl as she stood in a woollen jacket and had a light pink headscarf.
I and Kitty had decided to make a concerted effort to spend more time together doing things, and as I had been getting more and more free time as of late, so had the frequency of our trips around this part of Wales.
Initially I had been the one driving, but after pushing her to try it, I had begun to teach her. She had been hesitant at first, but faster than I had expected, that had been replaced; she was now a much better driver than I had been, and that was before I lost my foot.
Of course her driving got us some stares as usual, but we made our way out of the city, for the most part unbothered by people minding their own business.
We set off toward Castell Coch, which was the best viewpoint down onto the Taff Valley, which Cardiff sat at the mouth of.
Once at the top of the valley, bare-branched trees stretched across the expanse below, the mist from the River Taff curling through the fields like silver ribbons. Smoke drifted lazily from distant chimneys, carrying the faint smell of burning coal, and the patchwork of farms and cottages glimmered under a pale sky, muted but alive.
The forested slopes surrounding the castle were a tapestry of dark green pines and skeletal oaks, their shadows stretching long across the frosted ground due to the sun's low position at this time of day, and beyond them, the city sprawled quietly, lights beginning to twinkle against the fading sun. It was a view that felt both intimate and immense.
We had been here a few times; after all, this was the best viewpoint of the whole valley, but still, she seems entranced looking out on what for both of us had been the entirety of our early lives.
"Hey… I just wan…" I murmured, my voice tight with nerves. My other hand rested on my cane as I tried to lower myself onto one knee, the velvet box poised. But the moment I shifted, my footing betrayed me.
I slipped, falling sideways halfway through my words, a low groan escaping me as I rolled onto my back.
For a heartbeat, the world spun. Then her laughter broke through, rich and relieved. She leaned down, perching atop me as she pecked my cheek.
"Yes," she whispered, and the word settled into me like sunlight through frost.
And in that moment I realised that all the scheming had been seen through.
"You haven't even seen the ring yet…" I said, pulling her down on top of me as she lost her footing.
That may not have been the smartest idea, as her weight caused my lungs to let out a gasp as she began laughing as she took the box from my hand. She lay sideways on my chest as she opened the box and stared at the ring.
I just smiled at the damp, frost-laden grass beneath me and her weight on top as I saw her just gaze upon it with fascination.
I then said, "It's called Merelanite. It was going to only be discovered, like, five decades from now, and even decades after that, it only comes from one set of hills in East Africa. It's the rarest gemstone in the world. I sent people to get one for you."
"It's beautiful…" Her gaze was both distant and honed in on the thin silver band with thorn-like accents grasping a small 7-carat blue gem which was cut in a trilliant cut, which looked like a triangle with round sides which was meant to emphasise the colour shifting as opposed to the typical brilliant cuts on diamonds whose purpose was to show off clarity.
She seemed pensive for a moment, "why did you thou…"
"Because I could, and because I wanted to, and because I love you and want to prove to you that in increasingly harder ways to soothe my own fragile ego." I said before she could form an objection.
She smiled as she slipped it onto her ring finger before holding it out and then showing me how it looked.
After that they stood up and then offered me a hand as I did the same. She then hugged me and said softly into my ear, "Why did you try and do it again, though? I already said yes…years ago."
"Because that was us before everything, and even then I didn't have a ring or anything." I responded, "Besides, that's not all I have to give..."
She pulled back and gave me a deadpan look. Whether it was over the pathetic reason or because of my having something else, I could not decipher it.
I then pulled out a folded-up document in my pocket which I then showed her and said, "Look, it's yours."
"What is…?" She asked curiously, taking the document.
I smirked. "All of it! The colonial government transferred the mineral rights a few weeks ago. I've put it in a trust in your name, along with hired people to start work mining the area. About 90% of the profits will be held in trust for whatever state pops up in a few decades when it leaves the empire, but the rest will still be worth millions eventually, and it's yours. Not ours…yours.
She just gave me that look, which meant I'd done something dumb again.