Several black iron lock-boxes were open on the floor – some full of silver coins and others empty. One of the Hams' senior clerks sat on the floor by one of these in a pond of his own sweat, counting coins into a dish out loud: 'Ninety-eight . . . ninety-nine . . . hundred!' whereupon he handed the dish up to Charles Ham (the youngest Ham brother – Thomas being the eldest), who emptied it onto the pan of a scale and weighed the coins against a brass cylinder – then raked them off into a bucket-sized crucible. This was repeated until the crucible was nearly full. Then a glowing door was opened – knives of blue flame probed out into the dark room – Charles Ham donned black gauntlets, heaved a gigantic pair of iron tongs off the floor, thrust them in, hugged, and backed away, drawing out another crucible: a cup shining daffodil-colored light. Turning around very carefully, he positioned the crucible (Daniel could've tracked it with his eyes closed, by feeling its warmth shine on his face) and tipped it. A stream of radiant liquid formed in its lip and arced down into a mold of clay. Other molds were scattered about the floor, wherever there was room, cooling down through shades of yellow, orange, red, and sullen brown, to black; but wherever light glanced off of them, it gleamed silver.