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“But then, bluff came. Crates of it.”

I rose my eyebrows. “The Miners Union?”

She nodded. “They’d raided the bluff stores and stolen mountains of supplies. It had been all over the newspapers the previous weeks. And then suddenly, it was in Hesson. The whole town was awash in whispers. The common belief was that the bluff had come from a warehouse in Baymouth.”

“So, you gave the information to the House.”

“The moment I had regained strength enough to form a legible sentence,” she said. “A week later I received a new posting—in Baymouth.”

I frowned. Baymouth was certainly a more favorable province then Hesson, but it was no closer to Belavere City. “Not much of a promotion.”

“Neither was the next posting, after I’d given the House information about a group holding Union meetings. They sent me to Trent after that, and when I learned that Trent was receiving weapons from the Eastern ports, they sent me to Dorser,” she shook her head. “Some places were better than others. But mostly, it was more of the same. People who knew what I was loathed me. Nowhere was safe. The House sent scribblespromising promotions, and I became their loyal spy, following rumors around the continent like a rat.”

“And then you wound up here,” I said. “How?”

“Quite by accident,” she answered. “The Colsons frequent Dorser, as you’ve seen today. That’s where they do the bulk of their trading. They have supplies smuggled in at the ports, and there was a name that kept floating between conversations. No last name. JustPat. I was passing along inventories to the House about the boats coming and going, and some of them I couldn’t account for. Always it was tied to the name Pat.

“And I couldn’t help but think that whoever this Pat was—if he really existed—was a critical player, and if I could find him, I could go home. So I spent a lot of time at the docks. It was quite naïve of me really, as though I could simply confront him, or follow him. It was idiotic, and it almost killed me.”

I frowned. “Who almost killed you?” I asked. “Patrick?”

She laughed. “No. He saved my life.”

I took her drink from her hands and helped myself to a mouthful. “I think I might need something stronger.”

“I thought you weren’t drinking?”

“How did Patrick save you?”

She gave a faint smile. “A dockside is a poor place for a woman to linger at night. I was confronted by two men fresh off their ship. God knows how long they’d been aboard. If the way they tried to tear off my clothes was any indication, I’d say it had been a while.”

My stomach turned.

“Patrick says he heard me screaming. He shot them both in the head, right there in the open. Then he helped me upright, gave me his coat, and asked for my name,” she grinned wryly then. “I remember the way his eyes sparked when he heard my accent.And what breed of swank are you, Polly Prescott?he asked me. I told him I was a Scribbler.”

It was a sad story, certainly not one that should warrant a smile. But it was there in my jaw. I bit it back.

“I passed out after that,” she said. “When I woke up, I was in Kenton Hill.”

“Patrick brought you back himself?”

“Through the tunnels, I presume, though I don’t remember it. I simply woke up to John Colson at my bedside, telling me outright that I was in the center of the Miners Union, and that if I helped them, they’d make sure no man or woman ever touched me without my permission again.”

“And you didn’t believe them.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Polly said sadly. “What I believed was that I’d found my ticket out of the brink, at long last. I wrote a scribble to the House. I told them the place they’d been looking for all these years was Kenton Hill. I thought I’d be brought home the very next day.” She shook her head again, heavy with remorse. “That was nearly three years ago.”

My chest hollowed. I supposed I was more aware than anyone that Lord Tanner knew exactly how best to utilize us, his greatest tools against the enemy.

“You know,” she laughed, “I came here expecting… well, I’m not sure what I was expecting. But it wasn’t this place,” she said. “It wasn’t these people.”

“Gangsters?” I asked wryly. “Hawkers? Prostitutes?”

“Community,” she said seriously. “Kids. Neighbors… friends.”

I watched her closely, and whatever she thought of made her smile. “You haven’t been here long, Nina. But you’ll see it, too. Trynotto.” Her eyes had stuck to something—or someone. When I looked, I saw Otto shucking his coat by the door, his forehead iridescent with sweat. A group nearby cheered at the sight of him.

I watched conflict pull at the corners of Polly’s eyes and lips. She swallowed. “Despite the pretty lights and the jokes, remember that they’ll kill us the moment they figure us out. They’ll do anything to keep this place hidden, Nina.Anything.Do you understand?”