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Not until a hand began pulling intently at his back.

“Patrick!” someone called, frightened. “Patrick. Stop!”

Then the ground quaked.

A collective shout rent the air as the ground swelled and settled, amonstrous groan emitting from its depths. The tables toppled. Wares spilled across the ground. Dust was shaken free from the rafters above and rained down on their heads. But it was only a moment. A second of noise and movement. There and then gone, as though they were all the contents of a bottle that had been picked up and shaken.

“Patrick!” Nina said again, though this time, she stood over him. Her hand gripped Patrick’s collar. “Enough.”

She looked scared.

I tried to tell you, he thought.

Ferris was crawling backward. But it was not Patrick he stared at, horror-stricken. Instead, he stared through swelling flesh at Nina, blood bubbling on his lips. “That’s—” he stammered, his elbow collapsing beneath him. “She—”

Patrick stood and blocked Nina from view. “You stick to shovelin’ the shit in the stables, Ferris.” He bent to take the man’s collar in his hand. “Next time, it’s a bullet, not a fist.” A river of blood spilled over the man’s chin.

Patrick pulled open Ferris’s coat and took the bluff from his pockets. The man shook beneath him, barely clinging to consciousness. He tried to speak, though his tongue was uncooperative. “Thasss… Thas Nina—”

“No,” Patrick said. “Don’t say her name.” Then his fist came down one last time, and Ferris went slack.

The market had emptied of patrons. Only a few vendors remained to collect strewn produce, but they averted their eyes.

“Boss?” said Otto, a toothpick between his lips. “Want me to take him somewhere?”

Patrick shook his head, then took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands clean. “Leave him,” he said. He’d let the others see the chalk on Ferris’s boots. “Take all this to the canal and throw it in.” Patrick passed over the bluff in its small brown paper parcels.

Otto nodded and left quickly, whistling as he went.

Patrick let out a sigh, tension gathering in his shoulders. Then, finally, he turned to face her, wondering what expression she might wear.

He found disgust. Fear.

Fuck.

Before he could stop her, she stalked past him out into the street.

Better that she understands, he thought, though acid trickled down his throat, eating holes through his insides.

CHAPTER 24NINA

Dim afternoon light leaked through Kenton Hill’s streets as we made our way back to Colson & Sons. Isaiah led Patrick and me, and I kept my eyes straight ahead, determined not to see the swell of his knuckles.

He’s a dangerous man.It should have come as no surprise.

He was a revolutionary, a mob leader, and a miner. Most miners had more muscle than they could be trusted with.

He isn’t a boy anymore.I reminded myself.He tried to tell you.

So, he was the judge and the executioner. I wondered how often he broke eye sockets like it was a transaction.

Kenton Hill was a town run by one man. I wondered if he knew how unbalanced it was, to have collected so much control, to be the sole puppeteer. Had he considered how easy it would be for someone to snip all the strings when only one hand held them?

I folded my arms over my chest rather than take his arm. I was wire-taut.

Would he have pummeled that man to death? He certainly seemed intent on doing so. And over what? A bit of bad bluff?

I thought of the man in the pub, quailing beneath Patrick’s gaze, Sam’s puce-faced mother, the hawker’s head as it hit the dirt. Was this the Colsons’ idea of peace?