Page 43

The meeting was not in the pub, as I’d expected, but in the town’s square.

Sam knocked on my door before dawn broke, and I followed him out onto the landing. Waiting there was Theo and, by some perplexing design, Polly Prescott.

My school friend had hardly changed. She had the same tightly ringed black hair that floated just above her shoulders, dark skin, and warm eyes. Now there was a horizontal scar across the bridge of her nose, and her hands were incised with a thousand old abrasions—a Scribbler’s hands.

She smiled somewhat shyly when she saw me. “They’ll let anyone into the club nowadays, I suppose?”

A noise of exasperation left me. I looked to Theo for explanation, but he only shrugged.

“ You’re Kenton’s Scribbler?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you—you’re—”

“A member of the cause?” she offered. “I am.”

“We could start a musical group,” Theo added grimly. “Polly was always a fair alto.”

I only remembered Polly to have been a kind friend. Quiet. “Squid,” they’d called her. Each winter and summer break she’d remained behind in her dorm, rather than travel home to any waiting family. “How on earth did you find yourself here ?” I wondered aloud.

“I came to Kenton Hill three years ago,” she shrugged. “When I arrived, Patrick offered me a choice—work for him or work against him. Not much of a choice at all, really.” She said it without resentment. “Kenton Hill is about as safe as it gets.”

Sam was tapping his foot impatiently on the first step. “We’ll be late,” he said.

We walked down Main Street together, the sun just beginning to touch the backs of our necks. The first residents were stirring, the whole of Kenton rubbing sleep from their eyes. The streets were eerily quiet.

“What exactly will this meeting entail?” I asked no one in particular. Theo and Polly walked casually, not needing Sam to guide them down each alley.

“I imagine Pat will be putting you to work,” Theo answered, taking my arm and intertwining it with his as though the past seven years hadn’t elapsed and we were out for a walk together. I pretended to fix a pin in my hair and extricated myself. “Work?” I asked.

“I suspect he’s about to finally reveal his next big plan,” Polly mused, burying her hands into her coat pockets. “He’s had us in the dark for months.”

“His plans to get to the capital, you mean?” I said without thinking.

Polly, Theo, and Sam all slowed in their walk, their eyes pinned to me from three different directions.

“That’s the plan?” Theo asked. “He told you that?”

I went quiet. Swallowed. “Well, I don’t know the finer details, but—”

“I suppose we’ll all be in on it shortly,” Polly interjected. She gave a surreptitious glance in Sam’s direction; he was listening with grave interest, mouth agape. “Best not to say anything more out in the open.”

Sam walked us toward the middle of the town, following the curve of facades until we reached a brick arch opening.

On the other side was a large square, each side cordoned in blackened warehouses and shops. Street vendors and buskers were already beginning to set up their tables in each corner. The buildings themselves had a hint of abandonment to them.

The signage indicated a treasury, though half the lettering was missing.

The police house waited beside it, but the windows were boarded.

Its roof was in ruins and burned black with some previous fire.

A large bulletin board bolted beside the archway sat empty, no decrees from the House of Belavere adorning the cork.

“What happened here?” I asked, turning in a slow circle.

Sam only shrugged. “No need for Belavere officials anymore, except for Polly. That over there was the food dispensary, and the trading post was in the corner. The police station was smoked out years ago.”

This left only one side to the square, which held an array of dilapidated storefronts, one of which hosted a bold, flaking sign: MARGARITE’S MODERN LADIES, SEAMSTRESS EXTRAORDINAIRE . Its windows were so clustered in misshapen mannequins that for a moment, I was outright alarmed.

I was further baffled when Sam led us directly to its skinny maroon door, the paint here woefully blistered and peeling.

Sam knocked once, and a cascade of red flakes flurried off the wood.

I looked sideways at Theo and Polly, who seemed oddly at ease. “Who is this woman we’re meeting?” Clearly, the shop was no longer open for business. If the windows were anything to go by, it was now a mausoleum of wooden corpses.

The door opened before they could respond, creaking desperately on its hinges.

Scottie stood on the other side in the same miner’s clothing he only ever seemed to wear.

“Mornin’, Sam, Polly,” Scottie greeted, moving his tremendous body aside. “Teddy.”

Theo rolled his eyes. I noticed that his demeanor had turned sullen. He kept close to me as we stepped inside.

But Polly smiled easily as she crossed the threshold. “I believe you owe me a debt, Mr. Brooks,” she said, patting Scottie on the shoulder as she entered.

“Aye,” Scottie grunted. “Though a merciful woman would let a man win his money back?”

“I’ve won five out of five games, Scottie.”

“The cards are on my side today, Pol. I can feel it.”

She shook her head, apparently comfortable in his presence.

“Miss Nina,” Scottie said, nodding to me. Then he shut the door behind us all, locking three separate bolts.

The air in the shop was thick. It moved, stuck to us. Sunlight fought valiantly through the dust. It smelled of damp plaster.

Those strange mannequins were arranged all over the shop floor, headless and stripped of any fabric, their limbs bent grotesquely.

A wall lined with shelves and ladders stood bare save rusty shears, the odd needle.

An old sewing machine and crank collected cobwebs on its bowed desk, and I pictured ghosts threading cotton through the wheels.

Leaning against that desk, Otto and Briggs passed a cigarette back and forth.

The oldest and youngest Colson brothers had convened by a basket of yellowing fabric, both alike and drastically unalike.

Gunner was already swigging from a flask drawn from his coat.

In Donny’s hand was a wrought-iron cage encasing, strangely, a singular canary.

Tess Colson leaned her back against the empty shelving and did not spare Theo, Polly, or me a glance.

And then there was Patrick, Isaiah at his feet. He looked, once again, as though he had not slept. My eyes stuck to the circles beneath his.

“Thanks, Sam,” Gunner said abruptly. His loud voice seemed offensive in such a small space. “Now, fuck off.”

Unperturbed, Sam whistled as he left, kicking a thimble gaily, and no one spoke in the interim.

But there were looks exchanged. Tess stared at Gunner until he put his flask away.

Polly and Otto exchanged nervous glances, the latter clearing his throat awkwardly.

Patrick pinned his eyes on Theo’s hand, which had briefly touched the middle of my back as I’d stepped into this strange circle of associates.

It was exceedingly uncomfortable. Quiet. Close.

“Right,” said Donny after a while, blessedly breaking the tension. “Is the kid gone?”

“Get it over with, son,” Tess said to Patrick. “I’ve got a hotel to manage.”

Patrick lifted his chin. I could practically feel the exhaustion wafting off him. “First, some formal introductions—”

“Idia, save us,” Gunner moaned. “We know who’s who, Pat.”

Patrick continued, closing his eyes briefly at the interruption but otherwise pretending Gunner hadn’t spoken.

“You’ve all been brought into the circle because you’re valuable—a necessary function in the Miners Union.

You’re also here because, for whatever reason, we’ve deemed you trustworthy.

” Here, Patrick’s eyes touched on Polly, Theo, and finally me.

“Whether by nature or because a deal was struck.”

I wondered what deal he’d struck with my two former classmates, for surely he wouldn’t trust an Artisan by nature.

“Some of us have known each other all our lives. We’ve bled together enough that trust comes easy. Others have joined our party… more recently. For them, trust is conditional.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’ll put you on that ship in parts if you double-cross us,” Tess said. The look in her eye left little doubt that she would do the cutting herself.

I looked quickly away and closed my mouth.

“There’s a plan coming together, with far more complexities than any other we’ve endeavored, and every one of us will need to offer their expertise. For most of us, that means the usual mining. Scottie and Otto know the tunnel pathways better than anyone. They’re the navigators.”

Otto nodded. “Spend more time in the dark than out of it,” he said cheerfully.

Patrick continued. “Briggs here is a clay kicker, though his particular area of expertise will no longer be needed.” Patrick’s eyes flickered to mine.

“He’ll handle the struts. Gunner and I are grunt labor—we’ll move the dirt topside.

Donny is our listening post. Mrs. Colson looks after things up top while we’re in the hole.

And then there’s Nina Harrow,” he said as though he couldn’t quite believe he was saying it.

“Our very own earth Charmer. There doesn’t exist a better team of diggers.

” Patrick took a breath, exchanged a quick glance with his mother.

“We’re tunneling all the way to Belavere City, ladies and gents, as quickly as we can. ”

A hush ensued, save the static crackle of Patrick’s decree.

“It’s two hundred miles or more, Pat,” Otto breathed, permeating wariness. “Under the Gyser River. Right into enemy territory. You know the Artisans are listenin’ for vibrations in the ground. Burying land mines in wells for us to stumble onto.”

Patrick nodded. “The mines tick. We’ll hear ’em before we hit ’em.”

“We ain’t ever dug farther than Fenway,” Briggs said. “And that tunnel’s buried now.”