Page 56

When I was a child, and scared, I could imagine peace where there was none.

I could redraw my own cot into a feathered bed, the kitchen into a dining hall, my father at the head of the table and my mother still there. All of Scurry made new.

I did it again now, putting fraught things away in drawers. It was shockingly easy to do in the presence of Patrick, where the heat of him clouded every other thought. I could imagine I wasn’t balancing on the precipice of a cliff.

The five of us—Patrick, Donny, Otto, Polly, and I—had entered a new pit, one Otto referred to as the southeast line, its entry point not disguised like Margarite’s tunnel. This one was simply dug into the bottom of a hill in Kenton’s outskirts.

The ceiling was at least tall enough to allow a person to stand, the walls wide enough that my shoulders didn’t brush the sides.

It seemed a well-traveled path. There were even points where two people could walk side by side.

We carried nothing among us, not even a birdcage, and so I assumed we weren’t making the journey to trade.

The men stayed ahead, walking at a quick clip without uttering a word. I walked just behind Polly, who hummed to herself, apparently familiar with the affair.

It remained baffling to see her amid the dirt.

“Who is it that we’re meeting?” I asked her quietly.

She shrugged as though it hardly mattered. “A dockyard master probably, or another union member.”

I searched for another safe question. “And why have you been brought along?”

“They never really tell me,” she said easily.

Ahead, Patrick, Donny, and Otto were nearly out of sight. Polly and I had fallen behind. It seemed as good a place as any to speak frankly.

My voice became a whisper. “Theo said you were sent here,” I said carefully, “by the same person who sent me.”

She slowed very slightly, her eyes on the men ahead, pupils widening. “Lower your voice,” she warned, though I couldn’t have been quieter, and the others were only echoes along the walls. “Yes,” she said.

“For the same purpose as Theo?”

She nodded, her discomfit obvious.

“And you’ve found nothing?”

It took her a moment to answer. “I’ve found a lot I didn’t expect to find.” It sounded cracked and broken. I thought of Otto and how closely they’d been seated on that step. “As for Domelius Becker, very little.”

And I sensed, though I couldn’t be sure, that she was as trapped in the same corner as me. “What were you threatened with?” I asked. “Or are you here out of honor?”

She huffed a dark, bitter laugh. “No honor, just the promise of a bullet from either side.”

“Polly, we—”

“We can’t speak here,” she murmured, so lowly I barely heard it. “Come to the pub tonight. Better to talk where there’s too much noise for anyone to hear a thing.”

We said no more.

For three hours we walked until my feet and stomach and back protested, until the ground seemed to slope upward and the walls narrowed. And then, a shaft lift.

“Up you go,” Otto said, proffering a hand to Polly to lead her inside. He held on a second longer than necessary, and I watched Polly smile at her feet.

When I entered, Patrick took my arm in his hand and maneuvered me to the back, so that he stood in front of me. “Don’t say a word,” he said. “And please, Nina, no Artisan shit, all right?”

“I’m not an imbecile.”

“Promise me.”

Did anyone ever deny him? “I promise.”

I thought I heard him mutter something about fools.

Patrick and Otto operated the pulley, then blocked the lift in when it reached its peak, and we filed out.

Light spilled in, not from above, but ahead.

The tunnel opened, and the ground turned to cement underfoot.

The walls were spotted with snails. Through the blinding yellow light, I could make out a rocky shore, timber piers, a hundred docked sailboats.

It seemed we were concealed in a culvert tapering to the sea.

We hadn’t taken five paces when Patrick said “Wait here,” and we stopped. Donny and Otto positioned themselves in front of Polly and me. Donny said “Smells like rottin’ fish in here,” and Otto shushed him.

Within moments, sunshine and sea were interrupted by three figures. All men. All armed.

“Hello, boys,” Patrick said, as though we weren’t convening secretly in the mouth of a giant drain. “What’ve you got for me?” From his mouth coiled small spirals of smoke. There was a lit cigarette in his hand, his body positioned in a way that blocked me out entirely. I strained to see.

One of the shadow men was taller than the others and stood at the spearhead of their formation. He hefted something over his shoulder and let it clatter to the ground—a sack. He said absolutely nothing. The other silhouettes lifted their pistols very slightly. Nervously so.

Danger seeped in from every corner, collected in my throat.

“That’s it?” Patrick asked coldly. If he had a weapon of his own, he did not raise it. I wished he would. I shuffled unwittingly toward him.

“Two rifles, three boxes of grenades, a pistol, two boxes of powder.” The voice was hoarse, dispassionate. A wracking cough followed. A sniff. “It’s all we could save, Patty. Take it or leave it.”

Patrick exhaled again, toed the sack on the ground, then turned to look over his shoulder at us. “Take it or leave it, the man says. What say you, Donny?”

“I say they can kiss my arse.”

“All right,” Patrick said, throwing down his cigarette. “Lionel, kiss Donny’s arse and we’ll call it even.”

The pistols inched upward. “We were fuckin’ made , Pat. The coppers searched every dock. Every boat.”

“Then you didn’t hide my guns well enough,” Patrick said in a tone that was contrastingly conversational. They could have been discussing the weather. “There were forty cartons of rifles. Two hundred boxes of grenades—”

“In shippin’ containers , Patrick! Where the fuck am I gonna hide shippin’ containers?”

“In these very convenient tunnels we dug for you, Lionel. The same tunnels you’ve used on more than one occasion to run from all the razing and arrests.” Patrick waited, but the man named Lionel didn’t respond. Patrick checked his pocket watch. Clicked his tongue. “Did you sell me out, Lionel?”

The figure bulked. “I’m not a fuckin’ traitor .” He spat onto the ground.

Patrick ignored him. “I paid very good money to have those containers sit in your particular yard, Lionel, on a very particular day, and my men arrived to find them already empty. And now, you give me some guns and a few bangers and tell me that’s all you saved?”

“It’s all I could get away, Patty. The coppers came early. We were caught by surprise.”

“And yet, you had time to open a container, fill a sack, then hide it away somewhere.”

The tunnel chorused the words. The sea rushed the pylons. Inside my chest, my heart thrashed against the walls.

“So, did you tip ’em off, Lionel? Or did you skim a few weapons away for yourself, long before the police showed up?”

Lionel, even in the dark, appeared cornered.

Patrick sighed. “Come on, man, which is it? Are you a traitor, or a thief?”

The guns twitched on either side of Lionel. My feet inched farther forward, but Otto’s arm barred further progress.

“I’ll tell you what,” Patrick said then. “I’ve got a better idea. Pol?”

Polly stepped forward, body tensed.

“Scribble this will you, Polly? Make it anonymous. Write to Belavere City and tell ’em there’s a man named Lionel Billings sacking containers in the Dorser Shipyards. Tell ’em he’s got a few crates of contraband bluff in his warehouse.”

The longer Patrick spoke, the whiter Lionel became. “Wait. WAIT!” he yelled when he saw Polly shut her eyes. “All right!” he said. “I skimmed some guns off the top. There! I admit it. That’s what’s in the sack.” He looked furtively between Patrick and Polly.

Languidly, Patrick held a hand up. “Never mind, Pol. Scratch that last.”

Polly opened her eyes, then stepped back behind Otto.

Lionel wiped his forehead. “I’m sorry, Pat. All right? It were only three guns. Three out of a few hundred.”

“Three of the Union’s guns,” Patrick said. “Of which I paid you handsomely to keep for me.”

“Yeah, in fuckin’ bluff,” Lionel said, anger rising. “Do you know how hard it is to move it round here? There’s coppers on every corner.”

“Say no more, Lionel. I’ll have Scottie and Otto come through in the morning. They can take it all off your hands.”

“They can’t take my fuckin’ bluff—”

“Then they’ll take your hands.”

Lionel seethed. “I ain’t listenin’ to threats—”

“It ain’t a threat, Lionel. It’s a promise.

” Even from a distance, his voice skittered over my skin.

The temperature seemed to dip. “You should know this: I don’t make a habit of handin’ bluff over to men of bad character.

Even less so to fuckin’ shipyard guard dogs selling it to poor folk for more than it’s worth.

I made a concession when it came to you .

I made a promise to myself that I would only do so while the relationship served the Union.

Have you stopped serving the Union, Lionel? ”

Lionel twitched. “Imma proud fuckin’ member. Have been since the first attack.”

“Good,” Patrick said. “Then I won’t be needing to take your bluff… or your hands,” Patrick turned and locked eyes with Otto. “Grab the guns. It’s time we were on our way.”

Lionel stepped forward, a hand out. “What about payment?”

Patrick turned back slowly. I thought I heard whips strike the air as he responded. “What payment?”

“We agreed on a vial of proper Artisan ink.”

Patrick laughed coldly. “Yeah, well, we agreed you’d keep my bloody guns out of the hands of the House, didn’t we, Lionel? You get to keep the bluff we’ve already gifted you, and count yourself fortunate I don’t take everythin’ you’ve ever touched.”

The man blustered. The guns glinted. “I stole those fuckin’ containers and stowed them in me yard, like you asked! Those coppers could’ve had me arrested!”

“And the Miners Union thanks you,” Patrick said without a hint of feeling. “We’ll be in touch the next time we need a plan completely cocked up.”

Otto retrieved the sack, paying no mind to the twitching pistols at the men’s sides.

“You think I’m scared o’ you, Patty?” Lionel spat, voice quaking with ire. “You’ve brought naught but a boy, a blindman, and a couple of whores with you—”

Patrick stopped in his tracks.

Donny stepped forward. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that, Lionel,” he said, all levity in his voice now gone. It was the first time Donny had ever made me nervous. He suddenly seemed every bit the Colson brother Patrick and Gunner were. Cold, unforgiving. Dangerous.

Patrick didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned slowly, until he was facing Lionel again. I felt Polly edge onto the tips of her toes, as I did.

Neither Patrick, Otto, nor Donny drew a weapon.

“Say that again for me,” Patrick said in a voice made of smoke and violence. It curled down my chest and between the hairs on my head, making them stand on end. I was possessed with the sudden urge to throw myself in his direction. “ Patrick ,” I said in warning.

He didn’t turn.

“You want to skive a poor man of his dues, Pat?” Lionel continued, blinded by anger or ego. “Why don’t you send one of those pretty girls over here, and we’ll part with no bad blood. All debts paid.”

Foolish man. Did he not smell the blood on the air?

“Lord almighty, Lionel,” Otto uttered, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

“Ah, Lionel, now you’ve gone and spoiled a whole lot of blood between us,” Patrick said, and finally, his hand reached into his waistcoat.

The waiting hammers cocked.

Gun barrels rose and leveled with Patrick.

And it was odd, wasn’t it? That I should suddenly fear for the well-being of Lionel, and not Patrick, who was faced with three men and two guns?

Patrick said “Donny?” and it seemed an order. “Otto?”

Otto moved quickly, grabbing Polly and me by our shoulders and pulling us against the tunnel wall.

But I saw it all. I watched all the moving parts.

The men and their shadows pulled their triggers.

The bullets exploded from their chambers.

Nine or ten, the reverberations deafening.

And somehow, the bullets clattered in far-off places; it was unclear if any hit their target.

And when it was over, Patrick finally pulled a gun from his holster and shot a single bullet, and Lionel toppled backward, skull slamming upon the culvert floor.

Then there was only the ringing in my ears, Polly’s breath on my cheek. My throat throbbed as though I’d shouted, and I wondered if I had. I might have screamed his name. Sound lagged.

But he did not seem harmed. No blooms of red sprouted along his back.

He did not descend to his knees and then to his chest. He stood tall and straight and pointed the gun at the remaining two men, their own weapons now lowered, smoking, spent.

They held their hands up and backed away. I sensed their fear, their confusion.

“Take Lionel’s body home with you,” Patrick told them. “And when I call on you next, don’t walk into this fuckin’ tunnel with guns.”

The men hesitated, then as one, nodded. One of them said “Yessir” in a voice that bordered on a boy’s. I blinked the light back, trying to see them clearly.

They retreated, dragging Lionel between them, and Patrick didn’t turn his back until they were swallowed by that circle of yellow and out of view.

Patrick turned. He closed his eyes briefly, then picked up the sack of weapons and threw it over his shoulder.

Otto hustled Polly to the shaft, with Donny at his other elbow. “Come on,” he told her gently, disappearing with her into the dark.

And I was aware that my chest rose and fell too quickly, and that my body was coiled tight enough to break the bones within.

Patrick saw that, too, and when the wall behind me began to crumble, giving way to my trembling hands, he held up both of his.

“Shhh,” he whispered, suddenly inches away.

He stroked my face once, twice. “Easy.” The walls cracked. “Nina, calm down. You’re all right.”

But my head shook of its own accord, and a sound escaped my lips.

And it seemed, though I didn’t know how, that he understood.

“I’m all right, too,” he said instead. “Look at me, Nina. Nothing hit. I’m all right.”

A squall of breath left me, and my head fell to the crook of his neck and shoulder. And I didn’t give a thought to anything but just that. Just warm skin and the arm around me.

“We’re safe,” he said, and it was so soft.

Soft enough to end a war. Soft enough to break me.