Page 28 of A Thief to Die For

‘It’s come to my attention that you use oil lamps or fire to light the mine, and because of it, there’ve been explosions,’ Ryland says. ‘Unnecessary deaths. If we’re to make a deal, we would need you to switch to a better way.’

Atlas unfreezes. ‘You’re going to tell me how to run my mine?’

‘No, sir,’ Ryland says. ‘It’s obvious you’re a very smart man who’s built an empire. But I can’t offer the most lucrative contract likely in the entire Republic unless you make this small change to safety lamps. They use metal gauze and glass globes to protect the flame from explosive gases.’

My pulse beats so loud, I half expect to be kicked from the room. Atlas is going to shoot Ryland through the heart, which, frankly, would solve a lot of my problems.

But it wouldn’t make the mine safer – a complex issue I’ve lost many hours of sleep over.

Atlas’s scowl cracks into a smile. He even huffs a laugh. ‘You’re talking about miner’s safety lamps; we already have those.’ He shrugs. ‘We don’t use them because the workers complained the light was weak. But … we can try them again. For the right deal.’

Is that a lie? My post is never in the mine, so I don’t know. My gaze darts back and forth between them. What the hellfire is going on?

‘See? I can compromise.’ Atlas leans forward, lowering his voice. ‘But the question is, can you?’ An ominous tension fills the air. He wants the name of Ryland’s settlement.

Ryland smiles, unfazed. ‘Compromise is essential in making a deal, and I look forward to it. But first comes trust.’ Ryland finally hands the jar to Atlas. ‘In the interest of becoming friends – business partners – I’d like to gift you these.’

Atlas raises the glass jar in the air. The contents appear white. ‘What is it?’

‘Water purification tablets,’ Ryland says. ‘Mix one with two litres of water. Maybe two tablets if the water is visibly dirty. Wait thirty minutes before drinking.’

Atlas drops the jar to his lap. ‘Just like magic.’ He snickers. ‘I do love magic … but we don’t need these. We have wells.’

‘You have wells, but your mine workers don’t,’ Ryland says. ‘And nothing will affect your productivity more than waterborne illnesses.’

‘They boil their water,’ Atlas says, flippantly.

‘Even when they’re deep in the mine? What about your traders when they’re racing around the badlands?’

Atlas considers the jar for a second. ‘Fine. I’ll accept your gift.’ A calculating smile curls his lips. ‘Now accept one of mine. Join me and my daughters for dinner tonight. In the interest of … getting to know one another and building trust, as you’ve said.’

‘Get your hands up,’ I yell.

Little John lifts his arms out to the side, his face turned away, eyes scrunched closed.

‘No. Put your hands up in front of you. And open your eyes, buddy.’ I toss our makeshift ball, which is a potato-sized rock, in the air and catch it. ‘You have to look.’

He peeks over with one eye. ‘Do I have to do this?’ he lisps.

I exhale. He is only seven.

No, he’s seven and prefers to catch things with his face. ‘Yes, you do,’ I say. ‘This is a life skill.’ Well, that, and … I need him.

After hours of reconnaissance, I’m turning to a new source for information – a boy with no filter. Besides, everyone else has a job, and I have time before my dinner date tonight.

‘Ready?’ I toss the rock to him.

It smacks his chest. ‘Ow,’ he yells, crumpling to the ground.

I jog over, but he grabs the rock, jumps up, and hurls it at me. I only have time to twist away before he cracks me on the hip. He throws so hard he falls over.

‘Oooow,’ I say through my teeth. ‘Also … good throw.’ I reach down, and he’s concerningly light as I pull him to his feet.

A big grin settles on his dirty face.

Twenty minutes later, one of us is questioning what constitutes a life skill and one of us still can’t catch. So now we’re throwing rocks at a tree.

‘My mama says in the old world they had people spray.’ He chucks a stone. Misses the tree. ‘You put it on, and it kept the bugs away. She read about it in an old-world book.’