Page 38 of A Thief to Die For

He?

‘You can’t tell anyone.’ Suddenly, Little John jumps up and runs out of the tent, taking my blasted canteen with him.

People are up and cooking over the coal fires in the shared common area. A couple of them watch me with suspicion as I pass by. Not that I blame them. My combat clothes and weapons make me look like a guardsman, and if I’ve learned anything here, it’s that a militia guard is not a friend of the Dresden.

I find my first person of interest drinking from a mug while sitting by a firepit.

‘Morning,’ I say, stretching my fingers out to warm them over the burning coals. ‘Mind if I join you?’ I nod at him. ‘I’m Ryland.’

‘Ji-ho,’ he says, then ticks his head to take a seat on the cut log beside him. It’s clear he’s missing a hand, and now that I’m close enough to see past the coal dust on his face, I realise he’s got brown eyes. Not my suspect.

The tension eases in my muscles. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.’

‘Yes,’ he mutters. ‘Not that we’ll get to enjoy it.’

‘How long are your shifts?’

‘Usually takes ten to twelve hours to hit my quota. More if you have other mouths to feed.’

An uneasiness clamps around my chest. It’s a feeling that’s been getting worse the more I learn how the Commander runs things around here.

Ji-ho and I continue to chat, and I’m surprised to learn they’ve started using the miner’s safety lamps. Equally shocking, he resents it.

‘Doesn’t let us see much, which slows our work. But I guess it’s important we live to work another day.’

I frown. I thought the miners would be happy to improve the dangerous conditions of the mine. But that obviously only scratches the surface of their problems. In Kingsland, every able-bodied person has a job, and no one goes without food or help or medicine if they need it. Here, what happens when they get old or sick? Do they just … die?

Eventually, Ji-ho leaves and I spot Rufus, the one-handed trader – the man Little John said was a snitch.

‘Excuse me,’ I call, jogging over as he heads towards the mine. Rufus is about my height, and just like everyone, he’s covered in coal dust. In his one hand, he’s carrying a jar of water.

He turns, and at seeing me, his blue eyes widen.

There’s a pulse of something inside me. Recognition? Or is it because he ticks all the right boxes – he’s white and I’d guess in his forties. The world melts away as I go on alert.

‘Do I look familiar to you?’ I ask. I’m not sure this is even about the attack. I study his overgrown blonde-and-grey hair. He’s got a look about him, like I should know him. But I can’t put my finger on it.

His mouth opens, then closes. His feet stop. ‘Yeah, actually. You look like … my brother.’

‘Your brother.’ Wasn’t expecting that.

‘He was a good-looking guy like you.’ He smiles too brightly. ‘So I hear you’re trying to get a deal for coal?’

A bit of an abrupt change of topic. ‘Trying,’ I say, studying his face. He’s got some scars, which makes me think of my latest nightmare. The events were the usual remix of the same things. The scuffle. The screaming. The blood. But did Mum really scratch the face of our attacker? Or am I making up new details while I sleep?

‘Where did you say you’re from?’ he asks.

‘I didn’t, and I can’t say. You understand, right?’

The smile is back. ‘Of course.’ Rufus leans in. ‘Listen, the Commander has the market cornered on coal, but I’ve got connections for other things. Supplies. Horses. If there’s something else you’re looking for, let me know.’

‘Well … I am considering a ring for my girl.’ I don’t expect the attacker to have Mum’s ring this many years later, but I am curious to see how he plays this. ‘You deal in that kind of thing?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, real eager. ‘I’ll do some digging and get back to you.’

Digging or stealing? ‘One last thing – I’ve been talking to people about the mine explosions. It seems like there’s been a lot of them. Is that where you got those scars on your face?’

His eyes seem to cloud over with a memory. ‘Something like that.’ His smile returns but this time it seems forced. ‘Well, I need to get going to work, but let’s keep talking.’ He tips an imaginary hat.