Page 10 of Reap & Sow

“You suggest we carry on as normal? It’s only a matter of time before we’re caught. We can’t go around telling folk where to go for Pacts with the Blades pushing so hard for information. They’ll increase the reward money, and the bishop is already whipping up religious fervor—”

“There’s a reason you choose marks so carefully. Those people want a Pact far more than whatever petty sum the Blades might offer for information. We only need one more, maybe two.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

She clenched her fists. “Well, I’m arguing with you. Lawrie?”

Lawrie was silent, but she knew he would be. This was an old tableau: Ben would snarl, Eda would snap, and Lawrie would hover at the fringes of the skirmish calling for peace. It wouldn’t bother her, except that Lawrie’s idea of mediation invariably meant taking Ben’s side. Easier to pacify Eda than challenge the elder brother he so admired.

She was not pacified now. “You know the terms. If we don’t bring Mr. Night his fifty years by autumn harvest…” Her voice shook. “He will kill us, Ben.”

The silence was stifling.

“Perhaps—” Lawrie cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could finish it ourselves. If we had to. Ten years between the three of us…That’s not so bad, is it?”

It took Eda a moment to grasp his meaning. She laughed shrilly. “Be serious.”

“He’s right, Eda.” Ben stared at the floor, jaw tense. “It would be a last resort, but it’s an option.”

“Option?” She looked between them, increasingly tempted to lob that bloody peafowl at their thick heads. “What sort of option is that? We’ve already given Mr. Night countless years of service, thanks to Oswin, and now you want to give him even more—”

“Don’t bring Father into this,” Ben snapped. “I wouldn’t ask it of you, anyhow. Lawrie and I would do it.”

He said it as though it were already decided. Eda nearly choked on her rage. “You—what? Have you lost your mind? I won’t let you take my share of that burden. Not ever. It’s a ridiculous idea, besides. We are not dealies.”

“Enough!” Ben’s eyes flashed in warning. “We lie low, and that’s final. I’m doing this to protect you.”

“You’re doing this because you have to be in control of everything,” she cried, jabbing her finger at him. Indignation roared like wildfire. “If you’d only allow me to help more, we could have cleared our debt years ago!”

“You really think Mr. Night will let us go, even if he gets his precious years? You forget, Eda—there’s always a loophole. We still have that mirror in our cellar. His doorway to our world. You think he’ll just let us get rid of it?”

“He’s not interested in making us his prisoners—”

“He’s a demon!” Ben roared. “Are you really such a fucking imbecile?”

Lawrie inhaled sharply. Cold shock fell over her like rainwater.

Ben never talked to her like that.

They stared at one another. After a strained silence, Eda found her voice. “I’m clever enough to know that there’s nothing good left in this city. You won’t have to bother yourself over me for long, Ben. When our Pact is done, I’m leaving.”

She stormed upstairs. Lawrie called her name. Eda ignored him. She despised the juvenile stinging of her eyes, the pain lancing her throat. She kept the tears from falling until her bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

Eda was a restless sleeper. Most nights she crept along their hallway to draw herself a cup of water in the early hours.

Perhaps that was why he knew to wait for her.

The Shaws resided above the shop. Their little kitchenette connected to a cramped, cluttered living space that seemed a mere extension of the chaos downstairs. Eda usually ended up tripping over some book or trinket Lawrie left lying about.

This time, she only tripped because Mr. Night was sitting in front of their fire.

“Good evening, Eda.” He inclined his head. “Or, perhaps, good morning.”

Flames crackled merrily, rekindled from dying embers. Mr. Night sat on the padded bench they used as seating; he gestured for her to join him. Her mouth ran dry. She could count on one hand the number of times he appeared without first being called.

The night of her father’s burial—she remembered that well. Mr. Night had never agreed to protect Oswin from natural illness, and it had taken her father swiftly. After he was put in the ground, the demon came calling.

Perhaps she’d been too young to understand the danger, or the weight of the day had sapped her of all common sense. But Eda had watched Mr. Night sit on the end of her bed with only fleeting unease. Said hoarsely, “I’m just crying because I don’t know what we’ll do. I’m not sad he’s dead. I should be sad, but I’m not.”