“I held it as best I could.”
“It ain’t your fault.”
But the squeezing of his ribs told Patrick it wasn’t all true. He’d let them in, the swanks. Polly, Theo… Nina.
“I’ll get us out,” Patrick said now, though for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan.
John Colson, the man of endless inventions spun from the loom of his mind and into his hands, the man who’d reimagined Kenton Hill from the ground up, did not nod his head. He did not take Patrick’s shoulders and laugh and say,Of course! We’ll think up somethin’.
Instead, he grew furtive. His eyes flickered to the door and away. His tongue skimmed his top teeth, and Patrick was suddenly fourteen again, his father waking him after midnight with glowing eyes and a finger to his lips.We’ve business tonight, he’d say.Don’t wake your mother.
“Patty,” he started, and he sat back on the tiles, brought one knee up. “There’s somethin’ else in the works. An opportunity, perhaps, if you keep an open mind.”
They’d once had a conversation that started much the same. One in which John proposed capturing Domelius Becker and blowing the man’s brains out.
Unease trickled through Patrick.
“I’ve thought of every which way to get out of this fuckin’ place,” John continued, eyes skirting the rafters above. “There ain’t none. Filled to the brim with soldiers and swanks at every hour. And they charm the locks here, did you know that? No keys, just a whole bunch of Smiths nailing us in. I’d admire it if I weren’t on the wrong side of the door.” John shook his head. “Still, they’ve kept me alive, son. And there’re some who may be willin’ to do a lot of things for us—a lot of things for the family, if we were to make a deal.”
A deal. His father had made a hundred deals in his lifetime already, a thousand. Patrick used to wonder how he kept them all straight until he himself became the dealer.
“Now, Tanner?” John said urgently. “He’s a lost cause. The man wouldn’t cut a bargain if it came with a free horse. And I’ve tried, Patty. Two longyears, I’ve said everythin’ just right. Leveraged what I could to keep my neck out of a noose. He’s stubborn as a mule.” He licked his upper lip and leaned forward. “But Tanner ain’t gonna be sittin’ where he is forever, son. He’s old, nearin’ seventy. The one that’ll take the helm thereafter ain’t so mulish.”
“Who’s that?” Patrick asked, though he felt he already knew.
“Terrence Shop,” John said. “Second in line to preside over the House. And he’s got more vision than Tanner, Patty. More ambition. He’s taken an interest in me. This is all secret, mind you.” John scooted across the tiles, took Patrick by the shoulder.
Patrick saw his father’s collarbone jutting out from beneath his shirt collar. His cheeks seemed more sunken beneath the scruff than he’d first noticed. The red in the corners of his eyes pulsated. There was an air of desperation to him Patrick hadn’t seen before.
“If Shop comes into power, we can work him over, Patty. He’s a puffed-up bastard, but he ain’t so rigid. He knows agreements need to be made. We could take Kenton Hill back. Have the family looked after, bluff sent out to every parish. Ink enough for every Colson.”
A deal too good to be true. “What of the rest?” Patrick asked. “The ceremonies.”
“We bargain slow at first,” John said. “We ain’t in a position to do more than that yet. We keep our priorities straight. The rest will surely come in time.”
Time, Patrick found, never rendered much more than trouble. With time, deals eroded, alliances drifted, the rabbit slipped the trap. “And you’re willin’ to wait?”
John scoffed. “There ain’t a choice in it, son. We’re no good to the Union otherwise. The swanks have us by the balls.”
Patrick rubbed his temples, his eyes cinched shut. “You told me once; the animals scratch and claw and chew through their legs to free themselves, but business men bide their time, walk away unharmed if they got their wits about them.”
“Aye.”
“Which one walks away first, that’s the question,” Patrick muttered. “What did you leverage?”
John seemed taken aback. “What?”
“You said you leveraged what you could,” Patrick reminded him. “What did you give up?”
John shrugged. “Crumbs, son. Whatever kept the rats out of Kenton.”
“The Dorser docks, I presume,” Patrick wasn’t talking to his father anymore. Not really. His mind had raced ahead. “The shipments.”
“Like I said, crumbs,” his father’s teeth gritted.
Patrick nodded, but he could see that Dorser woman in the tunnel, her apron bloody. And he’d promised her he’d return the very next day. He’d promised her bluff.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I assume Lord Shop intends to speed along his succession?” he asked.
