Disbelief abounded. Patrick could almost see the cogs of Harland’s mind shifting, piecing the bulletins together with the kid-turned-woman before him. His eyes narrowed. “Prove it,” he said simply, but his posture had already changed, his frame leaning forward just slightly, his fingertips rubbing together as though they itched.
Nina shook her head and sighed heavily, then looked up as the surface dust at their feet rose, circling slowly overhead, then moving more rapidly as more particles joined. She waited until each of those men were gawking up at the ceiling before she let it all come raining down, dusting their skulls and getting in their eyes.
They shook their heads like wet dogs and cursed their wonderment.
“No diggin’ required, lads,” Patrick told them as they blinked the grit away. “All I need from you is an export operation. You’ll get your cut once I’m sure you ain’t full of shit.” Here, Patrick looked directly at Harland. “The guns in Kenton have bullets to spare,” he said. “In for a penny, in for a pound. You understand?”
Harland broadened his chest. “I want me own idium, for me and my men here,” he said. “And twenty-five percent of the bluff.”
“Don’t, Patrick,” Nina said now, her face having grown sallow. She didn’t lift her eyes from her uncle. “He’s a hawker,” she said. “He’ll only water it down and sell it sullied.”
Patrick thought of her father, so far gone he was a shadow, and it was enough to once more trigger a violence within him.
“Patty,” John warned.
But Patrick didn’t lift his gun, but a coin, tarnished black. “Tell you what, Kicker,” Patrick said. “I’ll play you for the bluff, eh? Heads, and I’ll give youfiftypercent. Tails, and you get the scant offerings I’m willing to part with.”
Harland grew tempestuous. “No deal.”
“Seventy-five, then,” Patrick offered genially. “But if it’s tails, you’ll get naught but the bluff your parish needs, and I’ll come visitin’ once in a while to make sure it’s not bein’ fucked up with your hawker’s shit.”
Harland rolled his jaw. Men like him were easy to read. They never turned down a gamble, never saw past the win to the possibility of a loss. He jutted his chin upward in acceptance.
Patrick tossed the coin.
It turned over on itself, rising, but never falling. Instead, it hovered for an eternity, flipping over on itself incessantly, never slowing.
The men watched it with mouths agape, Harland blinking stupidly.
“I’ll come visitin’ with those guns and bullets, Kicker,” Patrick said. “You work for the Union now.”
The coin fell to the ground and rolled, all the way over the warped floorboards to Harland’s feet, where it tapped against his boot and finally fell. The canary looked back at the man, black as terranium ore.
John laughed once. “Welcome to the new world, lads,” he said. “Kicker, you’ve got some arrangements to make, sharpish.”
“And in the meantime,” Patrick added. “If you hear word of anyone in Scurry recognizin’ an earth Charmer or an Alchemist, make sure they’re quick to forget it.”
To this, Harland smiled. “That won’t be a problem.” He pulled his trousers up by the belt. “A drink, then. To celebrate.”
Never mind that it wasn’t yet noon, and that Patrick would rather drink from the puddles of the town than with the likes of this man.
But this was the business—pints with thugs and handshakes with criminals. When you wanted something kept hidden, you trusted those with something of their own to hide.
The other miners were in fine spirits, by Patrick’s estimation. Bumping shoulders and laughing like they’d placed a two-way bet on a winning horse. The bartender poured drinks like it was a forgone conclusion and didn’t bother asking for coin.
“I don’t like this,” Nina said at his shoulder.
Patrick sighed and turned to find those fists balled up, thumb tucked in. He reached for the hand closest and pulled the thumb free. “It’s just business,” he said in an undertone. He held her gaze. “All will be well, Scurry girl.”
“You told Polly about the miner’s shiver,” she said now, imploring him with her gaze. “Back in Morland, you said you’d know if the walls were prepped to cave in. Well, I feel it now, Patrick, I’m tellin’ you. Something isn’t right.”
Patrick put his hand on top of hers and let her head fall briefly onto his chest. Behind them, John was indulging Kicker in a spirited toast. When Patrick lifted his head, he’d fashioned a grin of sorts. “None of it’s right, Scurry girl,” he admitted. “But it’s as good a hand as we’ll get.”
“I’m asking you,” she said now, her eyes going to her uncle, at the black circles beneath his eyes. “And I know you don’t trust me, Patrick. Iknowthat. But I—”
“This is the only shot we have, Nina.”
“I know that.”
