Gunner stepped forward then, his feet sloshing through the muck. Tension bloodied the air and turned it red. “A smart man,” he said. “Would not utter the name again.”
Warner cleared his throat, seemed to work his tongue around his fear. “We came to deliver a message. That’s all.”
“I love mail,” Donny said. “A poem, I’ll bet.”
“The Northeastern contingent—Hesson, Dunnitch, Dorser, Hoaklin—have agreed to halt our trades with Ken—with theMiners Union,” he faltered with Gunner bearing down on him, “until we see some evidence that any bluff remains in the brink.”
With that came the flourish of paper. Thin, wispy. Newsprint, not parchment. It was snatched up and read aloud by Otto. “National House of Belavere Trench celebrates as new Alchemist, and former leader of the Miners Union, Patrick Colson, forms alliance with new administration.”
Quiet descended, damningly thick.
“The papers lie every day,” Scottie said with a laugh. “You ought to know better than to believe swank gossip.”
“You ain’t got your Alchemist,” said Dirk. “He’s makin’ idium for the House now. And you’re leadin’ us all along like fuckin’ sheep, takin’ from us what you can’t repay!” He spat a gob into the mud. “There’s a debt not settled. The Northerners won’t trade until we know the facts. We want proof the Union is still operational.”
Donny sighed inwardly, replacing his unlit cigarette back into his pocket.It’s come to this, he thought. And then,Forgive me, Patty.
“Message received,” Donny said with a smile. “And if you wouldn’t mind sendin’ my regards…” Here, he let his mind reach once more for those silver pistols in Otto’s pockets. He felt the way they lifted in the air as though held by his own two hands. He felt the barrels and the muzzles and the smooth curve of the triggers. He pulled back the hammers on both in tandem and pointed them in the direction of Dirk and Warner.
The silver went in the direction his mind bid it, even if he couldn’t see where. He imagined the hearts of Warner and Dirk, and knew that if he were to fire, the bullets would puncture them both.
Swank magic, he’d learned, was in the mind, not the eye.
“Tell your members in Dunnitch, and the ones in Hesson and Hoaklin and wherever else, that if it’s proof they want, we’ll gladly come show ’em.”
He heard Warner stumble backward.
“God almighty,” Dirk cursed.
“Don’t shoot,please,” Warner said, the words warbling off the walls.
“Shoot?” Donny said. “Now, why would I shoot a fellow Union member, eh? What kind of comrade would I be then?”
Donny pulled the sack from his shoulder and let it fall into the mud. The rifle muzzles within clacked together. Gunner followed suit.
“A gift,” Donny said, kicking the sack in their direction. “Consider it an act of good faith.”
Warner’s feet hesitated. Dirk finally hauled up his awkward body and stood. Calculations ran taut in the quiet.
“You boys need any further demonstrations?” Gunner asked.
More silence. Donny heard the mechanics of their bodies, the air dragging through their teeth, the reproach of the canary. “We ain’t short of ink,” Donny finally said. “The Union is as operational as it ever was. But just so we understand each other, we don’t take kindly to guests waltzin’ down our tunnels.” He let the two pistols drop to the floor with a wet slap.
“Thanks for comin’, boys,” Gunner said. “Take your partin’ gifts with you.”
“How will we know?” Dirk asked. “When the next trade is. We ain’t received a single scribble.”
Even from a distance, Donny thought he heard Otto’s chest caving in on itself.
“No scribbles,” Donny responded. “We’ll send a telegraph the old way.”
They left the Dunnitch men with Scottie and Otto, with a sense that the walls were closer. In his mind, Donny imagined the cold-rimmed edge of Patrick’s old pocket watch, its cogs pushing the needle round a wheel, the seconds and minutes and hours ticking down to an eventual end. “What did he mean, Gun?” Donny asked. “What did he mean about a debt not settled?” Patrick never left a debt unpaid.
Gunner lagged. Eventually it wasn’t him leading Donny, but the other way around. By the time they exited the pit, Donny was carrying half his weight.
“It’s this fuckin’ wound,” Gunner was hissing between his teeth. “Keeps reopenin’.”
Donny had the sudden, terrifying notion that without their father, and without Patrick, it was he who stood at the helm. Hot fear flooded his veins. He saw Kenton Hill then, colored in steel-gray, like iron bars. An apocalyptic city. He stumbled under Gunner’s weight.
