Rhian

Days passed. No sign of Gus, and Strauss was still gone. To make matters worse, That Varis and Michael came back from the Drop stuck together like they’d been that way their whole stupid lives. Look, I was still miffed about the way he’d behaved after she roughed me up, but a person can be both understanding and miffed. Michael wasn’t all muscle and charm. Michael was a thoughtful man, and a good friend. He’d spent a lot of years giving me the benefit of the doubt, but he had an obligation to That Varis at the same time he had an obligation to me. It was tricky, and he knew I’d forgive him faster than she would.

Given the way things had been kicking off lately, and seeing as we suspected That Varis of being Lidia's meat puppet, Michael had no choice but to tell her about what we’d been up to, and everything we knew about Those Things. Trouble is, she wasn’t having any of it. She insisted she could look after herself, and that she was content living out her retirement with as little to do with our business as possible. Can’t say we didn’t try.

One night after That Varis and Adeline had gone to bed, Michael and I were lounging around The House, sharing a plate of Ivana’s garlic potatoes. I had questions, and I was hoping he’d have answers.

“Michael,” I said.

“Rhian,” he said.

“Know where we can get a boatload of silver?”

It was a tall order, seeing as silver was the world’s rarest and most precious metal. Adeline agreed to fashion a silver-plated bullet out of that ring I stole, but it was only one ring, and we couldn’t be sure how many of Those Things we might be facing.

Michael didn’t answer straightaway, on account of he was busy licking his fingers. “There are only two silver mines in Amalia as far as I know. One in Leberecht and the other within the borders of Verena.”

Leberecht wasn’t happening without Strauss, and we had no idea when he’d be back.

“Have you got a map to Verena?”

“Even if I did, Councilwoman Faust granted the city their independence on the condition that no Partisan enters and no silver leaves. You can’t go to Verena.”

“Reckon I’ve squeezed into tighter places, but have you got a better idea?”

“Yes, I do. You can’t go to Verena, but a Barren can. Or someone who looks like a Barren. If our mysterious hero really wants to prove his allegiance, here’s his chance.”

If you thought I hadn’t told Michael about Alexander, think again. It just wasn't worth its own chapter on account if it went a lot like, "Oi, Michael, I met the man who saved your life at the schoolhouse-slash-tavern. He wants to help us take out his Crazy Bitch Sister," and then Michael was all right with it.

“You realize I’d be asking him to go around collecting bits of toxic trash that we could turn around and use against him, right?”

“Yeah, and if he wants to help, he’ll take the risk. If he doesn’t, he’ll probably try to stop you. It could be a good opportunity to see where he really stands.”

The man had a point.

“But Rhian?” Michael popped a tiny potato in his mouth, stuffing it in his cheek. “Be ready to outsmart him, and if you can’t outsmart him, be ready to outrun him.”

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Once I explained the plan, Alexander was eager to help out.

We traveled southwest by foot, seeing as we were both fast runners and it was dark and gloomy more often those days. That's important on account of we didn’t have to worry too much about the sun blinding him. As far as traveling partners went, Alexander was all right. He kept the pace and didn’t do a lot of talking.

Apart from when he did.

“You should sleep,” he’d say. “You need to eat,” he’d say.

Lucky for me, Peter packed one hell of a hamper. Dried meats, bread, and loads of water that tasted like lemons. He’d also packed up some dried dates, and apples, and a few of those purple-fruits I learned were called plums.

The forest was a forest, and in case you hadn’t sorted it out, Amalia was basically that. Otherwise, there were a few shitty villages, the Drop, Verena, Jaska, and Leberecht. It takes a lot of years rebuilding after the world splits apart and nearly everybody dies. Each territory did a different job of it. Better or worse? Well, that’s a matter of opinion. The point is: the forest in Amalia reminded me of the forest at Palisade, apart from the fact it actually had wolves. Specifically, a half-dead wolf laying at the base of a tree. She’d been badly maimed, and I could hardly stand the whimpering.

I reached for my dagger, but Alexander stopped me.

“There’s no mercy in death when life is still an option,” he said.

“What sort of life do you reckon she’ll have while she’s bleeding to death?”

Alexander wasn’t listening. He was too busy performing a miracle.

After laying his hands on the wolf, she was still dirty, but she’d stopped bleeding. On the other hand, Alexander’s hair had gone grey at the temples, and he’d gained a few lines around his eyes.

“Would you like to choose her name?” he asked.

“Look, you can’t bring something back from the brink of death and carry on talking about names,” I said. “It’s rude. Also, why isn’t she trying to eat you?”

The wolf yipped and rolled around carefree in the leaves, exposing her belly.

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“She and I have come to an understanding.”

Goddess-be-damned heart tricks. I’d seen the Endican Partisans do it from time to time—communicating with the wild and whatnot. I’d seen it, but I sure as shite didn’t understand it. “Couldn’t you just ask her what her name is, then?”

“I cannot speak with her the same way you and I speak with each other. Would you like to choose her name?”

After about a minute of knowing her personally, it turned out the wolf was a lovely lass, but she didn’t give up a whole lot apart from some hot air, a snort, and six hells of a howl. “Teeth,” I said. “We ought to call her Teeth.”

The whole thing was strange, but I wasn’t about to throw a fit about it. Asides, Teeth made for an excellent scout and around that time, we were flanking the mine. But, seeing as we were prepared for just about anything, absolutely nothing happened along the way.

It was sundown when we arrived.

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I hadn’t seen lot of mines in my time, but thanks to Michael’s intel, nothing about the place was a terrible surprise. I expected a few buildings, a tiny village, a crater, ramps, and an Oskari’s worth of people buzzing about. When we arrived, there were guards patrolling without a pattern, plenty of slaves, and loads of precious silver—ripe for the taking and stacked in those big buckets with wheels.

I’d expected it would be shinier.

Being a Partisan and all, I wasn’t welcome in the city so I sure as shite wasn’t welcome around the mines, but Alexander was pretending to be a buyer, and my job was to have his back and stay out of sight. After weaving my way through the shadows in the area, I found a perch on the roof of the outpost, watching over his conversation with The Boss.

It didn’t seem like I’d missed much.

“I’m not certain where you’re getting your information, Mister Ruza, but we do not trade silver outside the city of Verena."

I reckoned the city should be made entirely of silver if that were true, and if that were true, I wanted to see it.

“I understand,” Alexander said. “Given the abundance within the city and the rarity outside the city, you should know I’d be willing to offer a much larger sum than any one of your local buyers.”

The Boss took a good, hard look at Alexander’s big, fat, juicy rings and his expensive leathers and furs.

“And what would the proprietor of a glassworks want with silver?” The Boss asked.

“Ornamentations and accents, I understand silver is suitable for etching. We are in the midst of an expansion.”

“And how much would you need?”

Alexander held up a juicy, jeweled finger. “Before coming to any terms, I’d like a tour of your facility.”

“Are you suggesting you have alternatives, Mister Ruza?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause, and I repositioned myself on the roof as Alexander and The Boss left the outpost and crossed the lot. It was dark in the places that weren’t lit by torches, and the swarms of people down below were packing up for the night. But the ones in the pit kept on working. And working. And working. One hour, two hours. Beats me. I didn’t bring my watch-slash-compass, or any of my other favourite possessions. If I died in Verena where my body would be unreachable, reckoned my mates would want my things. Point is: Alexander and The Boss had been gone for a while, and I was getting paranoid. What if they were on to us? What if this lot knew about Those Things? What if I’d sent Alexander straight into a silver prison?

I had to get inside.

There were only three guards patrolling the ramps. I reckoned That Varis’s throwing star would have come in handy if I hadn’t left it back in Oskari, but no matter. Stealthy sleeper-holds would have to do, and they did. Dealing with the guards was one thing, but the slaves down below were another story. There were too many of them, the space was too wide-open, and there was only one way into the mines. I had only one option.

I leaped from the rampart and landed in the middle of the crowd. The slaves stopped slaving.

“You’re all free to go,” I said.

It’s what Michael would have done.

The Barrens glanced between one another, and then looked at me as if I’d sprouted six heads.

“Go?” said one.

“Go where?” said another.

“Just about anywhere is probably better than here. Down with slavery.”

“Slavery? This is our livelihood,” said someone. “The conditions aren’t the greatest, but what else would we do?”

All right, so maybe they weren’t slaves in the literal sense. I needed a new angle.

“All right, so maybe you’re not slaves, but you’re telling me this is what you’ve chosen to do with your lives?”

“We have no choice,” said the same one as before.

“No choice? You lot aren’t making any sense. Haven’t you got skills? Hobbies? I mean, let’s face it—two or three of you might get off on working in this pit, but the rest of you can’t in good bloody conscience tell me this is what you want to do with your lives.”

“I’ve always enjoyed writing poetry,” said someone at the back.

“Brilliant,” I said. “And how many poems do get you get done working your arse off, day in and day out? Have you got kids?”

“No.”

“Have you got a sickly wife or whatnot?”

“No.”

“Right, then. No excuse. Get out there and write some poems.”

I made sense to one man, and then three, and then five, and then twelve.

Twelve of about seventy-five still foaming at the mouth. Look, I might have been fast, but I wasn’t a goddess-be-damned hummingbird. I was surrounded, and all I could do was dodge their attacks and stall for an opening. Fists and grabby hands came from all directions as they closed in on me. Duck, swipe, kick. I remember being knocked in the noggin by a nugget of silver ore, so I slapped a man in the face and was slapped right back.

“Enough!”

The Boss and Alexander emerged from the mine, neither of them looking any worse for wear. I’d just missed my chance to make a run for it when a big hand grabbed me around the back of my neck.

“You haven’t got to squeeze so bloody hard,” I said. “You’ve got me.”

“A Partisan,” said The Boss. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Eh—well, ah—I’m a Palisade escort,” I said, gesturing to Alexander. “I was ordered to ah—wait outside the perimeter, but I panicked when-abouts my client took longer than expected.”

Hells. I missed Gus. He was good at making up stories.

“You’re trespassing on lands where Palisade can’t protect you,” said The Boss. “Your excuses are adorable, but they’re also futile. You must be working with the other one they brought in recently.” The Boss turned to Alexander. “Mister Ruza? What do you have to say?”

Other one?

Alexander shook his head, dumbfounded. “I suspect my holding you indisposed provided this Partisan an opportunity to cause a disruption. She is, after all, one of those Strachoons. Notorious thieves and spies. I have never seen this woman before in my life.”

Strachoon? Bloody hells. The Boss wanted Alexander and his oodles of notes to be telling the truth, I could tell.

Goddess-be-damned pain in the arse betraying bastard piece-of-shite.

So, jail.

But at least I got to see the city.