Page 23 of A Thief to Die For

‘Whoa!’ I say, confused. ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m not a guardsman.’

He lowers his weapon a second. ‘You look like one.’

‘Well, I’m not. I’m Ryland. And I’m staying over there in the trees.’ I point, but it hits me that he’s shaking, so I squat to appear less threatening. ‘But … can I tell you a secret?’

‘No.’

Damn. That usually works. Well, then I’ve got nothing.

Suddenly he winds up again and with a two-handed grip, cracks me on the knee with his stick. I grunt in pain as he runs off to a woman by the fire.

His arms flail in my direction as he speaks to her.

I force a grin and wave. The woman leans into the man beside her. The gestures pointing me out seem contagious. Wonderful. Now I’m probably going to have to fight somebody.

The balding man approaches me. He’s older. Could he be the kid’s father? I check for weapons, but don’t see any – which is good because he’s tall and looks strong, although a little thin.

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘Greetings,’ he says, eyes cautiously curious. ‘I’m Tom, but people call me Brother Thomas.’

‘Ryland.’ I hold out my hand.

He takes it with a firm grip. ‘I see you met Little John. His mum’s Clara over there. She asked me to apologise for him.’

So, he’s not John’s father. We talk a bit about why I’m here, then he asks why I’m alone. I wince a little. ‘The Commander wasn’t very impressed with my friend, so my other team member went with him on the road.’

Something shifts in Brother Thomas’s eyes. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘The Commander’s known for his … negotiating tactics.’

I can’t lie – now I’m intrigued. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Brother Thomas hesitates before escorting me into the crowd, away from the table he was sitting at before. An hour later, I’ve met a number of coal dust-covered men. The black soot is under their nails and seems tattooed into the creases under their eyes and around their hairlines. Everyone I meet looks like they could use a sandwich – or five – and a nap. I keep my questions surface level and answer theirs without revealing any more than the Commander already knows. The only time I bend that rule is to ask if there are any other coal mines in the area.

A bearded man gives a wheezy laugh. ‘You are new. Sooner you realise the Commander’s got a stranglehold on everything, the sooner you surrender.’

By sheer luck, Brother Thomas introduces me to a blue-eyed man missing his left hand – Kenny. He’s about the right age to be my father’s murderer. My muscles tighten at the possibility.

A raised scar goes from his temple into the hair of his scalp, which I don’t remember seeing, but it’s been sixteen years since the attack on my family. Brother Thomas explains to him that I’m a traveller, but before he gets too far, Kenny re-introduces himself. I roll with it, but when he introduces himself a third time, Brother Thomas pulls me aside.

‘Kenny’s brain was injured in a mine explosion years ago,’ he says, voice lowered.

That does complicate things. ‘I see.’

Brother Thomas shrugs. ‘They happen all the time. He still works. Has to. We all do.’

‘Wait. Why do you have so many explosions?’ In Kingsland, we’ve had a single unplanned blast. Some idiot thieves tried to raid our mine with lit torches but hugged a pocket of methane instead. The resulting explosion set off a landslide that buried our mine in seconds – the whole reason I’m here. ‘That doesn’t seem … normal,’ I say cautiously.

‘What’s normal?’ Brother Thomas mutters. ‘Anytime you’re bringing fire into the mine, it’s a risk.’

‘You use open flames?’ I bite back a curse. Back home we only use miner’s safety lamps, which don’t ignite any trapped gases. ‘Isn’t fire …?’

‘Dangerous? Foolish?’ he finishes for me. ‘Yes. I suspect the Commander doesn’t see it as a problem because the explosions can also open up parts of the mine.’ His jaw tightens as his gaze skates over the crowd.

I stare, speechless.

Another man missing a hand passes by. I keep an eye on him. He’s alone and heading towards one of the small homes on the perimeter. He’s middle-aged. Tall. But then he turns to look at me, and it’s like lightning strikes clear through my skull. Something is familiar about him. ‘Who’s that man?’ I ask.

‘Brother Thomas follows where I’m pointing. ‘Oh, that’s Rufus. He was a trader for many years and still hawks stuff – only he does it with us now.’