Page 5 of A Thief to Die For

Coatl scowls. Atlas tilts his head. ‘Go on.’

I swallow and push away from the bookshelf. ‘To work longer – harder – you can’t have frail workers. They have to be healthy. So … in the simplest terms, they need more to eat.’

Atlas exhales, frustrated. ‘If they want more, they need to work more.’

‘I believe they will, but we might have to help them first. Maybe a simple solution would be to expand our border a little further north. There’s a swamp past our lookout tower there. They’ll have more access to deer, birds. Berries and vegetation. And, we wouldn’t even have to bring in more guardsmen. We don’t need a dozen in the mine. Let’s take two to cover the far end of the swamp. Add a seventh post. One morning shift, the other night.’

Coatl huffs. ‘I put those guardsmen in the mine for a reason –’

‘We’re talking about exploring ways to increase production,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Besides, guardsmen should be guarding, not standing around useless.’

The look Coatl gives me makes sweat break out on my brow. I was there when he whipped the last guardsman for speaking to him this way.

Atlas steeples his fingers, and I hold my breath. ‘I suppose this might work.’

‘Sir –’ Coatl says.

The Commander throws up a hand and addresses Brother Thomas. ‘We could do a trial. But if I don’t see results in the workers …’ He trails off.

‘Understood,’ Brother Thomas says, breathless. ‘Thank you. Thank you so very much!’

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ I offer, following the minister out, as eager to escape as he is.

There’s an unsteadiness to my legs as we pass Diggs and the other guardsmen in the hallway and exit the compound. Brother Thomas walks faster, as if trying to get away, but I match his speed.

When it’s clear I’m following him, he whirls on me, scowling. ‘Thank you for your … whatever that was in there, but I don’t need an escort.’

Yes, he does. ‘That’s not something you get to decide.’

He glances at a couple of glaring guardsmen with their hands on the hilts of their swords. With a sound of disgust, he relents. After mounting my horse, I amble behind him as he starts the twenty-minute trek down the road to the Dresden camp.

For nearly half of our journey we walk in silence. Then, with a stiffness that comes from long days spent bent over like a rusty horseshoe, he whirls on me, snickering into his hand. ‘I can’t believe that worked.’

‘Saints.’ I nod in agreement, though I never stop scanning for ears that might hear us. ‘I don’t have the authority to station Soren and Diggs at the swamp, but just having two fewer guards in the mine should help alleviate the problems they’re causing.’

He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe the Commander allowed that. I thought I was going to ask him to cut costs and then, when he refused, pivot to something more attainable – like addressing the guards’ aggression. We never discussed –’

‘I know … but it hit me that if Atlas knew his guardsmen were beating the miners to increase production, he’d add more to the mine, not take them away. So I had to get creative. And the swamp –’ I shake my head, unsure how a giant puddle of musty water is going to help with anything. But it’s something. ‘Just be prepared for me to deny every request you throw my way … for a long while.’

He nods. ‘Understood. Can’t have the Commander thinking you’ve gone soft for us.’

No, but I fear that’s something Atlas already suspects. I swallow hard, my mind shifting to the next problem – the collection of rent and fees tonight. A tightness fills my chest. That dilemma is much more out of my hands.

The crude treehouses and deer-hide tents of the Dresden Circle come into view, and I slow my horse, not wanting to be seen.

‘Thank you, Marian. I can’t –’

‘Don’t,’ I say, cutting him off as I spot a man weaving through the trees in the distance. Even if we were completely alone, I still wouldn’t want to be thanked for this. I tip my head towards the approaching stranger.

Brother Thomas catches on and replaces his smile with a scowl. ‘Am I free to go yet?’

The sudden shift in him chafes against my ribs, but my response is well practised too. ‘Go,’ I snap back, hating myself, just a little. Then I turn my horse around and trek back up the hill.

Oil lamps are being lit all around the inside of the compound as I knock on Agatha’s second-floor bedroom door again. ‘Come on, Ag,’ I plead softly, knowing she can hear me through the paper-thin walls. ‘Answer the door.’

There’s movement inside. Footsteps. A clinking of jars. I try the door handle – locked.

‘Take a hint, Marian,’ Agatha calls out.