Chapter 2
Atlas is still seated on his throne when Coatl stops muttering in his ear to turn and glare at my tapping foot.
Seriously? Clenching my molars, I adjust my feet and lean against a sidewall bookshelf, my usual please-leave-me-alone spot for my afternoons in the High Command. At least there’s only one business meeting left for the day.
Coatl resumes whatever he’s talking about, except now his voice is a whisper. Secrets and all. He’s been nothing but threatened since my recent promotions to Captain and advisor, making me the only person to match his titles. But he shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want any of this.
He leans in closer to the Commander, probably asking if he can wipe Atlas’s arse.
The High Command doors open, and Diggs calls out, ‘Entering now is Brother Thomas.’
I straighten. The minister appears from the hallway wearing a shirt made of deer suede, and he’s thinner than the last time I saw him. His brown skin glistens with perspiration, and although it is a long walk up the hill from the Dresden camp in the afternoon sun, I doubt that’s why he’s sweating.
The minister finds my gaze and his eyes narrow stonily.
Okay, then. I resume clenching my jaw and look away.
Atlas occasionally allows meetings with the Dresden because ratting on your neighbours and friends is encouraged, and sometimes even rewarded.
It’s his way of rooting out whether any of his miners are taking advantage of him.
Stealing. Causing problems and affecting productivity.
But only the brave and very stupid use the opportunity to meet with Atlas to air their complaints or petitions … because it never ends well.
‘Brother Thomas,’ Atlas says, sounding bored. He leans back in his oversized chair, and Coatl does the same in his much smaller one, beside him. ‘I see you’ve come to waste my time. Coatl says he’s already denied your request.’
The minister stops before Atlas. ‘Marian also denied it last week.’
The Commander tilts his head intrigued. ‘Really?’
I keep my face impassive.
‘But I can’t –’ Brother Thomas fumbles, searching for the right words.
There won’t be any. His prayers for the sick and dying have earned him enough favour to officiate the weddings and funerals around here.
But short of a miracle, he’s not leaving with what he wants today.
His shoulders slump, as if he knows that.
‘The situation is too dire to simply give up.’
‘Yes, it always is,’ Atlas mutters.
‘I’d like to request a reduction in the rent and security fees,’ Brother Thomas says. ‘Briefly. There are so many who can’t pay this week. Some –’ His words stall a moment. ‘People are choosing between paying and being able to eat.’
‘A reduction?’ Atlas repeats. ‘So then you’d be happy with a reduction in your protection?’
‘N-no.’ Brother Thomas’s eyes flare wide. ‘That’s not what I’m asking.’
‘Of course not.’ Atlas slowly crosses one leg over the other. ‘My guardsmen risk their lives every day to protect you and all the Dresden people, so you wouldn’t think about cheating us out of what we’re due. Would you?’
‘No –’
‘You know, you don’t sound very grateful.’ He turns to Coatl. ‘Does he sound grateful?’ Coatl shakes his head. ‘I haven’t even heard you thank me once for all I give you – a safe place to live when you’d be slaughtered outside. A way to earn food. Shelter. Heat.’
‘I’m sorry, Commander. Th-thank you. We’re incredibly grateful. For everything.’
‘But if that were true, you wouldn’t ask for a discount. You’d just work harder. Put in more hours at the mine to earn more of the goods you need, like food.’
A bead of sweat slides down Brother Thomas’s temple. ‘You’re right. Absolutely right. It’s just … people are getting sick and injured and then can’t work, so they fall behind on their rent and fees. And then the children suffer.’
Atlas makes an intrigued face. ‘Why couldn’t the children work?’ He throws Coatl a look, then laughs. ‘I love that idea.’
A whispered curse slips from my lips.
Brother Thomas steps closer. ‘But children can be clumsy. They make mistakes. They’ll die in the mine, like so many men and women already do. I’m sure you don’t want more explosions.’
Atlas snaps his mouth closed, thinking – it’s probably best if I stop him from doing that. ‘May I speak?’
Everyone turns to me, but Atlas looks especially intrigued that I’m no longer trying to blend in with the wall. A rarity.
‘A reduction in taxes is a hard no, obviously. But hearing Brother Thomas now, I think what he’s really asking for is a way to increase production in the mine.’
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.