Chapter 32
CHRISTOPHER
The Hoffmann brothers are not happy to see me.
Although I don’t know if Grumpy is ever happy to see anyone.
“What the hell do you want?”
A sneer encompasses his dirt-covered face that looks like it hasn't been washed in a while.
“I want access to your underground railroad. Routes, manholes and all the blueprints you can give me.” Leaning around the angry dwarf, I look at the brother standing beyond the doorway, “And throw in a mine cart while you’re at it.”
Doc’s bushy brows lift, his eyes twinkling with the renewed fortune of a poor man.
“Let the man inside, Gerald.”
The vast number of wrinkles deepen with an unflattering scowl. A lifetime of frown lines flashes before me as the cantankerous bastard shuffles to the side.
Fighting back a smirk, I duck my head and step inside the cottage. It’s just as cramped as I remember, the stacks of dirty dishes having grown taller since the last time I was here.
The only difference are the snores radiating from the man sprawled out in the corner. Perched on a tiny rocking chair, he’s got his filthy shoes propped up on the windowsill and a floppy green hat hanging low over his brow.
I’m surprised he can sleep with the raucous that’s coming out of his mouth, but I guess that’s what happens when your air flow is restricted by a lack of housekeeping.
And overall sanitation.
“Do you have it?”
Eager, almost greedy eyes stare up at me.
“Have what?”
Gerald barks the question, crossing his arms, “I don’t know why we keep letting this stray into our… the diamond!”
The high-pitched shriek is enough to send the sleepy one jumping to his feet. Arms and legs go flying while his green hat tumbles to the floor.
“What the hell?!”
“L-Look!” Spluttering, barely catching a breath, the Hoffmann Diamond shines brightly in Gerald’s eyes, “I don’t understand. The witch-
“Sends his condolences.”
The lines around Doc’s face tighten before he covers them with a smile, “Our sister’s necklace has finally returned. A family relic back where it belongs.”
Callused hands reach for the sparkling gem but I lift it out of reach.
“Time to show your side of the bargain.”
“Soren, show this man where the bunks are.” Nodding slowly, Doc pushes his frames higher up his nose, “And make sure he gets the key for the basement. That’s where you will find a spare minecart.”
The sleepyhead lets out an obnoxious yawn, “Why can’t Gerald do it?”
“Because I asked you.”
“Dorian is supposed to take care of the boring chores.” Brown hair gets pushed to the side as Soren sighs, “Where is that dummy, anyways?”
My glare causes him to backtrack quickly.
“Er, I mean, where is that fun guy?”
Gerald snickers while Doc rolls his eyes, “Get your head out of the clouds and take Christopher upstairs to collect his papers. You know Dorian had his first shift at the mine this week.”
“You sent him to the mine?” Concern bleeds through my voice as I look at the eldest brother, “He’s just a kid.”
“His seventeenth birthday was last week. The rest of us started mining the day we were strong enough to carry a pickaxe.”
“Yeah, but-
“Are you here to seek information on our brother’s wellbeing or your railroad?” Doc tilts his head, his brown eyes twinkling with something far from friendly, “Because the cost of both exceeds our agreement. So I’d suggest you choose wisely.”
Bastard.
Pinching my cheeks into a painful smile, I look at Soren, “Lead the way.”
He yawns again, arms stretching high over his head and exposing the beer belly beneath his pyjama top. A quick eye rub follows and then he turns and starts walking up the staircase.
The cottage groans beneath our feet as we trudge up layers of dust and rickety stairs. Cobwebs sling in every corner, the dark blot of spiders wandering carelessly around the uncleaned corners of this house.
“Just through here.”
Soren huffs slightly, his cheeks flushed from the sudden exertion. A small, round door sits at the top of the staircase, a miniature doorway that looks better suited for a dollhouse.
It’s stuffy up here, a stuffiness that has my head swimming and my stomach tightening.
Whatever air I thought I had vanishes the moment my feet hit the ratty carpet. Rows of beds are pushed and crammed into every corner of the room, moth-bitten sheets and paper-thin blankets hanging off the sad-looking cots that are barely big enough to fit a child.
Mold and sweat hangs thick and heavy in the air, coating my throat with the smell of hard labour and not enough return for the men living under the same roof.
Soren pads inside easily, as though he’s blind to the despair laid out before him. I force myself to leave my position by the door, swallowing repeatedly to ensure the nausea stays down.
“All the beds are numbered based on when we were born. Doc is the oldest so he’s number one.
” Shuffling past the tight quarters, Soren works his way through the family until he reaches number three, “Happy has the best memory, so he’s always responsible for keeping our keys. Don’t want them walking away on us.”
Throwing the blanket higher up the bed, he squats down and pulls on the drawer tucked beneath the worn bedframe.
“We each get a cubby, but you have to give anything worth keeping to Doc. He stores it in the office downstairs.”
“So which bunk holds the plans to the underground system?”
“Doc went ahead and tucked them in mine.” Shuffling two feet down, he repeats the same action on a different bed, “Must have known I’d be fresh from my nap right about now.”
Or he was hoping I’d have to search through every damn bed.
While he shuffles through junk and loose leaves of paper, I cast my eyes around the room. The number seven catches my eye, the farthest bed tucked in the corner where the ceiling sits a little bit higher and the sole window casts a dim piece of light on it.
“That should be everything.” Stuffing a pile of papers into my arms, Soren pushes himself up to standing, “Blueprints, access points, and all the notes and landmarks our family has assembled over the years. And this key here will give you access to the basement. Just go in through the backdoor and no one will be the wiser.”
He tosses the key in the air and I catch it.
“What about worker schedules?”
“Before sunrise and after sunset. Six days a week with the occasional holiday off.” His words cut off on a yawn, “Any other questions?”
“Not about the railroad.” Jutting my chin towards the bed in the corner, I feel something hopeful break through my chest, “Is that Dorian’s bed?”
Soren follows my gaze and lets out a laugh.
“The one near the window?”
At my nod, his grin grows louder, “Could you imagine? Dorian getting the nicest bed in the house?!”
Chortles explode from his mouth, sending critters scurrying out from beneath the rickety bedframes and leaving a bad fucking taste in my mouth.
“Absolutely not. That was Sylvie’s bed. She got the bigger one because she was blessed with our mother’s height.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline.
“Dorian is also tall.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t help around the house like she would. Kept everything spic and span, you know?”
He lets out a wishful sigh, “Everything was better with Sylvie. She was good at keeping us boys in line.”
Discomfort pricks at the back of my neck as I take in his smitten look of admiration.
One that’s a little too intense for that of a brother.
“Which one is Dorian’s then?”
“Huh?” Soren blinks, his glassy eyes taking a moment to refocus, “Oh, Dorian’s bed is down the hall. First door on the right. We didn’t have enough space for him once Sylvie’s section was set up.”
I stare at him, “You didn’t make space for him after Sylvie died?”
“Why would we do that?”
So he doesn’t feel left out, you dumbass.
Any sense of hope dissolves with the last few seconds of Soren’s consciousness. Sleepy eyes start to close as another yawn takes over his face.
“Well, if you’ve got everything you need…” He sways over to the bed marked with the number five and slowly sinks down on it, “Don’t be afraid to let yourself out.”
“Right.”
Blowing out a pinched breath, I can almost taste the residue of abuse clinging to the air.
Snores ring out, clogged breaths that sound undisturbed by the dust mites and filth idling nearby. I shake my head and pull the door closed.
Then wander down the hall and take the first door on the right.
Whatever illusion of space I thought Dorian might have shrivels up at the sight of a cot jammed into a coat closet. Slouched and pressed awkwardly between two walls, not even the shortest Hoffmann brother could sleep comfortably on that thing.
Never mind the tallest.
He deserves better.
Traitorous words that have no space in my head right now.
Biting my tongue and swallowing the bitter taste filling my mouth, I take in the somewhat clean state of Dorian’s bedroom.
Cobwebs have been cleared away and the sheets on the bed are straightened, albeit haphazardly, as if someone tried their best to make the most of what they have.
I bend down and pull on the drawer tucked between the rotten carpet and the folded bedsheets. It takes a couple of tries to jerk the thing open.
Voices echo up the stairs, Gerald’s biting tone immediately followed by Doc’s soothing one. Ignoring the risk of being caught, I focus on the drawer in front of me.
And the rows of brightly coloured nail polish.
Besides a packet of crayons and some blank paper, small glass vials fill the entirety of Dorian’s cubby.
From the hottest pink to the deepest green, there’s close to twenty different shades of nail polish in here.
Most of them sit close to empty, the last few drops of paint clinging to the exterior like a memory that refuses to wash away.
There’s only one vial that sits apart, one glass bottle that looks more polished and cared for than the others.
I pick up the nail polish and look at the colour swishing around inside. Darker than the rest and almost completely full, it stands out for a completely different reason.
Quietly putting everything back where it belongs, I return downstairs to find only one Hoffmann brother still hanging around.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“And so much more.”
Doc chuckles softly, his eyes drifting from me to the open door, “You left the diamond in one of the bunks, didn’t you?”
“Upstairs in the bottom bunk. Those were my instructions.”
“Then you should have no problem following my next ones as well.” He shuffles closer, taking my hand and wrapping it around his own, “If you ever return to this cottage beyond means of accessing our railroad, I will be forced to take action. The eldest brother must protect his family, as I am sure you can understand.”
He squeezes my hand, giving me a soft smile.
“Come near Dorian again and I will personally ensure you cannot walk properly for the rest of your life. Do I make myself clear?”
I stare at the sparkling eyes that could so easily be mistaken for kindness.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then I bid you a farewell.”
Another smile and a squeeze before he lets go of my hand. A piece of metal stays behind, a jagged threat that scrapes my palm with the promise of a hunter’s rifle.
Thoughts jumble and clash as I venture from the cottage, my mind stuck on the bullet casing rattling around in my pocket.
The splotch of black in a drawer bursting with colour.