Chapter Thirty-Seven Donny
It’d been several weeks since Donny had slept soundly. Every day, he felt as though he were morphing into a poor substitution for his absent brother.
He wondered if this heaviness he felt in the crane of his neck, in the bedrock of his stomach, had been carried by Patrick before him and his father before that.
Had it felt to them as though their boots were sinking farther into the mud by the second?
Had Donny truly been so absorbed in himself that he’d never noticed?
For the first time in seven years, the Coal Works was short of coal. Hearths would start emptying around the parish, the pipes would bring naught through its channels. The waters in their tanks and boilers would freeze over.
“A dead winter,” Gunner muttered. The gong of his boot kicking a copper drum rung hollow. “A dead fuckin winter, on top of everythin’!”
The factory floor of the Coal Works sweltered. In his mind, Donny imagined it bulging, the steam collecting along the walls and curling to the roof until the whole place distended. “God bloody help us,” he said.
“Ain’t any way round it,” said Otto. His voice was weary from a shift already spent in the mines. “Nothin’ left to trade with. Gotta keep the Union members happy with somethin’ if not bluff.”
Therein lay the problem. With no bluff to trade, there was only coal.
Triple the amount outgoing than usual, and not half the men to mine it.
There’d been too many good miners lost in the attack.
Even working more than they ought to, the miners that remained couldn’t replace what they were exporting.
“Fuck,” Donny said, pulling his cap from his head and mopping his face. “Someone light me a smoke.”
“Can’t smoke in here, Donny,” said Otto.
“Don’t see no signs.”
“Won’t see my fist flying at your chin, neither,” Gunner growled, his temper barely contained. These days, he was like a feral dog backed against a wall. He’d lash out at anything.
Donny fished a bent cigarette from his trousers despite it. He felt his blood thinning, retreating to his heart. His hands shook.
Gunner slapped the cigarette out of his hand. “I’ll box you till you’re deaf as well, Don!”
“That’ll be the fuckin’ day,” Donny said, fists clenching.
“You need a drink is all,” Otto said on a sigh. “We all could use a night off.”
“I need a fuck,” Donny countered. “Anyone will do.”
“Didn’t you lay with that lad last night?”
“Aye,” said Donny. “And it’s been too many fuckin’ hours since.”
Gunner was prowling, back and forth. Donny couldn’t help but count the minutes ticking by while they stood there, useless.
Patrick would’ve come up with a solution by now, he thought.
He wouldn’t just be standin’ here thinkin’ about his cock.
But Donny had never been as cunning as Patrick, nor as quick, nor as decisive.
Donny could be counted on for the sport of the business, not the strategy.
“Fuck the members!” Gunner was braying now. “Never once thanked us, have they? How many years’ve we spent breakin’ our backs for ’em? I say we keep the fuckin’ coal for ourselves.”
“Can’t feed the parish with coal though, can we?” Donny sneered. “A warm body ain’t any good if it’s starved, you dolt.”
“Call me dolt again.”
“Why does Gunner’s head look like it might burst?” came Scottie’s voice. His footsteps approached, muffled by the hiss of the boilers.
“Don’t worry none. It’s thick as a ram’s. Nothin’s busting through it,” Donny answered. “What news?”
Scottie sighed wearily. “The bad kind.”
“Have mercy.” Donny wondered if there was a bottom to the well, or if they’d drown reaching for it.
Scottie had been to Dorser for an arranged trade in the night. He was late to return.
“Dorser didn’t show,” Scottie said, and Donny heard the cracks of his bones as he stretched. “Waited there half the fuckin’ night.”
An incomprehensible silence ensued. Otto began to pace. There was the sound of a lighter striking.
“Oy!” Donny cried, “Thought you said no smokin’?”
“They’re sendin’ a message,” Otto intoned, voice distant. He exhaled heavily. Smoke infused the air.
“Left a note, too,” Scottie said. There was a crinkle of paper, the slap of it as it collided with someone’s hand.
Gunner read aloud.
“Alchemist and Earth Charmer Sworn into Governing Administration as Lord and Lady,” he said gruffly, voice darkening on the final words.
Donny’s chest concussed. Beyond the pounding in his ears, he heard the sound of paper tearing, flames thrilling as they were fed.
He turned his back on the others, closed his eyes, and tried to think.
“They think we’re colludin’ with the swanks,” Otto growled. “Donny? Did you hear—”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ heard,” he muttered.
“Donny… they won’t trade till we prove we’re on the right side of things. That’s what they’re tryin’ to tell us,” said Scottie.
“I know.”
“Soon they’ll be comin’ down those tunnels lookin’ for bluff.”
“We ain’t got any!” thundered Gunner.
“But we told ’em we did,” Donny said. “And then we flaunted like show ponies for those fuckin’ Dunnitch men.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing, for the first time in his life, that he could block out the spurts of color and plunder himself into the quiet, fathomless dark.
Patrick wouldn’t have made this mistake. He would’ve been miles ahead of it.
“Rally up some of the lads,” Gunner was saying now. “Give them some rifles. We’ll pay those ungrateful fuckers a visit ourselves.”
“And turn against our own comrades, just as they fear we have?” God bloody damn, but he needed silence.
He needed sleep. He needed someone else to take this burden from him.
“That’s how this whole fuckin’ thing unravels, Gun.
From within. It starts with lies. And then we grow distrustful of each other, then fearful, instead of rememberin’ who we’re fightin’.
That’s what the House is hopin’ for when they write those fuckin’ headlines. ”
The other men grew quiet. Donny felt their stares on the back of his head, felt the gooseflesh rise along his neck. “This was our fault, brother,” he said heavily. “Better to lead with something true. That’s what Dad used to say.”
“Aye. Well, he ain’t fuckin’ here.”
No, he wasn’t. It was just the two of them now to look over the business, the Union, their mother, and they were making a mess of it.
“What do we do with the coal meant for Dorser, Don?” Scottie was asking now.
“Fuck those Dorser cunts. We’ll have it here, where it’s needed,” Gunner heaved.
“No,” said Donny, and he felt the decision land in his gut, felt the fingers of it strangle his organs. “Leave the coal at the end of the tunnel in Dorser. They’ll find it.”
“What? Donny—”
“Their population is three times ours,” he continued. “And they’ve suffered their own attack. They’re just as much prone to a dead winter as we are. That’s what Patrick would say.”
“Fuck that! Patrick would tell you to turn your attention to Kenton Hill first. He’d tell you Dorser was someone else’s village!”
“Patrick promised Dorser bluff,” Donny answered. “And until we can make good on it, we’ll act in good faith. Let them see it as a sign that we remain on the right side of this war.”
Scottie cleared his throat. Otto exhaled again, and the smell of sweet tobacco found Donny.
None argued, and Donny wondered if he didn’t want them to. If he wanted them to stomp their feet and tell him no, that he was wrong, that this, too, would prove a mistake.
“What about the market, Don?” said Otto. “We need to fill it with somethin’.”
Donny sighed, pictured Patrick somewhere in the brink, fossicking for the last dregs of terranium this continent had to offer.
They only had to hold out a little longer. Any day now, Patrick would return.
“Call a Union meetin’ in the pub for tonight,” he said. “And be ready for trouble. They ain’t gonna like what we got to say.”
“And what’s that?” Scottie asked.
“That their food sundries now belong to Colson & Sons and will be redistributed evenly, and that all southside residents will be relocated to the north to conserve coal.”
“Fuck,” breathed Otto, and Donny thought he sounded wearier than he ever had.
“Then I’ll get to work divertin’ the gas lines,” Gunner said. “Be easier to persuade ’em to leave when they come home to cold houses.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the words to convince ’em, Donny?” Scottie said carefully, his tone grave. “You better put some balls behind it, or we’ll have mutiny on our hands.”
Donny sighed long and hard. “I’ll find ’em.”