Chapter 21
Iwipe my sweaty brow, then resume sawing the plank of wood I’m holding down on the picnic table.
‘Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?’ Little John asks from the bench beside me, where he’s lying in the shadow of the table.
‘Because it’s hot out.’ And this stuff is dirty. I wipe my blackened fingers on my trousers, achieving nothing. Some of these salvaged boards got more than a little kiss from the flames.
‘Yeah, but I’m not allowed to take my shirt off. Why do you get to?’
‘Because my mum isn’t here.’
‘I think you should talk to my mama and ask if I can take mine off.’
I push the saw back and forth the final few strokes, and the jagged, burned end of the board falls to the ground. ‘And what would I say to convince her?’
‘Tell her it’s hot out and we’re working men.’
I quirk an eyebrow.
‘What? I’m helping,’ he says.
I smirk as a blonde girl his age sets a cup filled with wildflowers on the table. Since it’s Sunday, everyone’s off from the mine and doing chores, like washing clothes by hand and cooking. Or, like me, cleaning up the damage from last night.
‘What are they doing?’ I ask Little John, gesturing at the lanterns being hung on sticks all around.
He sits up and shields his eyes from the sun. ‘Decorating. They always do that for the New Moon celebration.’
I grab another mangled piece of blackened wood. ‘They’re still going ahead with that after last night?
Not for the first time, I see Rufus watching me from where he’s sitting at another table. I noticed him doing that last night too, after the fire.
Little John shrugs. ‘Why not? Dancing is fu–’
‘I see you’re working hard.’
I turn and find Agatha smiling. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
She pats her long skirt, looking out of her element here. Her gaze skims my chest. Maybe Little John’s mum was right. Damn, where is my shirt?
‘His skin is the colour of a plucked chicken, ain’t it?’ Little John says. ‘Well, maybe one that’s roasted a little bit. Or is that not what you’re starin’ at?’
Agatha’s face reddens.
I clear my throat. ‘Out for a stroll?’ I ask Agatha.
She exhales. ‘Yes. I didn’t hear about the fire until it was over. So sad.’ Her fingers twine together.
‘Well, there’s lots of it to see.’ I adjust my plank and return to sawing.
‘I actually … I was wondering if you wanted to join me at the pond? I was going to dip my feet in the water, since it’s so hot today.’
Cold water sounds like a dream right about now. But alone time with Agatha? Wouldn’t want to give her the wrong idea. I make a show of surveying the mountain of boards that need to be cut and reinstalled. ‘Doesn’t look like I’ll be free for a while.’
‘Maybe I could help?’
‘You know how to work a saw?’
‘No, but you could show me.’
I find my shirt and give her a brief lesson, then take a pile of the already-trimmed planks to one of the houses being rebuilt.
A man named Pedro has already framed the small house but because of the lack of proper tools, it looks like a piecemeal shack of countless small boards. Although, I doubt even the master carpenters from Kingsland could do much more with these supplies.
Pedro is explaining his vision for a window when Rufus pops his head in.
We haven’t had a chance to speak since yesterday. But between his facial scars that match the ones from my latest nightmare, and the way he’s been eyeing me from the shadows, he’s not exactly calming my suspicions.
It solidifies my gut feeling – we’ve met before.
As if he’s inspecting our work, Rufus runs his finger over a jagged plank. ‘I’m sure Shenna’s going to be real happy you’re rebuilding this.’
‘You here to help?’ I ask.
‘Actually,’ Rufus turns to face me, ‘I was hoping I could have a word.’
Pedro looks wary – I see Rufus’s reputation as a snitch precedes him. ‘I’ll go gather more wood,’ he mutters, stepping out.
Rufus smiles. ‘I have an update on getting you a real big ring for your girl. I’m even working on finding you a selection to choose from. But I need to know your budget. I’m assuming big. Also, what’s the timeline? Have you popped the question yet?’
He’s sure got the smarmy grifter part down. ‘Not yet,’ I say, playing along with this fake engagement idea. ‘Gotta convince her father first. But tell me, where do you get your rings from? Are they stolen?’ Do you steal them yourself?
He smirks. ‘I source ethically. Of course, I can’t reveal my contacts.’
Right. I eye him. Business must not be booming because he looks destitute.
Dirty clothes over a thin and wiry body, honed from working the mine.
His weathered skin is like an old boot, and his greying blondish hair is overgrown.
The only thing imposing about him is his height and broad shoulders, but I’m not sure he has the constitution of a cold-blooded killer.
Although anyone can kill under the right circumstances.
‘And you have such good connections because you were a trader?’ I ask.
‘For fifteen years. Too dangerous to keep it up,’ he admits, raising his missing hand.
‘Yeah, when did that happen?’
His eyes cloud over, just like when I asked about the scars on his face. ‘Years ago.’
He’s evading. I roll my shoulders, digging for patience as my blood pounds harder. I can feel it; I’m on to something. ‘You said I reminded you of someone, and honestly, you look pretty familiar, too. In fact, I think … I was there when you got that scar on your face.’ I gauge his reaction.
Caution enters his eyes.
I press in closer. ‘You ever try to rob people? Hurt them?’
His mouth opens, then his wide eyes dart towards the exit. He’s afraid.
It unlocks something in me, and suddenly the faceless man from my nightmares merges with him. I see Rufus push Mum to the ground. It’s him who lunges with the blade.
I slam him into the partially finished wall, my knife at his throat before he even thinks to look down. ‘Why don’t you tell me how you got that scar on your face?’
He pants, his breath sour. ‘Hey, now. Calm down.’
I grind my teeth as a tidal wave of deep-seeded fury – the kind that only comes from justice being denied – crashes over me. I shake him hard, cracking his head against a log.
His Adam’s apple bobs. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says. ‘I recognise you, too.’
I inhale, bracing. ‘Say it,’ I command. ‘How do you know me? Tell me what you did.’
Rufus blinks rapidly, eyes wild. ‘I-I know you’re from Kingsland.’
I lean in harder. How has he not sold me out to the Commander yet? ‘Keep going. How did you get that scar? The truth!’
‘A woman.’ He grits his teeth. ‘Your mother, Samantha.’
I knew it. ‘You killed my father,’ I whisper.
He stills beneath me. ‘No.’ He squints. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. Ryland, I am your father.’