A rush of heat warmed Aster’s cheeks, anger and shame burning through her like a fever. She opened and shut her mouth, swallowing back the defensive words rising to her lips.
“You watch your mouth,” Mallow growled, even as Aster struggled to keep her own calm.
“Mal,” Tansy warned in a whisper.
The man drew himself up. “What’d you say to me?”
“Just watch it, is all. You don’t speak ill of our dead.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Russ said, placing his meaty hands on the counter. “I’m going to have to ask you all to leave—”
“Well, maybe your dead should’ve made an honest living for themselves instead of becoming cutthroats and traitors—”
Mallow’s fist flew from her hip and landed squarely across the man’s jaw. He fell from his stool and landed in a heap on the floor, the glass in his hand shattering beside him. Aster stood frozen in shock. If the room had been muted before, it was silent now.
Then, a split second later, it erupted into noise.
“What the hell?!”
“Get them out of here!”
“Get your gun, Russ!”
“What did I say? What the hell did I just say?” the first man bellowed over the chaos as he climbed to his feet and gave Mallow a forceful shove. “No-good ripping criminals!”
Mallow fell backwards into another patron, who cursed and threw a wild punch at her temple.
“Hey!” Tansy yipped. She ran forward and kicked the second man square between the legs. He howled and crumpled to the floor. But then a third man grabbed Tansy from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle and lifting her off the ground.
Rip it, Aster thought. The time for discretion was over. She grabbed the nearest chair and swung it at the third man. It broke across his back. Then somebody else grabbed Aster by her shoulders and yanked her to the ground. Panic shot through her as she landed hard, pain jarring her bones. For a moment the old fear seized her in its jaws, crushing her lungs, forcing bile to her throat. Then Zee jumped over her and landed an uppercut to the man’s gut.
Aster scrambled back to her feet, giving Zee a grateful nod. Everybody was in it now, even Raven, who vaulted over tables and threw half-full pint glasses back at a wild-eyed man chasing her. The once-tidy saloon was being swiftly destroyed, the air filled with the sounds of wood splintering, beer bottles breaking, and fists hitting flesh. Aster quickly found Clementine and stood back-to-back with her, the months of self-defense training she’d learned from the Lady Ghosts clicking into place as she dodged haymakers and countered with precise straight punches to noses and throats.
Then, suddenly, just as a man twice Aster’s size bore down on them, two earsplitting gunshots cut through the chaos.
Everyone stopped and turned. Russ stood behind the bar with a shotgun in his hand. He’d blown a hole through the ceiling with his warning shots, but he looked well past the point of caring.
“I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!” he roared over them all. “YOU LOT!” He pointed a stubby finger at Zee. “OUT!”
Zee was disheveled and out of breath, his dustkerchief askew. They were lucky he was the only one, Aster realized. If anyone else had had their dustkerchief ripped off, they all would have been exposed.
“But sir, our business associate—” Zee began.
Russ stomped out from behind the bar, advancing on Zee. Zee stumbled backwards, hands held up. Russ grabbed him by his collar, dragged him over to the double doors, and threw him out onto the street.
“OUT!”
“Zee!” Clem cried. She and Aster ran out after him, the other girls behind them. They crowded around Zee and helped him up.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Mallow was saying, over and over. “This is all my fault. I just got riled up—”
“Don’t apologize. That bastard had it coming,” Zee said, wiping blood away from his split lip.
Several people had stopped on the street to stare at them. Aster’s cheeks burned, and she averted her eyes. And then, with her gaze cast to the ground, she realized that she recognized the immaculate pair of patent leather shoes in front of her. She looked up, her embarrassment deepening.
And there, sure enough, stood Derrick McClennon, Violet stepping out of their coach behind him. The brim of his bowler shaded his eyes, but Aster could make out the downward turn of his mouth well enough.
“And what fresh hell is this?” He sighed.
* * *
“And of course I’ll pay for the damage,” Derrick was saying to Russ at the bar. Aster and the others stood behind him, Tansy carefully dabbing at a cut above Mallow’s eyebrow while Zee poured whiskey over his bloodied knuckles with a wince.
Russ was still red in the face. “It’s not just that. Your ‘business associates’ here—”
“Employees,” Derrick corrected. Then, turning to glare at the group: “And rest assured, their unacceptable behavior tonight will be foremost among the many matters I have to discuss with them. But I’ve come a long way to meet them here, and I hope you’ll still allow us to use the private room.”
Russ ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Yes, Mr. McClennon, of course. My apologies,” he said, sighing in defeat.
Aster released a breath of her own. If it were anyone else, the bartender probably would demand to know what, exactly, their business was that was so damned important. But folks weren’t in the habit of questioning the McClennons.
Derrick pulled out his coin purse, flashing a charming smile. “A round for the house, while we’re at it. And double for you. For your trouble.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
“Good man.”
Derrick crooked a finger, inviting the others to follow him to the back room. Aster swallowed back the acid resentment rising in her throat. At his soft, measured voice, at the sheer ease of his power. They’d walked in here and within minutes the whole place had practically come down around them in revolt. He’d walked in here and commanded instant respect without even having to ask for it. What must it be like, going through life like that, vanishing all your problems with a wave of your hand?
But this is exactly why we need him, Aster reminded herself. Only someone this high up in the landmasters’ world could tell her how best to blackmail them.
Derrick opened the door to the back room, where a semicircular leather booth wrapped around a polished cherrywood table with a leftover ashtray at its center. A pair of windows faced out towards the street, but he drew the heavy velvet curtains so they could enjoy some privacy.
“Lights, please,” he ordered, to no one in particular, and Zee reached over to twist the gasolier knob to full brightness. Then Tansy closed the door behind them, drawing the little curtain across its window as well. Only once she clicked the lock shut did everyone allow themselves to remove their dustkerchiefs, sliding into the plush booth one after the other.
“So,” Violet said once they were all seated, crossing her arms as she glared at each of them. “Care to explain what all that was about?”
“What had happened was—” Clementine started.
“Don’t worry about it,” Aster interrupted. “We have way too much to talk about.”
“Yeah, like how the hell have you been, Violet?” Mallow asked, grinning. “I really thought I’d never see your mug again.”
“Likewise, Mallow,” Violet answered. “When Aster said you all had made it to Ferron I hoped maybe that meant you’d settled down into a quiet life. But now that I see you’re still scrapping like a bunch of stray cats—”
“It’s not Mal’s fault,” Aster said tiredly. “These people … they don’t want us here. They were spoiling for a fight. I don’t know why you couldn’t have us meet somewhere less public, Derrick.”
Now that they were alone, Derrick had dropped the charming facade he’d used on Russ, and he looked more like Aster remembered him at the Northrock welcome house: tired, anxious, overwhelmed
. He heaved a sigh, running a hand through his red hair.
“Maybe he foolishly assumed you all would be able to behave yourselves in public,” Violet mumbled. The way they had arranged themselves in the booth, it had worked out that Violet and Derrick, the fairbloods, were on one side by themselves. Aster didn’t like it, didn’t like the way Violet seemed embarrassed by them rather than coming to their defense. It didn’t matter if she had a shadow at her feet. Violet was a Good Luck Girl, too.
“Ripping hell, you have no idea what we risked to be here,” she continued.
“Well, this wasn’t exactly a stroll through the park for us, either, Vi,” Aster said, more bitterly than she’d meant to, her hurt turning to venom. “We gave up the Lady Ghosts’ protection to meet you. We came into this snake’s den to meet you—”
Raven caught Aster’s eye, shaking her head subtly. Right. This isn’t about her. Aster swallowed the rest of her words.
Violet opened her mouth to bite back, but Derrick held up his hand before she could. “Aster’s right,” he murmured. “It’s not their fault. It’s as I predicted before … the welcome house fire has put fairblood folks on edge. I wanted to meet somewhere I regularly conduct business so as to reduce suspicion, but … I should have anticipated this.”
“Yes, but we’re here now, so let’s get on with it,” Tansy said, clearly trying to keep the peace.
They began with a series of stiff introductions, each of them greeting Derrick with forced formality while he thanked them and smiled unconvincingly in return. But it wasn’t until Clementine introduced herself that the brittle tension threatened to snap entirely. Derrick’s smile slipped.
“Clementine,” he echoed. “So, then, you’re the one who killed my brother.”
A voltric current sizzled through the group. Violet threw Derrick a warning glare. Zee shifted subtly to protect Clementine. Aster drew herself up and leaned forward.
“We all played our part in that, McClennon,” she said in a low voice. “If it’s going to be a problem, we best go our separate ways now.”
He laughed humorlessly. “A problem? Hardly. It’s the reason I agreed to meet. My brother, he always seemed so … indestructible to me. Indestructible and inevitable, like a train roaring down the tracks. I have spent my whole life running after him … or perhaps running from him. I’m not sure which.” He was avoiding their eyes now, picking at his cuff. “The changes I’d like to see made in our government are changes most would consider impossible, but any person who could kill my brother is a person who has already achieved the impossible, as far as I’m concerned.” He laughed again. “I’m just surprised it’s a little girl.”
Clementine bristled. “I’m the same age as you.”
Aster kicked her under the table. “So,” she said to Derrick, still wary, “you’re sure there are no hard feelings?”
“All feelings are hard. But no—that train needed to be stopped. I can recognize that, even if no one else in my family can. And I can apologize, too, for what it’s worth—I’m sorry, truly, for the pain my brother caused you.” He sighed and seemed to collect himself. “So, Aster, now that you’ve got us all in one room, what did you want to talk about?”
Aster considered Derrick with something she reluctantly recognized as respect. She had not expected him to be so honest with them. Maybe it was all an act, but somehow she didn’t think so. There was a rawness to him, some unspoken sorrow seeping out like blood from an unhealed wound. Aster had seen it half a hundred times before—but never in a man.
“Let’s start with the welcome house fire,” Aster began, clearing her throat. “How did your family react?”
“An excellent question,” Derrick said, seeming grateful for the change of subject. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel, flipping it open to the place he’d marked with a ribbon. The page was filled with neat script. “The leadership of the Landmasters’ Guild had a meeting in the wake of the fire to discuss our response. My father brought me along, and I took notes—”
“Wait—who, specifically, was there?” Aster interrupted.
He paused. “Does it matter?”
“It might.”
He leaned back, closing his eyes as he remembered. “The Harkers and Sullivans, of course, the second and third most powerful Scab families—the Harkers own the majority of the tenant farms, while the Sullivans own the largest railroad, and some of the associated mines as well. Then there were the Cains—new blood from up north, with dustbloods working in the growing industrial sector. And lastly there was Boyle, whose family does business on the coastline south of the Scab, in the shipping industry. There are hundreds of other lower-level landmasters working in Arketta, of course, both inside and outside the Scab, but those five families, collectively, control eighty-five percent of all dustblood labor—including the welcome houses. And the heads of those families have traditionally made up the Landmasters’ Guild’s council. An attack on one of us is seen as an attack on all of us.”
Aster couldn’t help curling her lip as Derrick rattled off the names of the men whose ancestors had carved up Arketta like so much meat for the taking, and who fed on its people’s suffering still. The name Sullivan had been on the lid of every crate and the handle of every pickax in Shade Hollow, the old mining town where she’d grown up, and stitched, too, on the uniform of every ravener who’d ever terrorized her family. As Aster looked around, she saw her disgust written on all her friends’ faces. She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice as she spoke.
“And if you were at this great meeting of minds, does that mean your family’s finally let you into their inner circle?” Aster asked tightly.
“Given the severity of the situation, I think they felt they had no choice but to bring me in.” Derrick hesitated, lacing his fingers together thoughtfully. “Perhaps, in hindsight, the fire was worth it for that alone.”
“Well, I’m glad it worked out so well for you,” Tansy said sourly.
“Hey, easy,” Violet shot back. “Derrick took a lot of heat from his family for letting this happen on his watch. Just because they need his help doesn’t mean he’s on their good side now.”
His freckled cheeks turned pink. “I have never been on their good side,” he muttered. “But suffice to say, this meeting complicates things for us. The landmasters know it was a revolutionary, not some ‘unstable Good Luck Girl,’ who started that fire—and my family suspects you in particular, Aster, though of course they’d never admit to the others that you’re still alive. It doesn’t help that there have been several smaller incidents since then, including the burning of one of the Harkers’ Sweet Thistle fields. As such, they’re taking every precaution to keep the dustblood dissention from spreading any further. They’re putting a zero-tolerance policy in effect at their camps—anyone caught discussing or attempting mutiny will be executed. Meanwhile, our connections in the government will be pressuring the authoritant to give the lawmasters more resources to control the situation.” The authoritant—the head of the Arkettan government. If he’d gotten involved, things really had gone further than Aster had realized. “Authoritant Lockley’s not a member of the Landmasters’ Guild, understand,” Derrick went on, “but he’s been the Guild’s paid puppet for years. And for my family’s part—” Here Derrick looked Aster square in the eye. “They’re redoubling their efforts to capture you. Before, my uncle thought you had gone into hiding or died on the trail, and he was willing to let it go. But now that he suspects you’re still fighting, he plans to hit back harder than ever.” Derrick finally closed his notebook and sat back. “You’ll have my support no matter what you decide—as I’ve said before, I think we have many of the same goals. But, with all this in mind, I ask you to carefully consider whether it’s really worth it to continue with your more … direct approach.”
“Well, it’s funny you should say that, because we’re actually going to be approaching all this more directly than ever,” Aster said. But then she hesitated, suddenly afra
id to expose her fragile plan to the open air for Derrick to dissect with his surgical reasoning. And Violet—Violet would not go easy on her, either. She never had.
But Raven was right … I need her, Aster thought, the truth of it cutting through her stubborn pride.
And she needed Derrick, too.
She took a breath. “We want to blackmail the landmasters into closing down their welcome houses.” There, it was out. “We keep burning down their property, like the welcome house, like the Sweet Thistle fields, until they give in to our demands.”
Derrick stared. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “You must be joking,” he said slowly.
Aster’s cheeks grew warm. “I’m serious as the dead. We need your help deciding which properties to target.”
“Aster, what you’re describing is the work of an army. There is no way you could do enough damage to—”
“You leave the logistics to me,” Aster said. “Like I said, we just need you to point us in the right direction.”
“All directions lead to disaster!” For the first time, Derrick raised his voice, and Violet was quick to quiet him before he was overheard by the patrons outside. He continued in a tight whisper. “You do not understand—you cannot comprehend—the amount of shine these families make off the welcome houses. It is a more lucrative business even than mining. The demand never falters. The supply is endless. Welcome houses are the jewels of any landmaster’s empire—”
Aster stood and reached across the table to grab Derrick by his crisp white collar, her knuckles digging into his sharp collarbones. The wood creaked beneath him as she dragged him closer.
“Keep talking about my friends in terms of ‘supply and demand’ and see what happens,” Aster said through her teeth.
“Aster,” Violet hissed.
“Easy,” Zee pleaded. “We can’t afford another fight here.”
The Sisters of Reckoning Page 10