Chapter 64
Two Sides of a Coin
The lamps swung twice in the wind.
In the mine yard a wagon stood on the open ground, hemp rope, oilcloth, and a few crates piled beside it.
Eren took tonight's escort sheet, looked the wagon over, then tucked the paper inside his vest.
The man on the wagon with him was a tall thin one they called Johnny. Johnny was squatting by the wheel working the rope. When he saw Eren coming he lifted his chin.
"Sheet's fine, we load. Finish early, get home. Heard the road's not quiet."
"Mm."
"You watch the load. I'll go ask at the office, see if handover's still the old time." Johnny tossed him the rope end. "I get back, we count it together."
Eren caught it. "All right."
Once they started loading, the yard went busy at once. The big wood crates came up off the ground one by one and went onto the wagon on the boards. Johnny headed for the sign-off table, calling back as he walked, "Don't let them throw it on any which way. It slides going uphill, we're in it."
Eren stood by the wagon and watched the last few big crates packed tight to the rail. While the loaders were all up at the head lifting sacks, he went around to the tail, dragged two small, ordinary-looking crates onto the bed, shoved them in behind the last row of big ones, and pressed the oilcloth corner down.
Johnny came back just as Eren was smoothing the cloth.
"About done?" Johnny asked.
"About done."
"List's with me. We hand it over at the gate."
Eren took the reins.
Night wind came down the mountain road, sweat off the animals and the men in it. The wheels rolled over gravel, knocking as they went.
When the wagon turned out of the loading shed the lamps were just blocked. A dull sound came from under the bed, like a crate corner had tapped, light.
Eren put a hand on the oilcloth and felt a small rise under his fingertips. He pressed the cloth flat as he went, nothing on his face.
Before they left they still had to check the wagon and sign. The night man was yawning, hat cocked, a stamp in his hand, eyes red from the hour.
"South line, one wagon?" he asked.
"One wagon," Johnny said.
The night man took the shipping sheet, wet a thumb, and turned to the goods column, then lifted the lamp toward the load. The paper said: raw gray Crystone, 36 crates; four rolls of waterproofed oilcloth.
The light slid along the crate corners and held a moment.
Eren held a hand-rolled cigarette out first and smiled. "Do us a favor, make it quick. We've got to get this there. Can't run too late."
The night man clipped the cigarette behind his ear, set the lantern back on the table, and brought the stamp down on the sheet with a slap.
"Go on."
The wheels started again.
Eren got up on the wagon, but his shoulders didn't drop right away. Only when the gray Crystone lamps behind them were swallowed in the dust did he let that breath out slow.
Once they were out of the mine yard there were no road lamps, only moonlight on the gravel track. No other wagons. No one on foot. Just this one wagon on the stones.
The night wind came through. The oilcloth edge slapped the boards again and again. Eren had the reins in one hand, sweat already in the leather, the other hand in his pocket. He watched the dark road in front and every so often looked down at the side rail, like he was afraid those two crates would shake out from under the cloth.
After a while he spoke. "Johnny. You said the road's not quiet. We really lose the load, then what?"
Johnny bit the unlit cigarette back into his mouth and looked at him sideways. "Find it, it's just a fine. Don't find it, we pay. What else. Supervisor and the captain take a hit too, though. They won't make us cover the whole thing."
Eren made a sound in his throat, eyes only on the dark ahead.
Johnny smiled. "I'm just talking. Not that easy to lose. Don't take it for real."
"I know. Just asking."
"Fine. Anyway you're here. Load's not going anywhere."
Eren didn't pick it up. He only closed his hand tighter on the reins.
They went on a while. Building wrecks started to show on both sides of the road, a corner of an old shipping container half buried in the dirt, and farther on a gravel slope and a broken wall.
The wagon had just reached the container stretch when the left rear wheel cracked, a sharp sound, and the bed lurched hard.
Johnny swore and grabbed for the reins. Eren already had a hand on the shafts, holding the animal. He was fast, like he'd been ready.
The wagon rocked a few times and didn't go over.
"Wheel's split." Johnny jumped down and looked. "This damn place."
Eren crouched too, ran a hand around the rim, and found a deep crack.
"Can't fix it." He was on his feet as he said it. "You unhitch the horse, ride back to the yard, bring another wagon. Spare wheel too. I stay with the load."
Johnny stared a beat. "You by yourself? Night, waste ground, sitting on a wagon of goods. You stick out."
Eren looked at the broken walls and the dark. "So make it there and back."
Johnny set his jaw and still nodded. "All right. That's all we've got. You watch yourself."
"I know."
Johnny had the horse off quick, swung into the saddle, and turned back along the way they'd come. The hoofbeats were soon gone at the end of the dirt track.
Only Eren and the broken wagon left at the roadside.
He lifted a slit in the oilcloth and had just reached for the two small crates when someone stepped out of the shadow behind him.
The man was all in black, dust on the coat, hood pulled low. The face stayed in the dark. Only a thin jaw showed. No lamp. A pry bar in his hand. When he spoke the voice was rough.
"Get to it."
One on each side, they hauled the first small crate out from behind the big ones and lifted it down. The box was heavy. It hit the ground and sent dust up.
They carried it around into the gap behind the wrecked containers. The man in black lifted a thin iron plate. Eren shoved the first crate in, then scraped gravel and loose dirt back over the edges.
They went back to the wagon for the second crate.
Right then the man in black grabbed Eren and yanked him.
The next instant a short arrow skimmed the back of Eren's hand and punched into a gap in the container. The shaft was still shaking.
Three or four men came up from behind the gravel slope. The one in front had his padded jacket open, cuffs worn to a fringe. The ones behind held short bows and sticks, standing any which way.
"Just two of them. Move. Grab it and go!" Someone spat on the ground. There was drink in his voice.
Eren's face didn't change. He set the mine guards' ash-blue vest straight and took two steps forward.
"Mine-guard escort," he said, hard. "Another step and you'll wish you hadn't."
The man in front craned his neck and stared at the vest. His face changed. He swore under his breath.
They turned and ran at once, and were soon gone into the waste.
The wind came back. Only sheet iron farther off, banging in the wind.
The man in black looked at Eren. "Keep going."
He pulled the short arrow out, snapped it, tossed it into the gravel, and didn't stop until he'd buried it with his boot.
"Your people? Trying to cut us out?"
"Don't get ideas. If they were mine, they wouldn't have run."
They hid the other crate too.
When it was done Eren crouched, grabbed a handful of dust, and rubbed it into the cut on his hand.
Then the man in black smoothed the traces, scuffed the footprints by the wagon, and turned to go.
Eren stepped in and blocked him. "Pay."
The man in black looked up. "I settle after I move the goods."
Eren's face changed at once.
"What did you say?"
"That's the rule. I still have to get the load out, find a buyer, take the money. Then I pay you." The man in black spread his hands.
Eren closed the last step, caught him by the collar, and lifted him off the ground, back against the wagon.
"The fuck you playing me?"
The man in black hit the wagon and let out a dull sound. His hand started toward his belt on its own, then stopped.
"Let—let go. I'll get you the money."
"Don't try anything."
The smile was gone off the man's face. He looked at Eren's eyes, his throat moved, then he put both hands up to show he wasn't touching a weapon.
"I've got some on me. I'll give you that first," he said. "The rest, this time tomorrow, old drying ground south of town. We settle there."
Eren still didn't let go.
The man in black dropped his voice. "You kill me now, it doesn't get you anything. A body on your hands is more trouble."
Eren set him down, but his eyes didn't move off him.
The man in black coughed twice, tugged the twisted collar straight, then fished a small leather pouch from inside his clothes and held it out.
Eren took it, opened it, and looked. About five hundred Crystone inside.
"Tomorrow. Old drying ground south of town. After sundown."
"You don't show?"
The man in black pulled the hood down and showed an olive-skinned face. The chin was a little pointed, the sockets deep, the eyes bright and slick.
"You know my face now. I stiff you for this much, how do I keep working Rusak?"
Eren closed his hand on the pouch.
It sat heavy. Enough for Little Meng's hospital bills for a few days. It didn't ease him any.
When Eren didn't speak again, the man in black turned into the dark, and only when he was farther off did he add, "Wrap that hand. Blood on the road looks bad."
Eren stopped a beat and didn't turn.
"Shut up."
Not long after, Johnny came back on the horse, a spare wagon and two repairmen behind him.
"I brought them!" Johnny called from a way off. "You all right?"
Eren straightened and pointed at the broken wheel. "I'm fine."
A repairman crouched and looked. "This wagon's done for tonight. Use the new one."
They shifted the load onto the spare wagon together. Night, hurry—nobody was looking close.
When they were on the road again Johnny wiped the sweat. "Good thing you caught it. We'd have gone over."
Eren pushed out a scrap of a smile and didn't say more.
By the time they got the goods there and signed the last receipt, it was getting on to the small hours. Johnny's lids were fighting him. Eren went around to the water trough in back.
The water was cold enough to cut. He put his hand in. Blood and dust came off together and were soon gone in the flow.
The next evening the old drying ground south of town was almost empty. They used to dry grain here. Then the grain road changed, and all that was left were a few rows of broken wood frames and a low wall.
Eren got there a little early.
He didn't stand in the middle. He leaned by a broken frame in the corner. Last night's pouch was still against him. An empty one sat at his waist.
The man in black was neither early nor late.
He'd changed into an old coat, no cloak, a loose ease on his face, and he looked both ways as he came up.
"Right on time," he said.
Eren put a hand out.
The man in black smiled, took a pouch from inside his coat, and set it in Eren's palm.
"Easy. Count it."
Eren counted it in front of him. With last night's pouch it came to about a thousand Crystone, a little over what they'd agreed.
"That'll hold you a while," the man in black said. "More work later, I'll find you again."
The end of it was light, like he was talking to a regular.
Eren tied the pouch shut.
The man in black lifted a hand, almost to Eren's shoulder, then stopped in the air.
Eren looked at that hand.
The man in black took it back, catching himself. "All right. We're not that close."
That look was cold enough that the smile on the man's face drew in a little too.