The Keeper’s eyes glinted, as if he sensed her fear and relished it. “I do apologize it took us a few days to reunite you with your husband. There are so many newcomers, and the record master is busy comparing names in the logbooks. It can be tricky when false names are used, but this deep in Mortise, men feel safer.”
Her palms sweat, and ice slivered in her veins. She needed to get the children out of here. Even if Venn came, he’d only be walking into the same trap they had. And there was no way he could fight off so many men.
She could grab her knife. Threaten the Keeper. She would need to be careful with Rebecca, but even a small distraction could allow enough time for Finn and Sarah to run. They could find Venn—
“Of course, some people don’t trust the guards of Salvation,” the Keeper said. “Some prefer to trust the beggars to keep an eye out for their friends and family.” The man lifted his voice. “Do come in, Martin.”
The door pushed open and Vera’s stomach dropped when she saw the greedy beggar shuffle into the room.
The Keeper tossed the man a pouch of coins, which he caught with his mutilated hands. “Men trust the beggars because of their greed,” Phillip Dunn said. “Of course, the missing fingers help as well; it makes one trust, because of the shared experience of being questioned by the Hunt. People like Martin are quite useful to us.”
The truth hit Vera like a kick to the gut, and panic tightened her lungs.
Martin was working with the Keeper, which meant Venn wasn’t coming.
By the time he returned to the tent, hours would have passed, and he wouldn’t know where they were. He wouldn’t be able to find them.
“Now, no need to fight or scream,” the Keeper said, his voice horribly soothing. “We don’t let any actual refugees camp near here. And we know you hired a protector—a Venn Grannard. If he persists in asking questions, we’ll deal with him. He wouldn’t be the first hired protector to leave once the coin stopped, though. And you aren’t the first people to disappear here. The wonderful thing about a refugee camp is that no one really ever notices the people around them.” He clapped his hands together. “So, shall we go have a conversation with your husband? I’m afraid he’s been reluctant to admit to his rebellious activities. For your sake, I hope your presence loosens his tongue, or things will become very painful for all of you.”
Chapter 18
Venn
Venn sat in his usual spot in the camp square, with Zander beside him. They’d given their names to the representatives that morning, and now it was midday.
Of course, neither of them had been called up.
At least they had each other’s company to help pass the time. It made the mindless wait a little more bearable.
“There’s something wrong with the prison,” Zander said suddenly, his voice musing.
“What do you mean?” Venn asked.
The man darted a look behind them, at the wooden structure. “I haven’t seen people coming in and out of it. No visitors, guards, or new prisoners.”
“Maybe there aren’t any prisoners in there right now.”
“Perhaps . . .”
“There are a lot of patrols,” Venn said. “They could be enough of a deterrent.”
“True.” Zander frowned. “Still, something here isn’t right.”
Venn agreed, but he wasn’t sure what more they could learn until they spoke to the men in charge. “If we don’t get an appointment by this evening, I might try forcing my way into the tent.”
Zander huffed. “You’ll just get arrested. What good would that do?”
Unfortunately, he had a point. “Have you ever seen anyone actually be granted an interview?” he asked.
“Yes, but it’s sporadic. And requests aren’t always granted in the order they’re made.” Zander’s brow creased. “It’s strange. Why grant requests at random?”
“Maybe it’s not random.”
Zander eyed him. “What do you mean?”
Venn rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really make sense. They only know our names—they don’t askwhywe want an appointment. So, what would compel them to skip over some in favor of others?”
Zander crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. It goes against the otherwise organized nature of the camp.”
