The first two prisoners the Warden presented now were simple cases of larceny that had been given a disproportionate amount of prison time. Hargreaves gave them both three years in the underworld. If they lived through that, they’d earn their freedom.
The Warden turned to him before leaving to bring in the third prisoner. “The next one is the convict you asked for, the father of the Saint of Silence’s new companion.”
Hargreaves had kept updated on St. Silas. That he had employed a new secretary had not escaped his notice.
“Bring him in,” Hargreaves ordered the Warden.
The prisoner entered in chains, his beard scraggly and gray, his steps shuffling. Oddly, he didn’t give the same fearful half glances as the other convicts. Instead, his gaze was steady.
“What have you been sentenced for?” Hargreaves asked, eyeing the man with distaste.
The prisoner’s Morish was heavily accented. “A lifetime for treason.”
Hargreaves switched to Algaraan effortlessly. It was better this way, away from the Warden’s understanding. “What sort of treason?”
“I attempted to start a union.” The prisoner smiled. “You areEffendiHargreaves?”
Hargreaves inclined his head.
“My dearest daughter worked for you once.”
Hargreaves raised a brow. “In the kitchens?”
“She was a lady’s companion for your mother. Not for long. Her name is Leena Al-Sayer.”
Hargreaves straightened and stared at the man.A lady’s companion? Who worked for him?He had gone through many lady’s companions with his mother as her memory increasingly deteriorated. The name rang a bell in the recesses of his mind—a young girl who had handed in her notice without any explanation.Shewas St. Silas’s new companion?
His Lordship studied the prisoner. “You attempted to start a union? For what purpose?”
“For progress,Effendi.For better wages, for safer conditions.”
“Is that it?” Hargreaves’s tone was derisive. “I’ve seen men like you—men who yearn for destruction, for chaos. You were hoping to start the same revolution that occurred in the homeland.”
“Have you called me here to speak of politics?” The prisoner glanced disdainfully at the manacles encircling his wrists. “I used to lecture in history at the Algaraan University. You Morland nobles fear an uprising—and, yes, you are right to fear one. If the Algaraan revolutionaries win the war—”
“They have won. The Malik is soon to hang.”
The man stepped back, shock widening his eyes.
“What did you say that surprised him so?” the Warden asked, but Hargreaves ignored him.
“The war is over?” the prisoner whispered, then let out a booming laugh that ended in a coughing spasm.
Anger stirred in Hargreaves’s chest at the prisoner’s joy. “It is men like you who make orphans. What does Algaraa have to show for its revolution? An unstable country, derided by all. I am trying to set right what you and your kin have done wrong.”
“Your kin as well, my lord,” the man interrupted him. “Do not forget this. We are countrymen. We share a homeland.”
Hargreaves turned to the Warden, speaking in Morish. “Fifteen years in the underworld is fair for this man. That will serve to stabilize his more dangerous sentiments.”
The Warden bowed. Just as the prisoner was dragged from the room, Hargreaves called at him in Algaraan, “Are you aware that your daughter is currently working for the Saint of Silence?”
The man started, his face paling under the layer of dirt. “My daughter?Leena?You must be mistaken,Effendi.I have warned both my children never to have anything to do with that con man.”
Ah, interesting.He indicated to the Warden to take the prisoner away. Hargreaves would keep an eye on him in the underworld until he found a use for him.
As the door shut behind him, Hargreaves leaned back and closed his eyes. His thoughts trailed back to that first prisoner they had traded all those years ago, and the memories that had sunk their teeth into him.
Percy, you fool,Hargreaves thought to himself.If you had stuck with this endeavor, if you hadlearned to practice economy, if your greed hadn’t corrupted you, then you would have kept Weavingshaw. And the Avon line would not have ended.
