“Or fingerless,” his companion put in, guffawing.
“Two weeks is hardly enough time.” This was George, his reply barely audible.
“Two weeks is all you get. Be grateful it ain’t two days—that was my recommendation.”
Zaria was struggling to hold her tongue. Part of her wanted to burst through the door to George’s office and—what? What could she possibly hope to accomplish that wouldn’t make everything exponentially worse? The injustice of it all was infuriating, but nothing she said or did would make a difference. What did Ward or his men care for justice? It was common knowledge that the kingpin requested more money each month just because he could. That Zaria hadn’t seen this coming was the most ridiculous part of all.
The sound of footsteps interrupted her mental spiral, and she scrambled away from the door in the seconds before it opened, slipping into the pawnshop and hoping to hell the kingpin’s men went out the back way.
She only relaxed once a full minute had passed, letting her shoulders slump as she considered what to do next. She yearned to confront George. To ask him what he would do if he couldn’t get the money in time. Did he plan to tell Jules? ShouldZariatell Jules? She knew George was a proud man, and he wouldn’t be pleased to know she’d eavesdropped on that particular conversation. But even if he wasn’t likely to have toldherwhat had happened, she had to imagine he would tell his own son.
She would give him time to do the right thing. And if he didn’t, Zaria would have to decide whether to tell Jules herself.
ZARIA
THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A BLUR OF ANXIETY. BETWEEN THEdeal involving the faulty explosive and what she’d overheard from George’s office, Zaria felt trapped in a corner. Jules had stopped by her room shortly after she’d gone to bed, showing her the salve the Hoffmans had given him for his swollen nose, and it had taken every ounce of her self-control to force a grim smile when he reassured her—once again—that they would find a way to get her more soulsteel.
She hated keeping things from Jules. The weight of all she wasn’t saying was a physical sensation pressing down on her from every angle. George had left shortly after the kingpin’s men last night, and Zaria had pretended nothing was amiss, returning his curt nod as he swept outside. She’d wondered where he was going. If there was any possible way he would be able to pay his debts in a mere fortnight. She sincerely doubted it. George’s capacity for outright denial wasunmatched. If she knew him at all, he would pretend last night hadn’t happened and carry on as he always did. Not for the first time, she considered talking to him, but she knew from experience it wasn’t likely to make a difference.
In the end, she’d spent much of today simply trying to avoid Jules. It turned out to be easy; he was still contending with all the items that had been pledged yesterday. Every week followed the same pattern: People from all over the slum made their pledges on Monday, then returned Saturday to redeem them. By then, they would have received their weekly wages, and as a result, Saturday was known in pawnshops as redemption day.
Would that cycle come to a halt in two weeks’ time? It went without saying that Zaria would rather see the pawnshop close than see Jules forced to work for the kingpin, but the idea still unnerved her. No matter how she tried to convince herself it could be a positive thing—wasn’t she always looking for an excuse to get out of here?—she knew that it would only make their lives worse. They’d end up homeless, forced to sleep in filth and pick up low-paying factory jobs. Penniless, they likely wouldn’t even make it out of Devil’s Acre.
Nausea festered in the pit of her stomach as she watched Jules organize the shop’s meager offerings. She’d come to help him close up, just as she always did, but her lack of focus was blatant.
“You okay?” Jules asked, wiping dust on the front of his trousers as he finished with a shelf of dishware.
Zaria nodded. “Just tired.”
It was the truth—she still hadn’t recovered from the previous week’s work. But Jules knew her better than that. He snatched a gilded cane from one of the shelves, eyes narrowing as he pointed it at her. “A porkie if I’ve ever heard one.”
“I’m not lying!”
“See, here’s the thing,” Jules said, letting the cane drop. “It makes no sense for you to deny it when we both know I’m smarter than that. Iknowyou’re not okay, Zaria. I get it. But we’ll get through it like we always do.”
She nodded again, trying to push away the mental image she couldn’t stop conjuring: one of Jules pointing arealweapon, expression cold as he carried out the kingpin’s warped version of justice.
“You know what I think?”
But Zaria never did find out what Jules thought. He trailed off, consternation twisting his features, as the door to the pawnshop gave an audibleclick.
They both froze in place. Jules’s eyes, as wide as dinner plates, met Zaria’s through the candlelight.
Wind?he mouthed.
She gave a single shake of her head, hissing, “You locked it. I’m certain.”
Thieves in the slum didn’t limit themselves to picking pockets, and Zaria had forgotten her knife in her workshop when she’d changed clothes earlier. Her heart was frantic as she took a step closer to Jules, scanning the shelves for something to use as a weapon.
The door swung open, a whip-quick motion.
A shadowy figure stepped inside. It was clearly a boy: Tall and lean, clad all in black, and when the light caught the angles of his face, Zaria realized sheknewhim.
“Who the hell are you?” Jules demanded. “We’re closed, and it’s well past visiting hours.”
The only response was a soft laugh. The boy shut the door and moved more fully into the candlelight’s illumination. Yes, Zaria thought, that slicked-back hair, those sharp features, the overconfidentset of his shoulders… it was one of the dark market lackeys from the other night. His elder companion was nowhere to be seen, but Zaria didn’t doubt he was close. Men like this rarely worked alone.
Zaria shot Jules a look, indicating he should be cautious. Taking a step forward, she said, “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here or why you’ve broken our door, but Saville isn’t getting his money back.”
