“I won’t say anything,” I said indignantly, making sure they heard my voice crack. “I wanna stay and help. I need a job anyway and I’ve worked with Peter before.”
Peter nodded confirmation to Roderick, who considered me.
“How old are you?” Roderick asked.
I licked my lips. “I turn fourteen next week.”
“Can you do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut?” Roderick asked.
Peter let out a bark of laughter. “He’s good at doing what he’s told, and I’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut.”
“It’s still not a good idea,” Lochlan interjected. He cast a calculating eye over me. “Don’t you two remember what it’s like to be thirteen?”
Peter smirked. “Better than you’d think. He’ll do just fine.”
“Thirteen-year-old boys are best known for their stupidity, and I don’t want him here,” Lochlan pressed. “No offense, Gil.”
“Hey,” I protested. “I managed to get pixie dust, and it looks like none of the rest of you did. Who’s stupid now?”
Peter hooted in laughter. “He’s got you there.”
Lochlan rolled his eyes. “That was clever, but it was also stupid. And?—”
Roderick interrupted him. “And it isn’t a vote. I’m the leader and I make the decisions.” He glared out of his good eye at Peter. “If Gil steps out of line, it’ll be you who’ll pay for it.”
Peter nodded. “I understand.” He gave me a playful swat on the shoulder. “So don’t ruin this for me.”
Roderick’s dark eyes bored into mine and he held out his hand. “Welcome aboard, young Gil.”
I hated how sweaty his palm was when I clasped my hand in his to shake. For the sake of my own sanity, I couldn’t think about what those hands had done.
For the restof the evening, Lochlan sat moodily in the rocking chair in the corner, knitting on the same scarf I’d seen in the basket when I’d broken in. The scarf had an irregular pattern to it, like Lochlan was still a beginner who didn’t know how to count his stitches or regularly forgot which stitch he was on, so the pattern came out distorted and inconsistent, but in a charming, eclectic way. More skeins of yarn were stuffed into the basket, next to another one filled mostly with mismatched socks.
I avoided sitting on the small stool I’d cracked before, electing to sit cross-legged near the fireplace and listening as Peter and Roderick murmured about shipments and carriers and intercepting parcels. I strained to hear what they were saying, but the clicking of Lochlan’s knitting needles on top of the creaking of the rocking chair and the crackling of the fire made it so I could only pick up occasional disjointed words that didn’t make any sense.
The only recurring words weredustandblood.
“Whatcha talking about?” I asked, coming over to lean on the table next to them.
Peter rubbed his hands together. “Our first shipment will be getting here soon.”
“Shipment of what?”
Roderick grinned. “Porridge, boy. Porridge.”
Peter chuckled then gave me a light punch. “We can’t tell you everything the second you join. You understand that, right?”
“Right,” I said. “But can you at least give me a hint?”
Roderick leaned back in his large chair. “Several months ago, I ordered three crates that went missing when my courier was put in prison, but I know the crates are still due to arrive soon. Now shut up and stay out of this.”
“Right you are,” I said, saluting smartly and returning to where Lochlan was still knitting away.
“I’m awful thirsty,” I told Lochlan. “I was going to draw some water from the well. Do you want me to get you some too?”
Lochlan heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Help yourself to the water in the well, but I don’t need any.” He lowered his voice. “Gil, I’m not trying to be mean when I say I don’t want you here.”
I crossed my arms and frowned. “You called me stupid.”
