dire and terrifying, just like they were right then as he forgot to count steps and remembered that camping trip and worried they were dragging a dead girl across the sand.
She made it out of No Mans Land, Conner finally said, as if he could sense Robs worry. Shell make it to town.
Rob didnt argue. He dug his boots into the sand and tried to do as much work as his brother. He could feel a blister forming on the back of his heel. He was tired. Theyd only gone to sleep what felt like a few hours ago.
Whatre the chances someone would show up on this night? Rob asked his brother. This night of all nights?
Not good, Conner said. The same as dropping a grain of sand and then finding it again. Those are the chances.
Rob thought so too. She said she had a a message from Father. He grunted between words from the effort of the haul.
She was delirious. Keep quiet and pull. Lets head to the right a little and around that next dune. Get in the lee.
Rob obeyed. He kept his thoughts to himself. Which meant he couldnt know if Conner was piecing together all that he was piecing together. Coincidences didnt make sense, but if they did happen, they could get you thinking really strange thoughts. He knew a boy in Shantytowna kid in his classwhose roof had caved in twice, both times on his birthday, six years apart. It had buried him in drift both times, but they had dug him out. Now he sleeps under the stars every birthday and wont listen to sense about it. He also hates the number six. And as much as Rob found this silly, he was pretty sure hed be the same way if that had happened to him.
And now his brain was whirling with all kinds of new facts. People came out from No Mans Land. That wasnt supposed to be a thing. So maybe Old Man Joseph wasnt so crazy after all. Old Man Joseph claimed to have been to the other end of No Mans Land and returned, but no one believed him. But maybe. And maybe Father was alive out there somewhere. Maybe he had sent this girl to them. And if so, he had sent her to arrive on the night he and his brother would be there. But there was something else about what she had said
Hey, Conner?
Jesus, Rob, what the fuck is it?
She didnt say your father. She just said Father.
Save it, Rob. Im thinking.
Rob felt the blister on his heel go. Raw flesh began to rub. Sand would get in, and then the real hurting would begin.
Im thinking too, you know. He bit his lip and tried not to limp, tried to be strong. His brother took a deep breath beside him.
I know. Im sorry. Whatre you thinking, little brother?
Im thinking the way she said Father, it was like hers and ours are the same one.
They reached the lee of a great dune, and the whispering wind fell quiet and the rushing sand was no longer at their ankles but high above their heads. Conner eventually answered.
Ive been thinking the same thing, he finally said.
37 The Sand-Filled Screams of the Dying
It was the damn water prices. The cost per liter had nearly doubled that year, which meant a near doubling in the price of beer. And the Ladies of the Balcony still needed their showers. Not so much for their clients to stand themclients who could hardly be expected to nose their wares over their own stenchbut so the ladies could stand themselves. Rose had put it off longer than she should have. Shed have to jack up the price of a pint and hike the room rates again. There would be bitching and moaning when she announced the both; people would act as though she were gouging for the fun of it. Truth was, the whole place would shut down if they had another month like this.
The din of activity beyond her door, of people spending money, served as temporary comfort. News of Danvars discovery had the divers in a mood. Even the Lords seemed interested.
They were already scrambling for who might have title based on mineral claims, arguing and spilling beer on ancient maps. Rose had seen this play out before. There would be a frenzy of spending all the spoils one hoped to make. This would be followed by the lean times of those same gamblers asking for loans and handouts. People hardly took a breath between these extremes. It was the stagger home of a drunk who could hit every dune on either side as he lurched a thousand paces in what he mightve crossed in ten.
But Rose knew a slow rise could lead to just as precipitous a fall. She had married a man whod decried such fits of gluttonous frenzy. Her husband had made his gradual fortune, had climbed a slope of infamy up that peaceful dune to the heights of the great wall, and had stepped right off just as neatly. All he might have left her was snapped up by villainous thugs who gave themselves title and who thought a bath and a clean robe made them natural born princes. She had been left with nothing but the Honey Hole, which her husband had won in a game of dice.
It had only been a place to stay the night she was tossed out with her children. But then it had been a business to manage, her only source of income. She took care of the girls and tended the bar, grew some vegetables on the roof, whatever it took to keep the water flowing. But each passing week drew the noose tighter and tighter around her neck. She looked for a buyer, but who would buy a place that barely broke even? Everyone else got their pay, she made sure of that. The drunks who swept up in the mornings for a pint made more profit than she. There was nothing left for Rose after the school fees for the kids, after the dive gear Palmer and Vic needed in order to not lose their spots. There was nothing left to help them start a life of their own, help them open a business, rent a stall in the market, anything. Nothing but mounting costs. Piles of coin transmuted into piles of resentment. Resentment that left her bitter toward her husband for bolting in the night, for leaving her a tent and a whorehouse to choose between.