The boot came down so fast, Liam didn’t have time to react. His left leg was cracked out from beneath him, and he fell to the ground with a crash. He coughed out dirt and dust, but kept himself from sounding hurt. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. Animals like this preyed on weakness.
“Oi, wha’ you doin’ down there, Kelly?” laughed one of the Scotsmen, a scoundrel named Roland, moving around to Liam’s back, pushing down with his knee. “Havin’ trouble standing, are ye?”
Liam took a shaky breath. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said.
“Forgo’en? Forgo’en wha’?” asked Roland.
“The money I owe you.”
“Oh!” said Roland, and laughed to his three friends. “Aye, the money. The money you—” He stabbed his knee down harder. “—owe—” and again. “—us.”
Liam nodded, submissive. “It’s just a bit tricky right now, with—”
Roland grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upright, leaned close to his ear and snarled: “It’s always tricky for you lot. Tha’s how we got t’where we are, isn’t it?”
“As soon as I find work, I’ll—”
“Kelly,” said Roland. “Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.” His voice rumbled with cruelty. “Do I look like I care how ye get it?” He chuckled. “Sell yer kin’s bits to the butcher if ye have to. Make some fatty ol’ sausages, yeah? Mmm.”
He laughed to his comrades, and they laughed back on cue. They were a bit west of Lowertown, down near the edge of Sapper’s Bridge. A kind of no-man’s land, where Irish influence tapered off, and Scottish brawn went looking for someone to dominate. No one would come to Liam’s aid here. He had to make it out on his own.
“I’ll give ye ‘til the end o’ the week,” said Roland. “Saturday morn, your choices fall down t’none.”
“S-Saturday?” gasped Liam. “But that’s impossible! There’s no way I can—”
One of the Scots punched him so hard he fell back into the dirt. Sweat and blood dribbled off his face, but again he refused to show weakness.
“‘No way’,” mused Roland. “‘No way’ he says. And wha’ if, for the sake of arguin’, when you’d come to Mr McClintock askin’ for help, if he’d up an’ said ‘nay, laddie, there’s just no way. No way at all.’ What’d you ‘ave done then, hmm?”
“I appreciate the kindness—”
A kick to his stomach sent him flat onto the ground, gasping for breath. It was hot to the touch in the blazing summer sun, like having his face pressed into an iron.
Roland stepped on Liam’s back, and not lightly. “It’s no’ kindness, Kelly. It’s business. An’ right now, your numbers don’t add up in your favour.”
One of the others slipped a long blade from his coat, dropping it down until the sharpest edge was right near Liam’s eye.
“Wha’ happens Saturday, Kelly?” asked Roland.
Liam’s voice took a moment to come back: “You’ll get your money.”
“How much of it, Kelly?”
The blade touched his cheek, ever so slightly.
“All of it,” he said.
Roland leaned down, spoke softly: “All of it.”
And then, just as quickly as they’d caught him, they were gone. He saw them, strolling across Sapper’s Bridge like they owned the whole world, tipping their hats to the ladies they passed along the way. Meanwhile, Liam was still trying to get up off the ground.
A hand reached out for him, and he looked up, squinting past the sun to see a well-dressed man standing there, his coat over his shoulder, offering help.
Liam took the hand and was hoisted back to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said, dusting himself off. “Lost my footing, and—”
“Fell into James McClintock’s men?” asked the stranger, with a friendly smile. “Quite the accident, that.” His accent was peculiar: a little Irish, a little Scots, but smoothed right down by an English purr. He re-offered his hand, to shake this time. “Edwin Poole.”
“Liam Kelly,” said Liam, shaking warily. “Thank you for the help up, Mr Poole.”
“That wasn’t help, Mr Kelly. That was common decency.” His smile twitched a little wider. “But if you’d like help, I’m sure I could oblige.”
Liam felt, deep in his gut, the urge to leave. To run, even, and not look back. There was something about the way Poole was looking at him that felt unsafe. But when he tried to pull back, he found his hand locked in place.
“How long did they give you?” asked Poole.
Liam flinched. “‘Til Saturday.”
“Saturday, hmm,” said Poole. “How much of it have you got?” He tilted his head, watching Liam’s reaction. “None of it? None of it. Good, well, that makes it simpler.”
“Makes what simpler?” asked Liam.
“My proposal, Mr Kelly. Easy to understand, and hard to deny. You see, I am what you might call a broker of sorts. It is my job to facilitate a peaceable and—dare I say—profitable arrangement between aggrieved parties.”
Liam tried to get his hand back again, and again was denied. “I don’t…”
“Look here, it’s simple,” said Poole. “With your blessing, I will head into Uppertown this afternoon—once the sun’s not quite so blazing hot, I should say—and pay Mr McClintock a visit on your behalf. I will pay him what you owe, in full—”
“Wait, why would—”
“—and likely a little more, to ensure you don’t find yourself losing your footing again.” He smiled like a good friend, though he was nothing like a good friend. “So by nightfall—never mind Saturday, Mr Kelly—you will be free and clear and able to live your life.”
Liam frowned. “But I’ll owe you.”
Poole grinned, nodded. “That you will, Mr Kelly.” Liam started to argue, but Poole cut him off. “The principal difference between myself and the McClintock gang is how that debt will be repaid. They’ll squeeze you dry and then light you afire as a warning to others.”
He set a hand on Liam’s shoulder, made sure they were hearing each other clearly. “I prefer to think of men like you as an investment.”
“An investment?”
“Aye, one to benefit the both of us. You see, I will take that debt you owe the McClintocks, and spread it out into something much less burdensome. A little here, a little there. With reasonable interest rates, if you can believe it. As I said, you’re an investment, Mr Kelly. I see great things for you.”
Liam sighed. “Then you haven’t seen my luck,” he said. “There’s no work in Bytown. I’ve tried everywhere, and there’s not even a scrap to hold on to.”
“In Bytown,” said Poole, with a grin. “But beyond…”
He looked east, out to the towering forest at the fringe of town. Liam frowned at him. “Lumber?” he asked. “But the French won’t hire a—”
“As I say, Mr Kelly, I’m a broker. Things others find impossible, I do as a matter of course.”
“But Wright won’t even let Irish in the door…”
“Lucky for you, I’m not that Irish.”
“But—”
“Am I safe in assuming you’re keen to fell trees, Mr Kelly?”
“Aye, always,” said Liam. “But—”
“And if I’ve a way in, would you want it?”
Despite his best efforts, Liam broke into a smile. “Hell yes, I want in!”
“Well excellent,” said Poole, finally letting go of Liam’s hand—and oddly, Liam felt a little emptier without it. “I’ll make the arrangements. The next time you see the McClintock boys, they’ll be bringing you money.”
Liam caught his breath. “Wait, why? How?”
Poole winked. “They run errands for me, too, nearer to the bridge. All you need to remember, Mr Kelly, is this: show up for work, work hard, and we’ll get you your due in a prompt and easy fashion. Expenses deducted, of course.”
Liam’s momentary enthusiasm was melting away fast in the summer heat. “But how much—”
“Enough to get by,” said Poole. “A starving lumberman’s no good to anyone, is he?” He slapped Liam on the arm, took a step back toward the bridge. “Oh, and Mr Kelly? I have, on occasion, worked with men who tried to break their contracts with me ahead of schedule, and find their fortunes elsewhere.” His face went dead cold. “There is no ‘elsewhere’, Mr Kelly. Runners make poor investments. If you take my meaning.”
Liam nodded, and Poole’s smile came back in full force. “Excellent. Enjoy your day, sir! Today is the start of a better tomorrow!”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Liam feeling just as awful as before, but in a different way. He looked down south, toward Corkstown.
A ship was making its way down the canal, approaching the locks. It was stuffed with goods to be traded and sold, its sparse crew sitting on the deck, sweltering in the unforgiving sun. Half-clothed children from the Irish shacks were running along the edge of the canal, calling out for favours—coins, food, whatever was handy. Liam felt like he might as well try that too. Or jump aboard, and disappear somewhere far away.
West, maybe, with Maggie and Rían, and—
He winced when he thought of them, so happy together, so in love with each other and the future they had together. He thought of going back there, taking Maggie’s hand and just dragging her someplace better. Never mind the rest. Just go.
But then he felt the eyes of Lowertown on him, and he turned to see those broken buildings in the distance like ink blots on the horizon. He knew what he had to do.
The magistrate’s office was locked, with no constables in sight, so Liam made a circuit of the marked streets, peering in shops as he went, looking for his brother. Some men were tussling down by a tavern, swinging fists with drunken imprecision. He saw a pair of pickpockets working a crowd so poorly, it was a wonder they had never been caught.
And finally, on the western stretch of Lowertown, he found Rían. Sitting on the steps to Colonel By’s old house, head bowed low, looking like he was melting away.
“Hot one today,” Liam said, settling down next to Rían.
“Hmm,” said Rían, giving a shrug.
“How’s it being a constable? Righted many wrongs?”
Rían grinned, and that’s when Liam noticed the heavy purple bruise near his eye. He laughed. “Ah, the wrongs righted you, then.”
Rían laughed, pointed at Liam’s face. “You’re not so great yourself.”
“Aye, but I got mine bein’ up to no good,” he said. “Nobler wounds, these.”
Now they both laughed, and settled into a happier kind of quiet, in a way they hadn’t had since the days sitting along the banks of the canal, shovels in the muck, counting down the minutes ‘til they went back to work. It felt good, just being again.
“You’re going to be a father,” Liam said. “You feel ready?”
“Do I look ready?”
“I’m still shocked a girl let you kiss her, lookin’ like you do.”
That got another laugh. “Feels like a dream. Like I’m going to wake up and discover none of it’s real.”
“I’ve the same feeling,” said Liam. “Except the other way around. Like there’s a better life I’m living, and I just have to open my eyes to catch it. Someplace—”
“Safer,” said Rían, staring at his bruised hands. “Someplace to raise a family.”
Liam said nothing to that.
“I have this awful feeling she’s right,” said Rían. “That Maggie’s right. That there’s no future to this place. That try as I might, I’m not going to make these streets civil any easier than I’ll keep the sun from setting. That I’m setting myself a goal I’ll never reach, and if I say I won’t do what she asks ‘til the work is done…we’ll just never go. She’s right. We’ll never go.”
Liam nodded. “She has a way about her.”
Rían looked at his brother, face torn by crippling indecision that he’d never felt, not even in those days in Ireland when they’d plotted their escape. “I think we have to go,” he said.
Liam smiled—not because he was happy for his brother, or the decision he’d made—he smiled at the thought of Maggie’s face when she heard the news. Her beautiful smile, the sound of her voice as she laughed in glee and wrapped her arms around him to celebrate the happy turn of events.
He thought of their two little cottages, side by side on the riverside, light breeze easing the heat as the sun went down in a brilliant orange display. Rían fishing in the reeds with his boy at his side, and Maggie sharing a beer with Liam, resting her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing the edge of his arm and settling on his hand and—
The moment he realized what he was doing, he pushed that smile away, tried to stay as close to neutral as he could manage.
“Where to?” he croaked.
Rían frowned, like he hadn’t quite thought of that yet. “I don’t think it matters,” he said. “Somewhere. Somewhere west. Out there. Not here. Elsewhere.”
The word cut into Liam’s gut like a knife. He nearly choked at the sensation.
Elsewhere. There is no elsewhere.
He thought of those cottages, devoured by bright orange flames, as McClintock’s men—Poole’s men—beat poor Rían into submission, and Maggie screaming in terror at their knives as they bore down on him. All he could feel in that moment was the terrible guilt of knowing that he’d always known there is no elsewhere. And yet he’d tried.
He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
“What?” asked Rían, sensing the hesitation. “What is it?”
I can’t go with you, was what he had to say.
You go and be free, was all that mattered.
“Liam, tell me honestly. What should I do? Because I honestly can’t tell which way is up anymore.”
Liam imagined Maggie’s hand on his, saw her eyes wide in fear at the knives coming in to kill, and he found his voice to say—