croft and wandered down to take a look. Augustus, unconscious, soaking, had been sprawled across the threshold, legs bleeding. Sheâd run back and got Maddoch.
âLucky for you, Mr. Rose,â Maddoch says. âI was just about to go in for the wifeâs prescription.â Throughout heâs avoided Augustusâs eye. The scars have unbalanced him, confirmed the croft arrangementâs a mistake. Augustus foresees the clipped attempt at eviction, the thought of which, the effort itâll require to talk Maddoch down, makes him dizzy.
âI came here fâra holiday when I was little,â the girl says. âAlways thought Iâd come back one day.â
âIâve told her,â Maddoch says. âThereâs no work. Summer, maybe, but not now.â
âBest be off anyways,â she says, standing suddenly. âJust wanted to make sure you were okay, you know?â This is her catching herself. She relaxes into things, makes quick friendsâthen snaps awake, remembering you donât relax into things, the friends turn out to be not friends. Best be off anyways.
Augustus knows the timing for the fifty pounds has to be right if he doesnât want Maddoch interfering. He waits till theyâre both out of the door then gets up and, after a momentâs adjustment to the floorâs pitch and swing, goes after them. Movingâs a succession of cattle-wire shocks, dull bites in the bones. The walletâs in the overcoat where it should be, as is the gun. At the croftâs threshold cold air surprises his face, neck and hands, sets the feverâs pins-and-needles off again.
âJust a second, Miss.â
Her face when she turns shows a reflex fear that sheâs to be called to account, smothered quickly in a smile. Augustus beckons her, aware as he does so not just of Maddoch observing, realizing heâs missing something, but of the wet land and low gray sky, the sheep nibbling the hill. This place avers the planet going on without people, the giant facts of rain and sunlight, the sculpted bulk of deserts, fish-heavy oceans, a wealth of spectacle for no one and nothing.
âHave a drink on me, okay?â
âOch donât be daft,â she says. Itâs her natural attitude but thereâs no disguising the double take and scurry for adjustment when she sees itâs a fifty. Suddenly Augustus knows she spent last night not in a hotel. All these things he knows and doesnât want to, survivalâs gift of vacuous penetration. He shivers.
âGo ahead, take it. I insist.â
She shakes her head but her hands sing from the jacket pockets. He wonders if sheâs on drugs. Doesnât look like a user but you canât tell these days. âIf it makes you feel better,â he says, âIâm loaded.â A gust of wind whips her ponytail forward and what feels like a wet bedsheet against him. He sways, rights himself. Her headâs down, shoulders up.
âMiss?â
She lets out a laugh then sniffs and he wonders if sheâs crying. It only lasts a couple of seconds but in that time he suffers a surge of claustrophobia, caught between the hot room and her bowed head.
âYou donât look loaded,â she says, not looking up.
Whateverâs trying to form Augustus doesnât want it. The roomâs heat presses his back. Everything has to stop and he has to put the fire out and lie down and them not be here.
Maddoch cranes his neck, owl eyebrows raised.
âHere,â Augustus says. He takes her hand (the cold knuckles are prominent) and forces her fingers around the crumpled note.
He doesnât want to look at her but she says, âOkay, thanks,â and lifts her head so he gets one glimpse of her face that suddenly looks exhausted before she turns and walks away.
Â
T heyâve left him alone. Harper sent the guards out for a break, followed them to the door but hung back. For a
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