Those who left for the greater unknown never returned, nor were they heard from. It was assumed they had either starved or met their end from some creature of the canyons or hills. Those who returned to the swelter of the cities would occasionally be heard from, but would never return. The re-entry to what passed for civilization took too much energy and the commitment required for the journey was hard to muster a second time. Those who escaped back to the cities were forced to adopt a new identity and the documentation, the background data, required to prove worthy of another indenture was almost as costly as the journey itself.
The loser of a trial by combat often had to choose between a slow death or a slower one, between disappearing into the unknown or the teeming anonymity of the cities. Most chose the slower, out of familiarity, and the fact that no one had ever returned from the merely slow option.
The door swung open and Cranby stepped into the dusty gloom, the breeze of his entrance stirring dust and admitting a flash of light from outside. He peered around the room as if looking for someone, rolled over to a table at the other side of the room, and gestured to the barman. His choice had evidently been known as he walked in because the barman crossed the room with it immediately, set it down, and returned to his work.
Cranby took a drink, set the glass down, and once more looked around the room. He caught Rodrigo’s eye, held his gaze, and nodded. Rodrigo walked slowly across to the table, pulled out the other chair and sat, trying to look relaxed without seeming uninterested.
Cranby took another drink, set the glass down to one side, and leaned forward. He spoke in a low but resonant voice. “I have a job for you.”
Rodrigo didn’t reply, but leaned in likewise, keeping his face neutral, and his hands still.
“I have been concerned that our consulting mining expert, Angstrom, is perhaps not playing straight with us. This run of empty finds seems unusual to me, and to my knowledge, he has never been able to find anything on any claim of anyone’s.”
He paused and took another drink. Rodrigo was aware of the old man’s dramatic style and tried to keep his expression from betraying his interest.
“I think he knows more than he lets on. I think he knows where there is a find to be made. And I think he plans to stake a claim and use some of fancy surveying tricks to say it’s not on anyone’s land and that it’s his somehow.
“I think that’s what he’s up to right now, but I don’t know where. I tried to have him followed but the person I engaged for the job blew it. He got away and what’s worse he may suspect we know about his plan.”
Rodrigo leaned back slightly and rubbed his chin. This was interesting that Cranby was revealing so much. His usual style was to send someone to investigate some area or follow someone around and bring back a report. He almost never told anyone what he was looking for.
“I want to know what he’s doing and where he is. And I want to know as soon as possible. Today, tomorrow, soon. Can you find him?”
“Oh, I think so. Where could he hide and what could he hope to find?”
Cranby scowled. He didn’t like people to appear too confident, as if the task they had been set was too easy.
“He may have gone back to the coast, no? Has anyone claimed he missed any appointments or surveys?”
Cranby slapped his hand on the tabletop, quietly but emphatically. “He has not returned to the cities. I don’t want you to guess where he might be. He is here somewhere and I want him found. Can you find him?”
“Yes, I’ll do it. I can start right away.”
“I want him found and a full report on his activities, and I want it within three days.” He gestured to the barman for another round and they arrived much more quickly than if Rodrigo had ordered his own. “Put his on my tab. He works for me now.”
Rodrigo bowed his head. Cranby was not known for buying drinks for his operatives, especially from before they began working for him.
“I know it was not by chance that I found you in here. I saw Jackson leave sometime ago, and I confirmed that you were in here when I walked by just now.”
It was all Rodrigo could do not to let his surprise cross his face.
“I am always looking for people I can trust, who have good judgment and can get things done. It can be dangerous but I think you’ll find I pay for good service.”
Rodrigo knew this to be bluster, but in deference to Cranby’s mention of good judgment, decided not to point this out. “That’s what I have come to understand about you.”
Cranby acknowledged the reciprocal lie with slight nod of the head and then straightened up, away from the conspiratorial posture. Rodrigo understood his appointment to be over, drained his glass, and took his leave.
* * *
Rodrigo knew he had just one chance to prove himself. Wasn’t he as eager to get a spot on Cranby’s team as anyone? He was sure that Jackson would be just as intent on getting back into Cranby’s good graces.
He returned to his lodgings, lit his lamp, and made his preparations. He would need to have equipment for tracking, for concealment, for self-defense, and rations and water for couple of days. Not that he thought he would flush his quarry that quickly, but he was sure he would get a good lead on him in that time.
He located everything, packed it in a well-worn knapsack with faded Army markings, rummaged around for his boots and a traveling cloak, and tossed it all on a chair. He would get some supplies from the kitchen — some bread, some cheese, eggs — on his way out in the morning. Right now, it was time to get your head down, he said to himself. He turned off the lamp and was asleep in a minute.
* * *
Jackson had retreated to his lodgings but without the same anticipation of the new day. He was seething with rage at Angstrom and Cranby. He knew he hadn’t lost Angstrom. He knew there was something peculiar about how he had just vanished where there was no place to go. But the energy he should have spent on working that out was being expended on the various fates he wished for Cranby, from being walled up in one of his own failed mines, to being hitched like a draft animal to a cart on its way to resupply an excavating team, or being taken back to the city where he had most recently lived to face the consequences of his time there.
Jackson was sure a man with Cranby’s wealth was not here by choice and was wanted by the authorities: he had long harbored a wish to rat Cranby out to the Army’s Inspector Corps. But the officers who passed through were not happier to be out here than Cranby or Jackson. Anything that looked likely to keep them pinned down in one oppressive little settlement for more than a week was not looked at with any enthusiasm.
Slowly, he regained control over his anger and started thinking about his options. He could think of two or three people who could take his place as one of Cranby’s trusties, and he didn’t much like any of them. He knew Rodrigo was scheming to take his place if he could but as the rascals out here went, he was less objectionable than the others. It was an even bet that he had been watching for Cranby while he sat in the tavern. If he had been clever, Jackson realized he should have found some lure to get him out of there and make sure they didn’t connect.
What’s done is done, he said to himself. And harboring more than the usual hatred for Cranby was a career-limiting activity, he reminded himself. Best to vent that frustration on that sly, too-clever, soft-handed mining engineer Angstrom. Would Cranby be that upset if his nemesis met with an accident? His secret would die with him, and Cranby would then turn his suspicious eye to whoever was closest to learning the secret, if there was one. Better to let Cranby have him. Jackson would be back in the game by then and some of whatever Angstrom was hiding would end up in his pockets.