“We ain’t thieves, and if he’s really found something, he’ll never miss the little bit that might come our way. It ain’t like he’s done anything to make anyone feel like he deserves a big find. If he had found anything for anyone else, it would be different.”
Rodrigo hid a smile, knowing full well it made no difference at all. Jackson would lift his share from his own mother’s discovery without a second thought. And if he had a second thought it would be to wonder if he hadn’t taken too little.
“Well, I don’t know where he is or what his plans are. For all we know, he’s in the belly of something that cares even less for him than you. Another?”
“No, I’ll get yours next time. I need to see about some things. So long.”
Rodrigo watched him walk away and through the doorway. His agitation had passed, but Rodrigo could see he was still anxious. The conversation had been enlightening, when it wasn’t re-hashing old scores. So the rumor was the outsider was going to dig up a score after failing to find anything for anyone else. Curious, but not believable, necessarily. That rumor was likely to fade quickly, and the prevailing one — that there was nothing to find in any of the old workings or in any new holes — would return to its former prominence.
At any rate, it was best to be seen as available if Cranby was shaking up his roster. As the barman emerged, Rodrigo ordered another and headed back across to where he been before Jackson arrived. He could survey the street from there and if his potential new employer happened along, he could put himself in his way.
* * *
Jackson walked slowly back to his lodgings, clenching and unclenching his fists. He may have talked too much with Rodrigo. He didn’t really trust anyone but there were degrees of untrustworthiness and Rodrigo was at the top of the scale. He knew why he was waiting in that tavern and why at that table. He was clever, no doubt about it, but Jackson had been here too long to surrender his place to anyone. He had been on the outs with Cranby before, but had been lucky enough to have no real competition. His erstwhile successors had made a hash of everything they were assigned and he resumed his old duties within a week. And he didn’t make Cranby beg, though that was mostly out of a sense of panic that Cranby might not take him back on.
Of the few who had significant holdings in and around the settlement, Cranby had by far the largest share. The two next largest summed up to match his, and they were in a perpetual state of panic that the other would sell out and leave him marginalized. Cranby had built his holdings the old-fashioned way, by ruthless bargaining, opportunistic dealmaking, and cheating. He was a gambler by nature, but he liked an ace up his sleeve. Better still to make sure no one else had one, though. It looked less like cheating if the other guy couldn’t pin anything on you. So he was careful not to let anyone know what he was doing or where he was exploring. He did much of his work through intermediaries and operatives, so it was hard to tell what he was involved in.
This arrangement suited Jackson just fine. Having the boss at arm’s length meant there was very little supervision. What the eye doesn’t see, the heart can’t grieve over, so if a little bit of the various mineral finds made its way into someone’s boots or pockets, who was any the wiser? Cranby was aware of the potential for this, but deemed it an acceptable cost of doing business. Better let his operatives feel some sense of solidarity against him than set them against each other and have them running back to inform on each other at every opportunity. One on one, they knew he all but owned them, and if they wanted to strut and boast when he was out of sight, that was fine.
He was sure he couldn’t be losing much to his sticky-fingered field hands and rarely gave it a thought. It would be a simple matter to have the mails inspected to see what they were sending back, but he had refrained from that. He needed them all to be corrupt enough to bind them to him, and dependent on their skimming and other graft to feel like working for him was their best option. So far, it had worked. Others had come to bankroll their own operations, but they found it impossible to hire local expertise and put together a team they could rely on. The experienced hands weren’t eager to train a new boss and with their fingers in the pie, they felt they were best off where they were.
So the new would-be tycoons had come to town, spent a lot of money on lodging and supplies, tried to make a go of it, and left, with lighter pockets and bruised egos. It was always with mixed feelings that Jackson, and the others who made it impossible for them to stay, watched them go. There was the unspoken hope that one of these would be the one to beat Cranby at his own game. But that would be impossible. He owned too much and he was ruthless. The network of people and information that he controlled was where the value was, and removing him would cause it all to collapse.
Someone could buy him out with the proviso that he stay and run things, but no one had been foolish enough to try that. His asking price would be too high and it was obvious to anyone that he could not be trusted. So he stayed on, keeping his closest rivals at bay with rumored offers to buy one or the other — rumors were an excellent way of shaping public opinion and he had no shortage of people who would transmit them — and making sure his inner circle stayed corrupt without being outright crooks.
* * *
Rodrigo didn’t have to wait long. He was on his third glass when he saw Cranby step out of his front door and propel himself along with that curious rolling gait of his. His legs seemed to move independently of his torso and upper body, so that as he walked, everything north of his belt-line — which was most of him — rolled back and forth. It was hard to decide if it made him look foolish or intimidating. He took a lot more of one’s visual field, but he looked like a puppet whose legs were the only things being controlled.
Rodrigo suppressed a smirk at the curious figure approaching and debated ordering a draught for Cranby. He didn’t know what it was, but he figured the barman didn’t need to hear more than who it was for to know what to pour. He decided against it, in case Cranby wasn’t looking for him and out of fear of the cost. He suspected Cranby had more expensive tastes that his own.
His spirits fell as we saw the other man pass the window, on his way down the street. He wasn’t sure where he could be heading, but he was surprised at how he felt. He had set himself up for that, he told himself. This was no place for optimism, despite his natural tendency to look on the bright side. Expect the worst and you’ll never be disappointed, was the mantra of many here, but not his. Even after several days of digging out cave sections, crawling over the detritus of various subterranean creatures, sloshing through underground streams, he never stopped thinking that today might be the day when someone found something to make all this work worthwhile.
Some of the men he worked with secretly hated his ability to stay positive, preferring to kvetch and grouse over their liquor rations or in the taverns. And to be honest, insults, ribald stories, and practical jokes were more enjoyable with leavening of malice. The atmosphere could sometimes get tense as jokes and insults crossed over that line that only the object of the joke can see, but in most cases, no offense was taken. On some rare occasions, long-simmering feuds were sorted out by trial by combat, and these often ended in serious injury or even maiming.
There were a few locals who had left a limb in the hills that encircled the settlement, but not always in the course of a day’s work. An inability to take on any but the least remunerative work, coupled with an obligation to work off an indenture, had impacted some of the old hands. Their bondholders were unwilling to forfeit the agreement, and the result was someone passing his time as frugally as he could, until he either worked through his agreement or disappeared. Some would smuggle themselves back to a different city than they had left, while others would simply walk into the canyons with a few essentials and a hope they could beat the odds.