The Artisans had long ago stemmed the influx of bluff to the mining towns, but it leaked through the gaps between their fingers. It found its way down the canals and into the veins of those who still craved a quiet head. Those like Gunner, who still saw walls collapsing all around them.
With terranium stores now as scarce as idium, the hawkers’ bluff was even more diluted, more toxic, cut with a cocktail of opium and arsenic and whatever else could be found.
Patrick stalked back through the barn doors into the market and spied them immediately.
Two hawkers, both men. They stood in long coats by oil barrels with chalk on their boots. A single chalk line across one’s boot signaled to those who knew—it was a silent message between dealer and buyer. One of them was Ferris Manley. The last t
