‘Eleven years.’ I could hear my lilt thickening just talking to him. ‘You from Galway?’
‘I am. Been here two years.’
‘And I suppose you don’t know anyone called Jonathan Cassidy, either.’
‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘I’ve left him behind.’
I looked away, then back, as I realised what he was implying. He extended his free hand.
‘Glaisne ó Casaide.’ After a moment, I shook it. The palm was thickly callused. ‘Changed the first name completely when I came here, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut all ties. I’m sure you know the feeling, Paige Mahoney.’
I sat very still, as if even the slightest flinch could make him reveal my identity to the rest of the district. This man might be a fellow fugitive, but there wasn’t always honour among thieves. ‘How did you know?’
‘A Tipperary woman with a scarf over her face, seeking out someone wanted by Scion. Doesn’t take a genius. But I won’t tell.’ He turned to look out of the window. ‘We all have our secrets, don’t we?’
When I saw the other side of his face, I only just kept my expression in check. The cheek around his jaw had rotted away, showing blackened, toothless gums and absent teeth.
‘Phossy jaw. You get it working with white phosphorus,’ he said. ‘Can’t go to a hospital. One of the many downsides of not having the correct Scion settlement paperwork, along with the poor wages. And they wonder why I started a little business on the side.’
As he spoke, more of the inside of his mouth showed. I glimpsed the pink flesh of his tongue.
‘I heard a young woman was asking about me. Supposed you must have good reason,’ he said. ‘When my friend the haberdasher pointed you out, I followed you in here. So, what do you want?’
This was my chance. With a quick glance around the room, I joined him at his table.
‘I know you worked for SciPLO. That you stole from them. I was told that portable Senshield scanners are being manufactured in one of those factories,’ I said under my breath. ‘Is it true?’
It was a long time before he gave me a single nod.
‘That’s correct. In the one called SciPLO Establishment B. That’s the only place they make them,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, you won’t get an eye-witness account, if that’s what you’re after. When you’re assigned to that place, it’s a life sentence. The workhands eat, sleep and die behind its walls.’
‘They never come out?’
‘Not since a year ago. It’s a fortress. Few are fool enough to apply to work there, so the workhands have to be forcibly drafted from other factories, usually without warning.’ He spooned stew into his mouth. ‘No one goes in or out. Even the venerable Emlyn Price rarely emerges, though I’ve no doubt he’s free to come and go. He’s based in there.’
The Minister for Industry himself. This reeked of military secrecy. Now we were on to something. ‘If nobody comes out, how do you know that’s where they handle Senshield?’
‘We just do. All of us.’
‘Have you ever heard anything about how the machines work – or how Senshield itself works? How it’s powered, for example . . .’
He laughed hoarsely. ‘If I had that information, I would have sold it already. Thanks to Price, that secret is locked inside Establishment B. Even the Scuttlers can’t claim to know exactly what goes on in there, and they know most things that occur in Manchester.’
I frowned. ‘How do you know about the Scuttlers? You’re—’
‘Can’t avoid knowing them. Roberta doesn’t cause trouble with us, but she doesn’t care much for those who aren’t unnatural. She minds her own. Her sister, on the other hand . . .’
Disgust oozed into every crease of his face.
‘I take it you’re not fond of Catrin,’ I said.
ó Casaide used the soda bread to mop up the last of his stew. ‘She’s a nasty piece of work. They say it didn’t sit well with her when she wasn’t chosen by their late father to rule, so she makes up for it by terrorising those she considers weak.’
She would have fitted in well in the age of Haymarket Hector.
‘We’re one of the districts she preys on. If I had a penny for every time she turns up to demand money for “protection” from the same thugs she employs to torment us . . .’
‘Does she pick on people randomly?’
‘Usually, but she has a particular grudge against us. She had a long rivalry with a Scuttler from Dublin. Catrin won the final confrontation, but he got in a good swing before she stabbed him in the gut. Scuttlers use their belts to fight, you know.’ He made a snapping motion with his hands. ‘Since then, she’s punished us for the man who scarred her face.’ His brow darkened. ‘She’ll be hanged at Spinningfields tomorrow, and good riddance.’
What disturbed me most was that, in spite of this new knowledge, I wasn’t ruling out this woman’s help.
The waitron thundered past with a bowl of gruel. ‘I saw some workhands protesting earlier outside one of the factories,’ I said. ‘Do you know who leads them? Are there any other key players here but the Attards?’
He shook his head. ‘Those are just random outbreaks. They’ve been happening more often since that bastard Price introduced the quotas.’
‘Price sounds like the root of the misery here.’
‘He is. Things were bad before him, but not this bad.’
Emlyn Price. I thought hard. Roberta Attard had said that he had become Minister for Industry a year ago, which coincided with increased munitions production and the acceleration of Senshield. If he was responsible for making sure Manchester’s production was on schedule, he was key to Vance’s success.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
I had got what I had come for. I was almost on my feet, ready to return to the others and tell them that Establishment B was our target, when I found myself sinking back into my chair.
‘You left Ireland two years ago.’ I kept my voice low. ‘What has Scion done there since I left?’
ó Casaide pulled the peak of his cap slightly lower. ‘You got out a long time ago. I’m thinking you remember it as it used to be. The Emerald Isle.’ He barked out a laugh. ‘What a load of shite.’
‘I saw the Molly Riots. I was in Dublin.’
He was silent for some time.
‘You left around 2048, I take it,’ he finally said.
I nodded slowly.
‘Just in time. After they hanged the last of the riots’ leaders, the remaining rebels went to one of four massive labour camps, one in each of the provinces of Ireland. Then they were joined by anyone with a strong back – anyone who wasn’t necessary to keep the country running in other ways. I was in the Connacht camp for four years, cutting down trees for nothing but bread.’
The words were going in, but I couldn’t make sense of them. I had known that most of the country was under Scion rule, except for pockets of rebel-held land, but I hadn’t thought it would be much different from how it was here. Anti-unnatural propaganda. No safer place.