They spent another half hour going over the plan before Marcus pressed the fireshard into his brother’s hand and told him to go home and get some sleep before the big day. They’d worked out all the particulars. Tomorrow morning Jonathan would put the fireshard in the coal chute, then go home feigning illness so no one could blame him for what happened when the train they were after had its accident shortly after lunch. Everyone else would wait in the woods just off the track until they heard the boiler blow. That would be their signal to run in, grab anything that wasn’t nailed down and escape before anyone could figure out what happened. They’d hide their loot in the woods until the heat died down, then they’d smuggle it out of the valley to Mr. Faen’s buyer.

It was a simple plan. So simple that it just might work. That’s what turned Jonathan’s stomach the most. He’d hoped for a plan so ridiculous that it couldn’t possibly succeed, or one that was so complicated he might nudge it into failing before anyone got hurt. This wasn’t that sort of plan though. Either he did his job, or everyone knew that he didn’t. Marcus would know he’d betrayed him if he failed to do what he was told. Afterall, all he had to do was put a rock on top of a pile of other very similar rocks. It was hardly dwarven engineering. Anyone could do it, but Jonathan was the only one that wouldn’t look suspicious doing it. 

When Marcus pressed the shard into his hand, and told him to go, Jonathan gave him a long pleading look, but Marcus ignored it. 

“Can we talk about this?” Jonathan asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention from their co-conspirators, who’d broken into their own small excited knots of conversation now that the evening was winding down. “In private?” 

“Private?” Marcus said, intentionally speaking too loudly to ruin any chance at privacy. “If you’ve got something to say, you can say it to everyone here.” 

“I just have some concerns about the plan,” Jonathan said under the withering gaze of the group, as all eyes pivoted to him and all other conversations ceased.

“Then speak your mind,” Marcus said coolly, unable to keep all of his annoyance out of his voice. He’d done a good job of pretending to actually like his younger brother tonight, but it was clear that the act was beginning to fail. “We’ve got no secrets here. We’re all in this together.” 

“I-I just wonder what father would say about this,” Jonathan stammered. “If something goes wrong it could make him look—” 

“You think he’s not involved with this?” Marcus interrupted, “Do you think I would do anything like this without his blessing?” 

“No, of course not,” Jonathan backpedaled panicked, “It’s just—”

“Go home Jon and don’t bother our father with the details. Just because he approves of my plan to give those scheming little ironmongers a little payback doesn’t mean he wants to be involved.”

After that Jonathan couldn’t meet his brother's gaze and left with a quick nod, pocketing the stone. He forced himself to walk more slowly once he was outside, just so he wouldn’t feel like he was actually fleeing from those people. He was though. All he wanted to do was run from the terrible burden that had been placed on him. How could his father and his brother expect him to do something so terrible, he wondered. If the shard erupted the way they planned several people would probably die in the explosion. The dwarves had talked about what steam did to flesh, and it wasn’t any prettier than fire, it was just faster. No matter how slow he walked though, the way home wasn’t far enough for him to untangle these thoughts, and the night air had only just begun to clear his head from the beer and the stress when he was at the gate. 

The Shaw House was easily the largest home in the valley, and even if it was usually referred to as his mansion by the other children of the village it was really more of a small manor or country home. The distinction didn’t matter just now. It was a home that his father had built for his mother, and looking up at its sprawling two story bulk comforted Jonathan more than he could say. Even though the building was scarcely older than he was, it felt permanent. It felt right to him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. It just might be able to shelter him from the firestorm that his brother ignited in his psyche with it’s stone walls and slate roof. Its position atop the bluffs on this side of the valley gave the entire home a commanding view of the lowlands, where farmers harvested rice instead of wheat like they did on the northern slopes, but even this dramatic position never succeeded in making the large building feel precarious. Even on the edge of a cliff it was as safe as if it had been rooted to the earth. 

Now that he was home, he could go to the kitchen, sneak a few rolls or maybe see if they still had anything warm in the servants kitchen. Surely their housekeeper Miss Marne wouldn’t begrudge a growing boy like him a snack. Then after that he could go hide in his room. If he was lucky maybe he’d even find that in the morning this had all been a dream, and the hot stone that was currently in his pocket had never really existed. Those dreams shattered in an instant when he saw his father’s pipe glowing on the front porch though. “You’re home awfully late today Jonathan.” the old man said once he reached the porch. “Is there a reason Boriv is working you to the bone? Do I need to have a talk with him?”

“No sir,” Jonathan said quickly. “After he let me go for the day. I spent some… ehrm… time with Marcus.”

“That’s even better. I’m glad to hear you two getting along better,” he answered, his smile leaking into his tone. “Sit with me.” he said, patting the spot next to him on the bench “and tell me all about what my two sons are up to.” 

“Well, we were just discussing the plan - you know - for tomorrow,” Jonathan said, not sure what he should do. Marcus had just told him not to bother father with this, but now father seemed to want to hear all about a rare example of his children pulling together in the same direction. He was always talking about how much Marcus would need people he could trust when he got older, and that no one was more trustworthy than family. A quick look at Marcus’ circle of confidants showed he was hardly a good judge of character though. 

“Is that when he’s decided to ride the eastern side of the valley and check the apportionment then? It would be good for you to go with him and see how that’s done. We can’t levy taxes properly without it after all,” Lord Shaw said, nodding slowly.

“No…” Jonathan hesitated, unwilling to say something that might even seem to invalidate something his father said. He had the same urge when dealing with his brother generally, but with his father it came from respect rather than fear. 

“Maybe he has that planned for another day,” he continued. “Tomorrow we were going to work on his other plan. You know. The one involving the train?”

“Train?” his father said, turning towards him, “Your brother hates dwarves more than any man I know. Why would he want to go to the train station with you? Are we expecting a shipment?” Jonathan was at a loss. Was his father playing dumb for a purpose, or had Marcus lied to him? What was the right answer, and more importantly, even if he knew the right answer what would he do with that information?

Jonathan sighed, and enjoyed the quiet for a moment before he asked a question that he hoped might help him to feel his way out of this blind alley. “Father - what if Marcus wants me to help him with something and I think it’s wrong?”

“Working together with your family is never the wrong thing to do Jonathan,” Lord Shaw answered off the cuff. “If you think he’s going about it the wrong way then it is your duty as his younger brother to help convince him to adjust his course of action, but ultimately I expect you to support him in whatever he does for the good of the family.”

“That’s not quite what I mean,” Jonathan tried again. “What if his plans aren’t doing something I disagree with, but actually wrong. You know, illegal or immoral. Then what should I do?”

His father set down his pipe on the table next to the bench they were sitting on and then turned to his son. “It’s true that Marcus still has some rough spots and is not yet the man I need him to be before he becomes Lord Shaw in his own right, but I find it difficult to believe that my heir would ever break the law for his own benefit. A rural lordship is the very incarnation of the law in this part of the world. It would do nothing but undermine his own power with the subjects he is supposed to steward.” 

“Not even if you put him up to it sir?” Jonathan fumbled for words, unsure of what to say. What his father was saying was utterly incompatible with what his brother had told him not an hour ago. 

“Jonathan, did you not hear a word I said just now?” he said, sounding weary. “Let’s start again. No more ambiguities or queer questions. You tell me what you two have planned tomorrow and I’ll be the judge of what’s so wrong about it.” 

Jonathan pulled the black stone out of his pocket and handed it to his father, but when he opened his mouth to let out all the horrible details about what they were planning, he was interrupted by footsteps walking up the path towards them. 

“Didn’t I tell you to go to bed Jon?” Marcus said casually, without much of his usual venom. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

“I was just… Father wanted to know so I was going to—” Jonathan started. 

“I’ll talk to our father about all of this - you’ve done more than enough.” Marcus said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Jonathan looked to his father, but instead of the understanding and patience that had been there only a few moments before he found anger in his dark eyes. “Yes son,” his father said, “get ready for bed. We’ll talk later. Your brother and I need to take a walk and get to the bottom of all this.” 

After that there was nothing Jonathan could do. He left the decision to his elders and did what he was told - he went straight to his room without pausing to even try to filch a little dinner. Sleep didn’t come though. He just lay there in the darkness of his room while he tried to puzzle out his father’s reaction. Had he recognized what the stone was without being told? Was he angry at Jonathan for questioning him or Marcus for hiding something from him? What would they decide and would he be forced to go through with this awful thing? 

In the end none of his questions were answered and somewhere in a cycle of endlessly repeating worries, sleep finally claimed him and stilled his mind.