He’d stayed busy all morning, Jonathan he wasn’t sure anything had gotten done. He’d done all his usual chores first. He’d put the invoices on his master’s desk, snuffed and refilled the lanterns for tomorrow, opened the shades, dusted the office and finally checked and logged the level in the water tower. After that he did everything Boriv asked him to, but inside his head he was a mess. He couldn’t stop thinking about the shard in his pocket, and kept expecting the dwarves to see right through his guilt and punish him for his brother’s crazy plan. Miraculously though, they didn’t do a thing to him. They were pretending it was business as usual today, but he could feel their eyes on him. For hour after hour they let him run free, delivering parts and messages, completely unbothered. 

They were just waiting for him to go through with it so they could catch him in the act. He was sure of it, but he didn’t understand why they didn’t just slap him in irons and beat the truth out of him. Did they need more evidence of his guilt? Were they toying with him for sport? He couldn’t imagine a world where Boriv didn’t know everything and wasn’t one step ahead of not just Jonathan, but everyone who worked at the station. As he passed near the coaling chute for the third time today he wondered if now was the right time to plant the shard. It wouldn’t be hard. Only a few quick ladder rungs and a quick reach up and it would be done. He could just say that he thought he saw a blockage if anyone asked. No one would doubt him. He looked around and just as he suspected, the coast was clear; no one was around to see or question him. 

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Each time Jonathan walked by he had the same debate with himself about doing what he was told versus what was right, and each time he shrank from his duty, continuing on with his day in shame that he couldn’t do what was required of him. He needed to do as his father commanded, he thought with clenched fists. He always had before, he told himself for the tenth time, so why should this time be any different? The answer was just the same as it was every other time too: His father had never asked him to do something that he thought was wrong before, and so he had never had to deal with divided loyalties. Wasn’t that what loyalty was all about though, argued ferociously with himself as he stood paralyzed in the shade of the water tower. If doing what you are told and doing what is right are the same thing then there’s no loyalty involved, it’s only when you’re asked to do something you don’t want to do that the question becomes one of loyalty and trust. In this case what he needed to do was prove how loyal he was to his father. He needed to—

“There you are, lad,” Boriv said suddenly behind him. “I’ve been looking for ye.”

“You-you have?” Jonathan swallowed hard trying to keep his voice from trembling as fear shot through him. He knows! His inner voice screamed. He knows and he’s come to punish you!

“Sit down, we need to talk.” Boriv said, sitting down on a pile of old railroad ties and patting the spot next to him. Jonathan trudged over, trying to find hidden meaning in those words. He didn’t detect any frustration or anger in his master’s words - only tiredness. Could it be that he was disappointed in Jonathan more than anything for getting involved in this awful plan?

Jonathan sat down beside his master on the rough wood and for a few seconds neither of them spoke. Finally Boriv broke the silence by saying “Ye’re a good lad normally Jonathan, and you’re the Warden’s son, so I don’t exactly hold you up to the standards a dwarven apprentice might be expected to meet but…” 

“But what?” Jonathan squeaked out, barely able to say even that much as the panic gripped him. Barely able to endure Boriv’s knowing eyes as they drilled into him. 

“...But ye can’t keep slackin off like this. We’ve got work to do. Ye know that.” Jonathan did a double take at those words. He’d been expecting so much worse than to be scolded because he wasn’t working enough. 

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, “I just—”

“I don’t want yer sorries Jonathan,” Boriv interrupted, “I want ye to be the hard workin apprentice I know ye can be…”

“And you’ll get that,” Jonathan answered too quickly, his guilt seeking any sort of penance as a form of release. “You will, I promise.”

“AND I want an explanation for what in the hells has been going on with ye lately,” the old dwarf continued. “Ye haven’t been yourself at all lately. Anyone can see that.”

“Well you s-see,” Jonathan stammered as relief flooded him and he searched for something he could tell the dwarf that might allay his concerns, “Yesterday there was Claire and then after that I went to the tavern and then I was up too late and…” Jonathan trailed off as he realized he might have already said too much.

“Fine,” Boriv said. “If ye want to get drunk and stay up with a pretty young village girl, then that’s just fine. Just save that behavior for the holy days and the weekend or yer father will hear of it.” 

“No no no,” Jonathan said as his face flushed red in embarrassment. He thought he’d revealed too much about the plan, but the way the dwarf had linked those disparate events together in his mind made it sound like his beautiful Claire was some common harlot and that he… Jonathan couldn’t even bring himself to think about it. “That’s not what I meant. Yesterday I was with Claire but then my brother dragged me away to go have drinks with him and some of his friends.” For a moment clarifying the issue calmed Jonathan down, but it was only when it was too late to take back that he realized that he’d just given the dwarf all the rope he needed to hang him with.

“Mhhhmmm,” Boriv grunted, making his most judgemental noise. He sat there quietly for half a minute before opening his mouth, and the whole time Jonathan worried about what he was going to say. When he finally spoke he said, “Now I’m only goin to say this once, and I’m not going to speak ill of Lord Shaw’s heir, to be clear. But those friends of his - of yer brothers… They’re a real rogue’s gallery, do ye know what I mean when I say that?”

Jonathan nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. 

“They’re up to no good. Always scammin and schemin. That’s all I’ll say. If they put half the effort into workin hard as they did hardly workin they’d all be rich, but instead they're just a pain in the ass of all the people in this village who have to deal with them, and I’d be surprised if any of them grow out of it before they come to a bad end to be perfectly frank with ye”

“I know that,” Jonathan said quietly. He’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. Even before he’d been forced to sit through the terrible conversation about the train robbery, he’d already heard plenty of stories about tricking and scheming. They were a bad influence as their father liked to say, and they weren’t to be trusted, but it was hardly Jonathan’s place as the younger brother to lecture Marcus on that. He was sure he’d see that on his own one day and find new friends to spend time with. Boriv just looked at him, his eyes boring into Jonathan’s like he knew more than he was letting on and he expected him to say more than that. 

“One of them mentioned something about sawdust in the flour?” Jonathan volunteered finally, without really meaning to. It seemed a harmless enough detail to give away and to be honest he would have said anything to make that stare stop. 

“The Sawdust!” the dwarf cried out before spitting. “That’s exactly my point. They didn’t think about all the actual flour that went to waste or all the people that might go hungry. No - they just thought about getting a few coppers in the pocket for a night of drinkin. If I ever catch them playing a game with my freight like that again I’ll… I’ll…”

“Boriv,” Jonathan swallowed hard, “What if my brother's friends - not him you understand, his friends - what if they ever got up to something really bad?”

“What do ye think I’ve been sittin here telling ye.” Boriv barked, “That’s just what they’ve been doing this whole time. And while eighths might have been paid in damages, whole crowns have been lost in profits!”

“I know - but I mean like really bad,” Jonathan continued. “Like what if one of their schemes damaged the station or an engine or—” “Boy, if ye know somethin, then ye best tell me now.” The most unnerving part of that sentence was how quickly Boriv’s tone had gone cold. His usual hot blooded aggravation and irritation that had been on display for practically the whole conversation had just vanished in only a few words. 

“I-I was just curious—” Jonathan stammered. 

“I’m not foolin around,” Boriv continued. “There are damages that can be paid for in coin and then there are other damages that can only be wiped from the ledger with blood. If yer brother… I mean if yer brother’s friends were to ever cross over that line - why I doubt the punishment justice required would stop with him. It could affect yer whole house Jonathan - root and branch.” 

“But even if I did know something like that,” Jonathan asked, clutching the shard in his pocket like it was some kind of talisman, “Wouldn’t you still demand my blood or my fathers blood - since we’re a part of it all?

“Jonathan. Ye are a good lad. I tell you that so often because it’s true. Ye know it’s true because dwarves don’t lie.” Boriv said slowly and seriously, “I swear on the honor of clan Khagh that no harm will come to ye or yer father. I will vouchsafe your lives if it comes to that.”

“What about Marcus though?” Jonathan asked. 

Boriv sighed heavily. “Jonathan, I think you know that if yer brother is planning something grievous enough to merit this conversation I can hardly make guarantees about him. I can promise ye this though. If you do nothin to stop whatever he’s up to and we catch him all of House Shaw will burn for yer inaction.” 

Jonathan fought hard to remain in control enough that he didn’t hyperventilate, but he felt like he was going to be sick. It had come to this at last, just as he’d always known it would. Even if he planted the shard now there was no way that the dwarves wouldn’t figure out who to blame, starting with Jonathan himself and then working it outward until they had all the evidence they needed to see them in a noose. The only thing that stayed Jonathan’s tongue now was his fathers involvement. He swallowed hard. Maybe he’d just leave that part out and hope the dwarves never found out the truth. Would that be enough? Could he live with himself for betraying his brother like this?