Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(27)

“That’s still better than my search,” Tom says. “Plenty of law offices, but none willing to give me a job unless I bring in my own clients. If I had my own clients, I could afford rent, and I wouldn’t need a job.”

Henry rubs his eyes. I suspect he was up all night again. I don’t think he gambles as much as he says, else he’d be broke by now, but he sure loves dressing fine and being sociable.

Jefferson and I bring up the rear, leading the wagon, which is loaded with our bags, and Peony and Sorry, who seem relieved to be let out of the stable. It’s our first private moment together since the walk back to Portsmouth Square the other day.

“I think Becky’s forgotten about the wedding dress,” I tell him. Softly, so there’s no chance of Becky overhearing.

“Not a chance,” he says.

“How can you be sure?”

“Well, this is Becky we’re talking about.”

“Good point.”

“Also, she asked Henry if he’d be willing to help me find a proper suit.”

“Really?”

“I tried to dissuade him, but without luck. He knows just the place. And he’s certain he knows just the color for me.”

“What color is that?”

“I’m pretty sure he said plum.”

“Plum?”

“Plum. Which, until that moment, I could have sworn was a fruit.”

I want to ask if any other colors were mentioned, but it’s a very short parade route and we have arrived at our destination, which is the Charlotte. I don’t see Melancthon anywhere about the deck, so I bang on the side.

“Whaddyawant?” comes from somewhere inside the cabin.

I hammer the side of the ship again. “Prepare to be boarded!”

His rat’s nest of hair bobs to the surface of the ship, and Melancthon Jones squints over the side at us. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, frowning. “I already told you, the house we loaded in Panama isn’t here anymore. You’ll have to go up to the customs office in Portsmouth Square.”

“We’ve been and gone,” I say. “That situation isn’t resolving as quickly as we would prefer. In the meantime, we’ve bought this ship.”

Major Craven reaches into my saddlebags, which are a lot lighter than they were a couple days ago, much to Peony’s delight. And much to mine. Carrying around all that gold was worrisome.

The Major holds up a deed for the ship and the land underneath, and waves it at the sailor.

Melancthon straightens like a man called to attention. After a moment’s pause, he hurries to the side of the ship and drops the gangplank.

“Come aboard,” he says, but he eyes us with mistrust. As far as he knows, we’ve just bought his house out from under him.

The children are the first to rush aboard. Andrew jumps up and down, cheering. “We have a ship! We have a ship!”

“A land ship,” Olive clarifies.

The Major pauses at the top of the gangplank and allows Melancthon to inspect the bill of sale.

“This is unexpected,” Melancthon says, combing his hair with his fingers, once again with no noticeable effect. “I didn’t plan to vacate until next Tuesday, but it’ll only be a few minutes’ work to gather my things.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I tell him. “You said you were a carpenter?”

“That’s correct, ma’am. Started out as a carpenter’s mate nigh on twenty years ago. Been ship’s carpenter for seven years, the last three aboard the Charlotte.”

I like the way he squares his shoulders when he speaks, like a man who takes pride in his work.

“I need a carpenter,” I tell him. “Are you familiar with the Apollo saloon?”

“Formerly the Apollo? Now sadly run aground, down on Battery Street. I may have had a nip or two there on occasion.”

“I noticed they added a door at street level, along with an awning, and a second story above the deck.”

“Yes, ma’am. And they’ve got a very nice saloon inside—a long bar running the length of the lower deck, with booths and tables beside. Do you mean to turn the Charlotte into a saloon, ma’am?”

“Would that be a problem?” I ask.

“It’s just you don’t look . . . old enough to be the proprietor of a saloon. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” I assure him. “What can you tell me about this ship?”

“She’s one hundred fifteen feet in length, with a beam of twenty-eight, and a depth of sixteen—”

“I meant, more generally, what can you tell me about the ship?”

“We were a whaler, came sailing around Cape Horn, where we put in at Paita in Peru. The captain received an urgent letter from the American consulate there, enjoining him to pick up passengers and cargo at Panama and bring them to San Francisco. We sold off or unloaded all our stores right there, and converted the ship as well as we might en route to Panama. Once we got here, the captain decided to run the ship aground at high tide. . . .”

Again, not exactly what I need to know. “Maybe it would just be better to take us on a tour.”

“I can do that,” he says.

“Olive! Andrew!” calls out Becky. “Gather around. We’re going to take a tour of the ship.”