Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(33)

Mr. Keys removes even more gold coins from his little bag and stacks them carefully inside. When finished, he makes a notation on a ledger inside the safe; then he pulls a small notebook from his bag and writes what is certainly a matching entry. He locks up the safe and exits the cage. Mr. Owen latches the cage behind him. They shake hands, and Mr. Keys passes us on his way out. Becky has her back to him. I lean against my hand to hide my face. If he recognizes either one of us, he gives no indication.

“So you’re saying you can turn these nuggets into gold coins for a small percentage of the weight?” Becky says, pulling me back into the conversation.

“A nominal fee. The Pacific Company is known to charge up to twenty percent, and many other banks in town will require a similar amount. Our fee is only ten percent.”

“What about impurities?”

He smiles. “Yes, our assayer determines the level of impurities in the gold, and that amount is also charged against the weight.”

I imagine that it amounts to at least another ten percent.

“But everyone does the same,” he assures us. “Did you know that forty million dollars in gold was collected by miners last year?”

It boggles the mind. “How many gold coins is that?” I ask.

“Let’s use the fifty-dollar eagle as the standard. In that case, the total number of coins would be . . .” He pauses to think.

“Eight hundred thousand gold coins,” Becky says.

“No, it’s . . .” The clerk counts his fingers. “Oh, yes, it’s about eight hundred thousand gold coins. You guessed right.” He smiles at her like she’s a performing dog.

“That seems impossible. Where would people keep it?” she says.

“We estimate that half of it went out of the country, back to Mexico, or Peru, or Australia, maybe Sweden or China—wherever the miners came from. They struck it rich, packed up their money, and took it home. Once California is a state, we’ll pass more laws to keep foreigners out in the first place. We want as much of that gold as possible to stay right here in the United States where it belongs.”

“We’re all foreigners here,” I point out, forgetting for a moment that I’m supposed to be a bit addled by mercury.

Becky shoots me a warning look. “If my friend wants to keep her money safe until she needs it, she can store some of it here?”

“Absolutely.” He twists in his seat and indicates the cage. “Our strongbox is the most secure in the whole city.”

The strongbox is little more than a traveling trunk, with breakable hinges and a flimsy padlock. It doesn’t contain a quarter of the amount in the safe that sits beside it. There’s so much gold in the safe that I feel slightly sick, like I would after eating a whole pie, when all I needed was a single piece.

“But the safe,” I say. “The safe looks safe. I want my money safe. In a safe.”

“My friend likes the safe,” Becky says. “The big black one. Is it available to customers?”

“That’s a Wilder Salamander safe, one of only a few in the entire state of California,” the clerk says. “It’s got double walls, insulated, to protect the items inside in case of fire. State of the art. But that’s the personal safe of one of our most elite customers.”

“But I just saw somebody put something in there?” I say.

The clerk smiles at me. “As I said.”

Becky says, “He must be a very good customer.”

“He’s very nearly a bank unto himself,” the clerk exclaims, and then, glancing at the gray-haired owner, decides that circumspection is called for. “But let me assure you that your friend’s money will be triply protected here. First by the strongbox itself, which only the manager has keys to. Then by the cage, which is similarly locked. And finally by the guard who patrols our building at night.”

“That’s a lot of protection,” Becky says.

“It’s not safe if it’s not in the safe,” I say, failing to sound angry.

Becky puts a hand on my arm. “Why don’t you go outside and get some air? I’ll join you shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She knows I want to lay eyes on Mr. Keys if I can. I give her a grateful look and exit the bank without another word. Beneath the veranda, I scan the square for Mr. Keys and his guards, but they are already gone.

Becky joins me outside a few minutes later. “You’ve upset the poor gentleman. He’s very concerned that if you take your business to another bank, they’ll take advantage of you. On the positive side, young Mr. Owen—he’s the son of that other fellow—is impressed by my mathematical abilities, considering that I’m a woman, and he asked me to tea, which I reluctantly declined.”

I grin, in spite of the churning in my belly. “I’m getting sick from being near so much gold,” I whisper. “Let’s walk.”

We stroll into the plaza, and I feel a little steadier with each step. Halfway across the square, Jefferson slides in beside us.

“Hello, Lee, Becky. How’d you like the distraction? I ran into Sonia’s little gang and paid them to make a ruckus so you could slip past Mr. Key’s guards.”

“That was clever,” Becky says.

“We saw where Hardwick keeps his gold,” I say, and I describe everything we observed in the bank. “It’s more gold than I ever imagined. More than one man could ever spend or need.”