Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(39)

“I . . .” I reckon it was an awful lot. “I’m fine. Better than fine.” And it’s true. It almost feels like a weight has lifted from my shoulders. I make sure Large and Larger remain a safe distance behind us before adding, “I’m eager to get back to the business of figuring out Hardwick.”

He shrugs. “In that case, what are we standing on?”

I glance at my feet. “I don’t know. Land that used to be water?”

“Exactly. We’re standing on the most valuable property in all of San Francisco. This is where all the business happens. It’s flat and easy to build on. If I could open a store anywhere, I’d do it here.” A sweep of his arm indicates the water. “And all of that?”

“Future land.”

“Yep. And here’s the thing—Hardwick doesn’t have to wait for it to be land in order to sell it. The whole thing is marked out in a grid several blocks into the bay. There’s an auction every month—”

“Let me guess. Next Tuesday.”

“That’s right. A sheriff’s auction.”

We had made inquiries about the auctions when we were thinking about buying Becky’s house. “Cash only, paid in full up front.”

“In the morning, right before the auction starts, one of Hardwick’s men passes out maps showing available lots. Prices vary widely month to month, depending on how much cash he thinks people have.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I thought future land might be cheaper than real property, so I went to a couple auctions thinking maybe I’d buy a lot to build my general store. I had my eye on a particular corner at Market Street and Drumm.” He points to a spot on the water, which is, I’m guessing, the future intersection of Market and Drumm.

A man is rowing a small boat out in the bay. Jim waves at him, and the man waves back. Jim beckons him in our direction.

“That’s going to be the heart of the business district someday,” Jim says. “Now, if you were Hardwick, and you didn’t plan to stick around long, what might you do?”

It takes a few seconds for my mind to put the pieces together and find the answer. “Sell the same piece of future property to a bunch of different buyers.”

“Last two months, I watched the corner of Market Street and Drumm get auctioned off twice.”

“Cash in full, up front, both times.”

“You got it.”

I rub my forehead. “So Hardwick is planning to leave. He’s not going to wait around for the courts to settle this.”

“That’s my guess. You want to go visit Hampton?”

The man in the rowboat has pulled up to the edge of the dock. “Whoa. We can do that?” I say.

Jim grins, saying, “Sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He helps me into the boat, which wobbles precariously as I settle onto the bench. The sailor pulls away from the shore, and I wave merrily to Large and Larger, who stand on the dock with their hands on their hips, watching us go.

Wind whips my hair, and salt spray stings my face and chills my fingers. Fortunately, it’s only a short paddle across choppy water to the sheriff’s floating jail. I assume we’ll climb up and go inside, but the sailor rows us around to the far side of the brig, out of sight of shore. The water is rougher out here, and our little rowboat rocks unsteadily as Jim raps hard on the side of the jail ship. A small round porthole opens just above, and a dirty white face peers down.

Jim calls out, “We’re looking for a fellow by the name of Hampton!” A moment later, Hampton’s face appears in the porthole, and I think, Surely this is the strangest visitor calling I’ve ever done.

I cup my hands to my mouth. “How’re you doing?”

His forced smile doesn’t fool me even a little bit. “The quarters are small and the meals are smaller, but at least nobody’s working me to death.”

“Hang in there,” Jim says. “We’re working on your situation.”

“Does my friend Tom know about this?” Hampton asks. “He could set it to rights.”

I hesitate, and the waves bump our rowboat against the side of the brig. I start to grab the edge of the boat, but think better of it. If we hit the side of the ship again, I could lose those fingers.

Finally I shout, “Tom had to a take a job in one of the law offices.”

“I trust Tom,” Hampton says. “He’ll help, regardless of where he’s working.”

“You need anything?” Jim calls up.

There’s shouting inside, and Hampton glances away from the porthole. “Gotta run,” he says. The porthole slams shut.

“Well, that visit didn’t last long,” I say.

“I’m not sure the prisoners are technically allowed to receive,” Jim says.

The sailor says nothing, just picks up the oars and rows us back to shore, taking us close to the Charlotte.

“Thank you, Jim,” I say as we reach our familiar dock. “For today. For everything.”

“Anything for Reuben’s girl,” he says. Then something in my face makes his eyes narrow. “What are you thinking, Leah?”

“I’m thinking I have one big advantage over Hardwick, but only if he never, ever learns what it is.”