Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(64)

“Damn it!” Andy says, in perfect mimicry of my voice.

Becky spins on him. “Andrew Joyner Junior! If you ever say that word again, even as a grown man, I will scrub your mouth with soap until it’s clean enough for serving Sunday dinner, is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma,” he says contritely.

“Besides, you don’t want to shoot him, you want to thank him,” Henry says.

I spin on him. “What . . . ? Oh. You’re right.”

He holds up the invitation, which he has unsealed and read. “Now we have a way into Hardwick’s house. The final part of our plan, the only part we hadn’t figured out yet. Delivered to us on a silver platter. My friends, we are going to a party!”

Becky grins ear to ear. “I haven’t attended a proper party since Chattanooga. We have to find something appropriate to wear!”

I recap my powder horn and return the rifle to my room, Jefferson trailing behind me. “Helena Russell will be there,” he says.

“Yep.” I sit on my cot, and Jefferson settles on the one across from me. “But we’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

He puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his hands. A tiny bit of soft, dark hair is growing along his jawline now, and I resist the urge to trace it with my fingers. I wonder if he’ll choose to grow a beard, like his da, or shave it clean, like his mother’s people.

“We have a long night ahead,” Jefferson says. “Maybe you should get some shut-eye.”

I stare at his lips. “Maybe you should get some with me.”

He grins. “I like that idea.”

My cot is too small for us both, so we shove two cots together and lie down side by side. He cradles me close, twining my fingers with his, and it reminds me a little of being on the trail, sleeping together beneath the wagon. Back then, I thought he was holding my hand in friendship.

I smile to myself. We aren’t just friends, and maybe I can take liberties now. I reach up and touch the hair on his jawline, because I can.

Hours later, Jefferson shakes me awake. I snap to, shivering with cold. This is our last chance. If we can’t do what we plan tonight, we’ll run out of time.

I don a skirt—the bright yellow calico, given to me by Lucie Robichaud before she took her leave and went to Oregon Territory. I need to be visible. A distraction.

Jefferson wears dark trousers, brown leather gloves, and a miner’s hat, all meant to help him blend in with the night. Together, we exit the Charlotte and head toward Portsmouth Square. A few blocks short of our destination, we pause. Jefferson plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Good luck,” he whispers.

He’ll need luck more than I will tonight. “Be careful,” I warn. “Take no chances.”

He tips his hat to me and dashes away, into the darkness.

I continue on alone. It’s the quietest part of the night, when all the gamblers are abed and a body can hear the water of the bay lapping against the docks just a few blocks away. The sooty wet smell of the city has faded with recent rains, only to be replaced by the more pungent smell of an overflowing outhouse. Everyone has been doing their business wherever they please, and when they’re drunk, wherever they please turns out to be wherever they are.

The gallows still stand in the corner of the square, like a tall, angular scarecrow. The body has been removed, but a single crow remains, perched atop the crossbeam, its head tucked under a wing for the night. Near the gallows, a lantern hangs in front of the bank, illuminating not one, but two guards.

Apparently Hardwick learns from his mistakes. With two guards, there’s one to spell the other, and no reason to leave the door unguarded even for a second. It reminds me not to underestimate him.

The guards sit quietly in their chairs, positioned on either side of the door. I recognize them instantly: my old friends Large and Larger.

Chimes echo from the harbor. The ships, ringing five bells.

I walk boldly across the square toward the veranda. No short cuts, no misdirection, straight and brisk. “Hello, gentlemen.”

They straighten in their chairs, faces brightening. They’re likely bored out of their minds, and I provide a welcome diversion. Still, I have to be careful what I say. The moment I cause any trouble, they’ll chase me off.

I stop at the edge of the veranda and lean against the post.

“Nice night for a stroll?” Large asks.

“I can’t sleep,” I admit.

“It’s hard to sleep when you’re walking around,” Larger points out.

“It’s usually easier to sleep when you have a bed,” Large agrees.

“Why aren’t you home in bed?” Larger asks.

Tiles rattle on the rooftop.

“Quite a breeze tonight,” I say, which is true, but not the reason for the rattling roof tiles. I jerk a thumb toward the gallows. “I didn’t see the hanging. Were either of you here for it?”

“See, that’s interesting to me,” says Large.

“Me too,” says Larger. “The way I heard it, someone fitting your description was loitering the night of the attempted robbery.”

“Two people,” says Large. “Someone about your height, and a taller, skinny boy. The guard who caught the robber thought they might have been lookouts.”

My heart races. Right now I’m giving away more information than I’m getting. “You don’t say?”