Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(65)

“I just said,” says Larger.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did,” adds Large.

“So what are you doing here tonight?” asks Larger.

I’m here to distract them from what Jefferson is doing right this very second, but I think hardest about my second reason for being here, which is knowledge.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing to admit. So I take a chance and try honesty on for size. It’s the opposite of what Hardwick would do. “I need information about James Henry Hardwick. He took a bunch of money from me, promised to give my town a charter. Only he never delivered. Now he says there are going to be additional expenses.”

Large looks at Larger. Shrugs.

“Sounds like Hardwick,” Large says.

“There are always additional expenses with him,” Larger agrees.

“And now he’s invited me to this big soiree at his house tomorrow night. I’m wondering what I’m in for if I go, and whether I have any chance at all of getting what he promised me, or if I’m just walking into some sort of awful trap.”

The roof tiles rattle again, and I press on, thinking about what Becky would say. “You may have noticed there aren’t a lot of woman out here in the territories. It’s enough to make a girl downright lonesome. I’d dearly love to make some connections, and this party seems like the place to do it.” I do my best to look forlorn and frightened. “But attending might be dangerous. Anyway, it was keeping me awake, and so I started walking and ended up here.”

The two men look me over, like they’re sizing up a stray dog to see if it’s going to bite. The night is cold and sharp. The salt-laden wind cuts through everything now, even the latrine scent. Which is the bigger threat, me or boredom? They glance at each other and reach an unspoken consensus. Boredom wins out. Large stands up, fishing a key from his pocket. He turns to open the bank door.

“Mr. Owen lets you go inside his bank?” I practically yell it out, loud enough to wake everyone in the hotel across the square.

“He lets Mr. Hardwick have keys to his bank,” says Larger.

“Sort of an apology for what happened the other night,” says Large. “Hardwick would never let us have access to the safe, though.”

“Never that,” Larger agrees.

My heart is in my throat as the door creaks open and Large disappears inside. I shuffle my feet, clear my throat, make any natural noise I can think of. When he reemerges a moment later with a chair, I barely keep from gasping with relief. He drops it on the boardwalk and slides it over toward me. Then he relocks the door.

Larger holds out a hand the size of a paddle. “Have a seat.”

I’ve never been so glad to comply with an order. The roof creaks, so I loudly scrape the chair a little closer to the guards.

Large hikes up his trousers as he sits down again. “What do you want to talk about?”

I cross my arms. “I have a list. . . .”

Two hours later, when I’m yawning too much to keep talking, I thank them for their time and wander home again. The wagon with the casket is parked outside the Charlotte. Jefferson sits in the wagon, legs dangling over the side, and I’m so relieved I can hardly breathe. I run forward and throw my arms around his waist.

“Glad you’re back safe,” he says into my hair.

“It worked!” I say. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”

“It did.” I hear the smile in his voice. “You were out there long enough.”

“I wasn’t sure how much time it would take. I kept them talking as long as I could think up questions.”

He pulls away and holds my shoulders at arm’s length. “Well, that’s the end of that. No more going anywhere alone in this city. For either of us.”

He’s probably right. “How are the horses?” I ask.

“I think they were happy to stretch their legs. Did you learn anything interesting from the guards?”

“No. I just pretended to. And then I was suitably grateful afterward.” I yawn hugely. “The rest can keep until after I get some shut-eye.”

“Did you at least learn their names?” he asks.

“Never thought to ask.” And I head inside to bed.





Chapter Nineteen


I sleep for just a few hours before morning sunlight pours through the new window in my room and wakes me. The rest of the crew is eating a solemn breakfast in the galley, but I don’t have any appetite. I pour myself a cup of coffee, then head down to the stables to fetch the team of horses.

Peony and Sorry immediately start to complain. I feed them first and muck out their stalls, but it’s not enough to placate them. They’re even more restless than usual, as if watching the team head out on an adventure just made them hanker for more. During the long walk from Georgia to California, they got used to being out in the open, under big skies with lots of fresh air.

“Sorry, girl,” I tell Peony while I brush her. “But we need the carthorses again today. A couple more days and you’ll be on the road again.”

The brush does some kind of magic, because she seems more cheerful after, but no amount of grooming or coaxing cheers Sorry. The sorrel just stands there dejected, mane and tail hanging limp, which is more or less the creature’s usual state.