Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(80)

Silence. Frank looks back and forth between Hardwick and the sheriff.

“Don’t take the fall for Hardwick,” I tell him.

Everyone in the room is listening closely. It’s so quiet you could hear a flea sneeze.

I see the exact moment Frank makes his decision. “Yes. Hardwick made me do it.”

“That’s a lie!” Hardwick yells.

Quicker than a blink, Frank draws his gun and aims it at Hardwick. Someone shouts a warning. The deputies tackle Frank, and the gun fires into the ceiling, raining plaster onto Hardwick’s head.

Hardwick’s face goes from terrified to controlled in the space of a breath. He has the poise and presence of a leader. A president. “Please claim your items, people,” Hardwick says, his face white from plaster dust, but just as composed as you please. “I’m very sorry for the problem here tonight.”

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” I say. There’s no proof Hardwick did it, just the confession of a desperate man. But my words are bound to be repeated.

We gather at the gate. Becky is there waiting, along with a couple of droopy heads hiding under Olive’s and Andy’s hats. The Major stands beside them, rocking the baby in his arms. She’s sleeping hard, with one hand tangled in his beard, and a thumb jammed firmly into her mouth. Jefferson and Henry show up just as I do. I scan the crowd for Mary and spot her clearing empty platters from a refreshment table, making herself useful as always.

Guests stream past us, muttering that the only thing Hardwick is sorry for is finally getting caught.

“It’s just as well Hardwick is leaving,” the governor tells someone. “He won’t be our problem anymore.”

Jefferson and I exchange a grin.

“Well, for once, we had a spot of luck,” Jefferson says.

“Yep,” I agree. “Thanks to Helena and Frank.”

“Could it have gone any better?” Becky adds, and she can’t keep the glee from her voice.

The sheriff and his deputies come by, dragging a kicking and protesting Frank Dilley by his elbows.

“So it was him?” asks Larger.

“What’s going to happen to Dilley?” asks Large.

“He’ll be treated the way we treat any other thief,” the sheriff says. “After he tells us where he hid all the gold coins from Mr. Hardwick’s safe.”

I can’t help thinking about the gallows standing in Portsmouth Square. Or the way they cast a shadow over the spot where Jim was shot, where he lay bleeding in the mud. “He has legitimately earned anything this city can dish out,” I say. “Right?”

The Major says, “If Frank swings, I won’t be shedding any tears.”

“If he had swung earlier, a whole lot of good folks would still be alive,” Jefferson says.

“This is a good night,” Henry assures me. “We did a good thing.”

But there are ten full safes sitting in Hardwick’s storeroom, holding close to two million dollars’ worth of gold. And he has a ship chartered to take him to New York, along with his fortune. “We aren’t done,” I say. “Not quite yet.”





Chapter Twenty—Two


We return to the Charlotte, but I hardly sleep at all, and I wake too early. The Argos won’t leave until the evening tide, so I have plenty of time. I force myself to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, but I don’t taste a single bite. Finally I can’t take it anymore, and I pop up from the table, don a wool coat, and climb down to the stable to saddle Peony.

She’s so excited to see me grab her bridle that she tosses her head, whinnying and stomping her hooves. I can hardly hold her still enough to cinch the saddle. I lead her from the hold, up the ramp, and into the street, and by the time I mount her she’s almost shaking with anticipation.

The tiniest nudge with my heels sends her into a fast trot, and together we head uphill. People gape as we pass, and I soak up their attention. Peony is the most beautiful horse I ever knew, with her caramel-sugar coat and her mane and tail blond like spun sunshine. I’m proud to ride her, and after everything we’ve done here in San Francisco, it’s finally okay to draw a little attention.

Together we crest a green hill near the Soldier’s Cemetery and Jim’s grave, where I’m certain to have the very best view. I dismount and turn her loose to graze on fresh grass for a change.

The bay is a wonder—fog sends opaque fingers through the Golden Gate into the bay, and the eastern sunrise sets it all on fire. The fog makes my view of the Argos blurry, but I can see enough. Crews are already loading Hardwick’s fortune on board. A safe dangles from a boom, wrapped in ropes. The boom lifts it away from the dock and swings it over the deck toward the open hold. It’s a slow, careful, dangerous process.

I stretch out my hand. It would be so easy to call that gold to me, to make it snap the ropes and drop through the dock or even the deck of the ship. But what good would that do? Not enough, that’s for sure.

If a single safe broke open, Hardwick’s men would just gather the coins and start over. He could hire another ship. Repair the damage. It would slow him down, but not stop him.

I sit for hours, watching. As they raise and swivel each safe into place, I wrap my head around the shape and weight of its contents. When they lower it belowdecks, out of my sight, I can still sense it down in the hold. I can tell where they place the first one, right along the keel line. The second one is lashed against it so tight that the two volumes become one. A voice, a voice, and then a harmony.