Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(82)

The captain calls out to the crew, and they cast off from the dock. A boat with long oars tugs them out of the harbor and into the bay.

I stand as the ship goes by. “I need to keep my eyes on it,” I tell Jefferson. “Time to mount up.”

Jefferson shoves leftovers back into his saddlebag, and we both return to our saddles. I direct Peony so I can follow the ship around the bay line, always keeping it in sight, never releasing my mental grip on all that gold. As the ship rounds the mouth of the bay, I coax Peony into a trot. Sorry’s hooves clatter behind me.

The air turns cold with the evening, and the bellies of the clouds are burnished red gold with the setting sun. The lighthouse at Alcatraz Island winks on, and behind it stretch the green hills of Rancho Saucelito. The sea is choppy. The waves rock the ship back and forth as it sails toward the Golden Gate and the Pacific Ocean.

I pull Peony up, to give her a quick rest and to reach out with my gold sense. The ship is moving faster than we are, stretching the distance between us, but I can still feel its golden cargo, especially Mama’s precious locket. It’s like a song wafting toward me from a great distance, through a valley in the mountains.

“It’s not far enough,” I whisper to myself.

“What’s not far enough?” Jefferson asks.

“The ship. There are islands. Like Alcatraz. Places it can put into shore.”

“That’s a good thing, right? We don’t want anyone to die.”

“Melancthon took care of that,” I assure him. “The Argos needs to be close enough to shore that lifeboats can reach safety, but far enough away that the ship itself can’t.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I—we—have to get to the fort at the Presidio,” I tell him. “We have to see her through the Golden Gate.”

“Then we’d better move. Fast.”

But I’m already urging Peony forward, and Jefferson quickly falls in behind. It’s almost a mile from here to the army fort at the Presidio, but we’re on land and the ship is going with the tide. Thank goodness it’s sailing directly into a west wind.

I give Peony a light kick with my heels, and she eagerly stretches into a full gallop. She is a wonder, game to run and giving it her all in spite of being cooped up for so long. I lean forward onto her withers, where my weight will be easiest to bear. She recognizes the weight shift and what it means. Without any further coaxing, she lowers her head like a thoroughbred and runs even faster.

Still, it’s going to be a close thing.

Wind chaps my face, and my hair loosens from its braid. People stare as we fly by, and we must be a sight—two people breezing their horses through the San Francisco streets, dodging carts and amblers and puddles. Sorry begins to fall a little behind, but I don’t dare slow down so she and Jeff can catch up.

If we do get there in time, what if my gold sense isn’t up to the task? I’ve done some amazing things with it, for sure and certain. I found a lost boy in the middle of the night on the wide-open prairie. I collapsed my uncle’s mine. Of course, that mine was only a stone’s throw away, and my gold sense was aided by a liberal application of gunpowder. By the time I reach the fort, the Argos will be halfway to the setting sun.

I just don’t know if my second sight, or whatever it is, will be enough.

The white walls of the Presidio rise before us. The flagpoles fly the banners of California and the United States.

“Whoa,” I say, pulling back on the reins. Peony slows, and I dismount. Her coat is damp now. She’ll need a good rubdown as soon as I get a chance.

The flags snap in the wind, which is changing direction to favor the Argos.

But I can still see her. She’s in the middle of the Golden Gate now, pinched between two peninsulas, a quarter mile away. From here, at last, I can see the Pacific, and the sight catches my breath, makes me feel like we’ve run a hundred miles instead of one.

“Have you ever seen its like?” Jefferson says breathlessly, riding up on Sorry. The sun is setting over the ocean, skipping coins of gleaming light across the waves. The watery horizon stretches forever, slightly curved, and finally I understand how big the world is.

The ebb tide runs rough, and the waves are high, tossing the ship back and forth as it doggedly pushes for the open sea. Seabirds circle and dart. A few have landed on the mast, but they are barely more than black dots at this distance.

I close my eyes and stretch out my right hand, find the shape of the gold. It’s easy. Mama’s locket jumps out at me in particular. Even through the haze of gold surrounding it, I feel its gentle curve, its tiny latch, its flower etching.

I squeeze my fist around the heart shape, and I pull it toward me.

Nothing happens.

I concentrate again, and push it away with all my power.

Still nothing.

I’ve waited too long. My plan was never going to work.

“Don’t give up, Lee,” Jefferson says. He has dismounted and now stands at my side.

I grab the gold and pull it toward me with all my strength. I hold my fist up tight against my chest, then I fling it away, as hard as I can.

The ship slips past us, toward open water.

There’s nothing complex about this part of my plan. It should be as simple as sensing a broken coin in someone’s pocket, and pulling and pushing it, back and forth, until the coin rips the seam. As easy as pushing a saddlebag full of gold back and forth across a bedroom floor. As easy as flipping over a pair of golden dice.