“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?”
“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.