“I hope everyone is all right.”
“Saw Melancthon at breakfast,” Jefferson says. “He said the crew got safely ashore. The ebb tide carried the smaller boats out to sea, but other ships were there to pick them up. Hardwick’s pinnace made it into shore this morning, right before we left.”
“But the Argos did sink, right?” I’d hate to hear it was all for naught, that the ship somehow survived.
“The officer said they expect some light wreckage to drift ashore, but I don’t reckon it will include any gold-filled safes. The water in that part of the bay is more than fifty fathoms deep.”
“Is fifty fathoms deep?”
“Deep enough to sink Hardwick’s fortune.”
Sorry shakes her ruddy head, jangling her bridle, as if putting an end to the matter. As the sun rises across the bay, I feel a little warmer and a lot more whole again.
“We really did it, didn’t we?” Jefferson says.
“Yep. Nobody in California will trust Hardwick again. And he’ll find it a lot harder to start rebuilding his fortune from scratch.”
“Looks like almost everyone is here already,” Jefferson says.
The Sailor’s Cemetery stretches before us, green as an emerald with all the recent rain. A small crowd gathers around Jim’s grave. A final chance to say good-bye. The wagon is here, and it looks like it’s carrying a full load of lumber—Becky’s house, if I don’t miss my guess. Breath rises like fog from the carthorses’ nostrils.
“There you are!” Becky says when she sees us.
“I needed a little extra sleep,” I admit.
“See, Wally?” Becky says to the Major. “Just a touch of lethargy. She’s always that way after using her gift.”
He reaches out and quietly squeezes her hand. She squeezes back like she has no intention of letting go.
Mary steps forward, wearing her traveling dress. I hope that means she’s planning to return with us.
I smile at her. “Thank you for coming. And for working so hard.”
“Glad to see you didn’t kill yourself,” she says.
Henry leans against the wagon. He’s wearing another new suit, this one a brown tweed, a little plainer and more practical than the one he wore to Hardwick’s party. “The news around the city this morning is that the Argos capsized on its way out of the bay last night. All of Hardwick’s gold sank to the bottom of the ocean.”
“We might have heard a thing or two about that,” Jefferson said.
Melancthon reaches up to calm one of the carthorses. “A shipwreck is a bad business,” he says. “And capsizing is one of the worst.”
I nod solemnly. “I was glad to learn the crew survived.”
“Still,” he says. “Makes a fellow glad he didn’t accept that job.”
“Other ships will be headed east soon enough,” I tell him.
“True enough. But I might find a reason to stay.”
Two figures enter the cemetery and walk toward us through the fog. It’s Tom, along with Hampton.
Andy runs forward, arms outstretched. “Hampton! You’re back!”
Hampton lifts the boy into his arms. “I missed you too, my friend.” Hampton is thin and haggard, but he grins like it’s Christmas. Everyone rushes forward to clap him on the back or shake his hand.
“It does my heart good to see you safe,” Becky says.
“Here come the last of the stragglers,” I say.
Jasper approaches, hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, while his companion makes his way with the help of a crutch. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life.
“Jim!” I say, running to greet him. At his warning look, I stop short of wrapping him in a hug.
“I’m still prone to toppling over,” Jim cautions.
I settle for grasping his shoulder and grinning like a fool.
“He’s lucky to be alive and walking at all,” Jasper says. “I’d hate to see him fall down and undo all the amazing surgery I did to save his life. My recommendation was that he stay in bed today.”
“I told her the same thing,” Jefferson said, jerking his thumb at me.
“Some folks make the worst patients,” Jasper says.
“All right, now that everybody’s here, let’s be quick,” I say. Henry is already grabbing shovels from the wagon and handing them out. I take one, eager to get started.
“Wait a second,” says Hampton. “Boisclair . . . you’re alive?” His eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Alive and kicking,” Jim says. “Well, I’ll be kicking in a few weeks, I’m sure.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but . . . could someone explain this, please?” Hampton says. Relief and anger do battle across his face. I hate that we caused him any more suffering, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit if he decided to be mad as a wet cat.
“I’m pretty sure none of us knows the whole story,” Jefferson says. He yanks the shovel out of my hand and gives me a stay-put-or-else look.
“Then this is a good time to put it together,” I say, and everyone nods agreement.
“First,” Becky says, “I want to know how Hardwick was able to set a trap for us that day at the Custom House. How did he know I’d try to reclaim my house? Was it that mind reader of his?”
Henry stops digging long enough to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I’ve wondered the same thing.”
“Wait,” Hampton says. “Mind reader?”
I nod. “Miss Helena Russell. When she sees people, she gets glimpses of the future, sometimes the thoughts in their heads. So when she met us in the law offices, she got a picture in her head of Becky returning with Henry in tow. She warned Hardwick, who sent his guards.”
“Is that what she told you at the party?” Becky asks.
“I asked her outright, and she admitted it. After our failed attempt to reclaim the house, Hardwick’s men kidnapped Hampton.” I nod toward my friend.
“That’s when we decided to ruin Hardwick,” Mary says smugly.
“I knew you were up to something big, something that involved Hardwick,” Melancthon says. “But . . . this is a lot for a fellow to swallow. A mind reader?”
I’m so glad we decided to trust the sailor. He ended up playing an important role. I say, “That was the hardest part—deciding how to act when Hardwick had someone who could pluck our thoughts right out of our heads. We had to divide the plan into parts, and give each person a single part to figure out on their own.”
Tom says, “I pretended to be at odds with everyone, and I went to work for Hardwick.”
“In the meantime,” I say, “we spied on the banks where he kept his money.”
“I loitered around the docks to spread word about how much money he had,” Jefferson says. He’s standing knee-deep in a hole, with his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
“I helped with that!” Henry says. “I spread the word at gambling houses throughout the city.”