The Runaway's Gold (21 page)

“Kept me word,” I replied, rubbing the sleep from me eyes as we climbed the narrow staircase. I hadn't gotten to bed until 2:00
A.M
., and was headed for another grueling day at the forge. “Now take me to Sam Livingston.”

Billy grimaced as he strolled to his desk and sat down. “You'll be pleased to know I'm working on it.”

“
Working
on it?” The blood rushed to me cheeks. “I risked me neck last night and you don't know where Sam Livingston is?”

The white cat with the gray patches meowed and rubbed up against me leg. Then it leapt into the chair next to Billy's desk.
“Now, now,” Billy chided, looking at me with a furrowed brow, like a parent twice his age. “I can see you're anxious. Take a seat.” He pointed to the chair. “Scat, Nolan! You'll have to find another spot.”

“I'm not sitting!” I said.

Nolan glanced at me, sleepily, then tucked his head between his paws and closed his eyes.

“Fine,” Billy huffed. “But after all I've done for you since you arrived off that boat from who knows where, I'd think you'd show a bit more respect.”

I stared at him, willing meself to stay calm.

“It seems Livingston's more complicated to track down than I'd thought.”

“
Are you saying you don't actually know him?
” I said through gritted teeth.

“Don't put words in my mouth,” Billy snapped. “For your information, I've verified that he is indeed alive and kicking. Even you didn't know that for sure, now, did you?”

I rubbed me forehead. From me calculations, the man had to be well over eighty years old. That he might already be dead, after all I'd been through—after all I'd sacrificed—had been gnawing at me for months.

Billy stood and stretched, then paced to the other side of the room. “Problem is, he's moved around quite a bit in the last few years. He's a private man, you see.” He paused. “A most private man. And so my sources tell me it will cost you to continue their search.”

“
Cost me?
” I asked. “Billy, you know I earn but one dollar a week!”

“'Course I do! Without me you wouldn't have a job.”

I looked at me feet.

“But in this case, because of the careful work you did last night, I might be willing to help you secure the extra funds. That is . . . if you're able to help me with another small delivery.”

As he dangled the words over me, I thought of the hooded man and his warning.

“My friend from the South—the one I mentioned yesterday . . . It seems he has a few more bags to relocate. And he needs them moved sooner than he expected.”

“And if I move them,” I muttered, “you'll have the information I'm seeking? Waiting for me here—
by tomorrow morning
?”

“Bright and early.” He pounded his fist on the desk as if to reinforce his claim. “And trust me,” he added with a wink, “that's saying a lot. I have a Democratic Party gathering tonight at Finney's Saloon with some of the boys from Tammany. After last month's meeting I didn't revive myself before noon, if you know what I mean.” Then he stood and leaned toward me. “I like you, Chris Roberts. And for that reason alone I'm willing to sacrifice some shut-eye.”

I buried me head in me hands and groaned. Everything inside me told me not to say yes, and yet . . .

“All right,” I said. “One more delivery.”

And when I looked up, Billy was on his feet, a wily smile painted cross his face.

“Same password?” I asked.

“Same password. Only this time, because of”—he hesitated—“recent complications, you'll be picking up at the Dudley Glue Factory on Twenty-Third Street and Third Avenue.”

“Twenty-Third Street!” I'd been as far north as Fourteenth Street, but never to Twenty-Third. In fact, until that moment, I hadn't realized the streets went that high.

It was when I was halfway up Broad Way to the forge that I heard the lad who sold the morning paper calling at the corner. “
New York Sun
! Hot off the press!” he shouted. “Georgia's new Dahlonega Mint robbed! Nationwide search begins!”

“Where's Georgia?” I asked.

The lad wiped his runny nose with his ragged sleeve and laughed. “Don't know nothin', do you?”

“Just tell me,” I demanded, grabbing his arm. I had already had a dose of Billy, and wasn't about to be insulted by a newspaper boy two times smaller than meself. “Where is it?”

“In the South, you idiot,” he scoffed, yanking himself free. “Everyone knows that, don't they? 'Cept you immigrants!”

I had only one penny in me pocket, but I used it to buy a copy. And when I read the headline, I knew what it was I would be delivering.

A Murderer

Shetland, March 23, 1842

uit your drittlin',” Mann barked at the door. He stood, brandishing a rusted flintlock pistol. “I've got better things to do than wait around for lazy smugglers.”

Taking care not to spill the nearly overflowing chamber pots, we ambled down the hall, stopping to collect the other prisoners at each of the cells.

First John, then Gill Lawrence, the grumpy man Malcolm had warned me about waking, then Buck Sinclair, Rufus Wrightson, and Ivan Inge. Each of their faces was dirtier than the next, with sunken eyes and skin long deprived of the sun.

“Chris,” John whispered, managing to draw close, “are they treating you right?”

I shrugged, torn between the urge to cuff him and an almost desperate yearning to tell him about the carving of the tree.

“Mann tells me the trial is the day after tomorrow, but without the evidence they don't have much to go by.”

“No evidence?” I asked. “And what do you call a dead ewe and that letter you left for Daa?”

He looked away quickly. “I
told
you I was gunna tell Daa the truth when I paid him back. I just needed time to do it right.”

Was it possible, I wondered—could he somehow think his actions just? “And offer your wee brother as a sacrifice? How do I know you woulda ever come back?”

“I gave you me word is how!” he said, eyebrows raised. “Haven't I always looked after you? Are you
questioning
your own brother's word?”

“That's enough chatter out of you Robertsons!” Keeper Mann snarled, hustling us along. But as we neared the washroom, he gradually slowed his pace and peered inside. “Well, good evenin' to ya, Miss Pepper.”

“Good evenin', Keeper Mann.” A thin woman the age of Aunt Alice looked up from a tub of hot, soapy water.

“
Opportunities
,” Malcolm whispered, brushing by me with a wink and a nudge.

By the time we reached the end of the hall, Mann caught back up with us and unlocked the door. When he flung it open, me knees nearly buckled at the smell.

“Solus Christus!” John gasped. “Is it ever cleaned out?”

Before us, extending along the back side of the entire building, was the trench.

“Only when we get hardworkin' crofters like you to do it.” Keeper Mann cackled. “You lads are accustomed to shovelin' the sludge from your byre to your fields. Perhaps you can show us how it's done!”

“And may the Devil take you straight to Hell,” John muttered under his breath, his eyes flashing angrily.

“Oh, this is nothin',” Mann added. “Just wait till summer. That's when you'll know you're a long way from home.”

As we dumped our pots, I noticed Rufus Wrightson lean over to John and whisper into his ear.

“All right, then, that's enough fresh air for the evenin'.” Keeper Mann motioned us back and swung closed the door. But as we made our way down the hall, John brushed up beside me.

“I'll get us out of this,” he whispered. “I have a plan.”

“No more of your plans, Brother,” I scoffed. “I'm safer on me own.”

“Trust me,” he said, grasping urgently to me arm. “I have it all worked out.” Then he darted his eyes at Malcolm. “Listen, Chris, you're in danger. Rufus just told me your cellmate's a murderer. Killed a man from Unst—they say they have the evidence to prove it.”

“Malcolm? Bah! He's harmless,” I muttered. “And last I heard, they dunna allow murder weapons in the cells.”

“Aye,” John said, eyebrows raised. “From what I hear, MacPherson uses a rope.”

JOHN'S WORDS ECHOED INSIDE ME, AND THIS time, when I listened to the sound of Mann's key locking me back in that cell with Malcolm MacPherson, I couldn't stop trembling.

“It's a miracle a' sorts, I reckon,” Malcolm said, yanking the cord from his mattress.

I jumped back toward the door. “How do you mean?”

“That you knew of the carving in the broch and then ended up in the same cell as the carver. Why, you should slap a muckle smoorikin on your thieving brother for the trouble he's caused. If it weren't for his haf-krakked, double-crossing scheme to do you in, you'd never a' found it.”

“Not much good it'll do me being locked in this place,” I said, suddenly realizing the size of his thick, muscular arms.

“What're ya looking so pale-faced about? It's nearly complete!”

Me body froze as he slowly coiled the cord between his hands.

“If, by some miracle, we got away with that rope of yours,” I managed, “and by another miracle we got ourselves out of Lerwick without being caught, we'd be convicts on the run. Prison breakers at that! What good would that do us or our families?”

“With a trunk full of ducats? Are you daft?” Malcolm
scoffed. “Why, one could buy his way off the island forever—his entire family included!”

“So you reckon—”

“Well, of course I do! It all makes perfect sense. The spy had to be hiding up in that broch of yours—no one else would've carved that tree.”

“But what if—”

“He was bored and simply liked to carve? Hah! That tree's an American symbol, and he left it for a reason. He wanted to come back for what he left, but he also knew the chances were good he'd never get to. So he left a clue so someone else could, just in case.”

“But it's been more than sixty years,” I argued, allowing meself to forget for a moment that I might soon be me cellmate's next victim. “Do you actually think there's a chance a trunk load of ducats has been hidden in the broch all this time?”

“I canna say for sure,” he answered, inching ever closer. “Does anyone else know of the carving?”

“Och, no. You need to know where to look. It's only John and me ever goes there.”

“All these years I've looked at that strange tree and wondered what it meant.” Malcolm chuckled, the coil taut between his hands.

“John has a plan,” I blurted, me breath quickening. “To get me out. Maybe he could help you too!”

“Hah!” Malcolm scoffed, a wild glint in his eye. “I saw him
trying to get to you out there in the hall. Don't tell me you want to count on him after what he's done! I know it's tempting, him being your big brother and all. But just because you love someone don't mean you can trust 'em.”

“Love?” I said, spitting at the floor. “You can't have love for someone who betrays you.”

Malcolm whistled, so close I felt his stale breath brush across me face.

“'Course you can. We humans can't help it. Just look at me Netty—after all I've done, she still comes round faithfully with everything I ask. Love in family's a powerful thing—you just can't let it mess with
opportunities
!”

I looked quickly about the room, finding nowhere to move, Malcolm's hulking body towering over me.

“John—he's cleverer than most.” I felt sweat forming on me brow. “Perhaps we should hear him out.”

“Hmmph! Seems all that knowledge hasn't gotten him too far. He's in Lerwick Prison, isn't he? And he's gotten you stuck in here with a dangerous man like me.” He grimaced. “What's bothering you, lad? You're jittery all of a sudden.”