Page 92 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Merritt continued walking around, although he didn’t wish to venture too far from the hovel. On his rounds, he spied a distraught woman on a bench at the end of the fish market. Even if she didn’t help his master plan, it seemed wrong to merely pass her by.

He sat on the bench beside her, as far as the wooden planks would allow, so as to give her space. “My dear woman,” he said, “whatever is troubling you?”

The woman looked up from her handkerchief—she appeared to be in her fifties, but red and puffy eyes gave her a few extra years. Her bonnet and coat were both worn—he guessed her to be a fisherman’s wife, with that and the rough hands clutching an even rougher handkerchief.

He reached into his pocket to offer her his, only to remember the guards had taken it away. Which reminded him that he needed to procure a new pocket watch. Nothing fancy, so long as it kept time. That was another important part of the plan.

The woman drew in a shuddering breath and wiped her nose. “M-My husband’s gone.”

Merritt’s body sank a little more into the bench. Softer, he asked, “To sea? Or ...”

“Gone,” she repeated, dabbing her eyes. “To heaven. Or hell.” She chuckled, then pressed her lips together to stifle a sob. “Only God knows.”

She pressed her face into the cloth and cried.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Merritt offered. “Will you be all right?”

“Who knows.” She wiped her nose again. That handkerchief wouldn’t last much longer. “Son should be coming up for the funeral. Maybe I’ll go home with him, if he’ll have me.” She blinked rapidly. “Won’t s-survive ... on my own.”

“Then you need a job?”

She met his eyes for the first time. Shuddered. Shrugged. “Can’t do much work anymore.”

“I have a meeting I need ... witnesses for,” Merritt offered. “Hopefully before the weekend—I can get the exact time tonight. Nothing illegal or untoward. Just standing in a room for half an hour.”

She sniffed. Eyed him. “You work for the court o-or something?”

“Or something,” he offered. “I’ll pay you ten dollars for your time. It’s local—in Boston.”

She blinked again. “Ten dollars to stand around for h-half an hour?”

He nodded. “I know it sounds funny, but it’s important.”

She considered. “I live right down there.” She pointed down a road that ended in small apartments. “Number two. Let me know when.” Her eyes teared up. “N-Not like anyone else needs me anymore.”

Merritt frowned and sat with her a little longer, patting her shoulder while she cried. When he left, he bought a clean handkerchief from a woman sweeping outside a shop, using a little of Myra’s money. He passed it to the mourning widow before heading back to the hovel.

Once he got the date and time from Hulda, he made sure to inform his new employees.

And with luck, Misses Steverus and Richards would play a part as well.

Merritt’s ragtag group waited outside the Bright Bay Hotel; he, Hulda, and Beth lingered close to its back door—BIKER’s front entrance—while Owein, Baptiste, Matthew (the sailor), and Nettie (the widow) lingered in the shade of an old oak tree. The sun was nearly halfway between its peak and set. The weather was relatively agreeable.

Merritt held a newly purchased but rusted pocket watch in his hand. He hoped Hulda didn’t notice how tightly he clutched it, or that he had to adjust his grip every now and then because his skin was so clammy. His heartbeat was off rhythm with the ticking second hand, and no matter how hard he tried not to focus on that, he couldn’t help it. Someone might as well be hitting him in the chest with a mallet for how hard his heart pounded.

If they screwed this up, it was over for them. Possiblyliterallyover. Owein had said it’d gone well with Myra, but would the documentsshe’d left the judge be enough? If not, their necks could be in nooses before Christmas. Even still, they needed this part of the plan to work so they could be free.

He glanced up at Hulda’s face. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, her glasses pushed up as high on her nose as they could go, her eyes glued to the pocket watch’s scratched face. If they failed, this might be the last time he could be this close to her. To kiss her, though he knew she detested public displays of affection. Should he tell her he loved her? That he’d meant what he said in that cell?

Her eyes lit up, and he wondered if she’d somehow heard his thoughts.

“Now,” she said.

One thought pushed to the front of his mind, scattering the rest: the plan. He pocketed the watch and waved to the others. Opened the door and let Hulda step through first. If only her foresight lasted more than a few seconds. Then they wouldknow.

Because truthfully, Merritt would sail for anywhere—India, Africa, Sweden—before he willingly let that bastard of a hysterian put him or Hulda in prison. They were risking everything on the slender hope that they might clear their names.

Merritt had trained himself for years not to hope. This was a steep gamble.

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