Page 62 of Gilded Locks

Grace pulled the rope to raise the bucket of water. “That act wasn’t menacing, but you didn’t grow up hearing the stories in school. Since we were children, the mayor has detailed how the first Rogue laid waste to homes.” It stung to pass on the incorrect version of the story, but James had grown up here, had been fed the lies nearly all his life, and likely believed them. If only Grace could be sure.

Willa narrowed her eyes. “Those stories can’t be true though. Not if the gold-grubber tyrant was the one who spread the story. What really happened?”

Grace filled her canteen, took a swig, then filled it again before dropping the bucket back in the well. She took the time to consider her response. Willa’s spirit hadn’t been beaten down over the years. She would believe the truth and shout it to all of Fidara. No, she’d shout it to the entire continent.

And if Grace was sure that the Rogue wasn’t the culprit, she thought she might tell Willa and let her fight against the mayorin a way that only she seemed able to do. For once, a family connection to the Clairmonts could be a boon. The sheriff hadn’t arrested her yet, despite her public dissent.

“You won’t tell me. I can see it in your face. Sun above, Robbins, you can be stubborn.”

Grace chuckled. “Why, thank you.”

Willa snorted.

The two of them walked back to the wheat field in silence. Just before they started swinging their scythes, Willa said, “You know, Robbins, I don’t think you gave my cousin a chance.”

“What?” Grace said.

“Yesterday. He’s not that bad, you know. A bit too shy, if you ask me, but then what does it matter when you’re bold enough for the both of you?” She chuckled, altering her voice to mimic Grace. “Why are you following me?”

“Shut up, Leroux.” Grace acted like the teasing rolled off her back, but she pulled her hat forward to better shade the splotches of embarrassment.

A few minutes later, Grace found herself near Alaina Dahl.

“James come into money? I don’t think so, why?” The girl glanced about furtively, but Grace had made sure no one else was near enough.

“Oh,” Grace muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, “he mentioned buying me a parasol, and I just didn’t want him to spend on something so frivolous if it meant he wouldn’t have the necessities.”

Alaina seemed relieved. “You don’t have to worry there, Miss Robbins. James won’t have a problem affording a parasol.”

Grace’s heart sped. “I’m glad to hear it.” She uttered a giggle she hoped didn’t sound flat. “A parasol. Think of it. He must have gold coins lying about everywhere, for such an expense.” Grace didn’t actually know how much the item would cost, neverhaving sought one out at the market. She hoped she didn’t seem idiotic.

Alaina laughed. “No gold lying about, miss. Wouldn’t fit his spick-and-span ways.”

Grace thanked Alaina for the help and made her way back to the row she’d been harvesting. Transcribing and recording wasn’t the most lucrative position, not in Fidara anyway. If James had ample funds, Grace feared it was through possession of the Zerudorn gold. It was worth a good amount sans knowledge of the mystic properties, but it wouldn’t take long to realize the power inherent to the metal, and the exorbitant price it could get at market.

Also, if James had the gold, it meant he was likely the vandal.

Her faith in the masked man in the woods was fading.

Not that Alaina’s words could be considered definite proof of any of this. Why couldn’t Grace get any clear answers?

The rest of the day’s harvest was difficult. The sun was especially bright, with no clouds present to shield the workers. Grace checked her hat and gloves often and cursed the need to wear long sleeves to protect her pale arms. The heat alone would have made progress slow, but the patrolmen began showing up in the fields.

Their watch made Grace uncomfortable. Perhaps they were looking for the Rogue, but she didn’t doubt they’d report back to the sheriff and the mayor any behavior that wouldn’t serve the tyrant’s purposes. Willa’s loud complaints about the mayor, for example. And the men often managed to place themselves right where Grace needed to go.

Grace finished out the day grumpy, dirty, tired, and behind schedule.

Mother had returned long before Grace arrived home, and Father reported no sign of the gold.

With heavy hearts, they decided that despite the risk, further investigation would have to wait unless more gold was spotted. They simply couldn’t afford not to finish the harvest.

“At this point,” Father said, “the patrolmen have been through every inch of town. We’d have heard about the gold if it’s not hidden in someone’s home or contained.”

So they went to bed, and Grace banished that one worry to the recesses of her mind. Sleep. She needed sleep.

The following day went better. Clouds graced the sky, and with better sleep, Grace found she enjoyed the game she and Willa made of inconveniencing the patrolmen. They’d time the rate of harvesting to place themselves right in a patrolman’s path and act confused about which way to go, delaying the men. They’d gather up wheat and walk themselves straight into them, claiming they couldn’t see over their crop.

The giggling made the day pass quickly and their races to get a row harvested in time to waylay the enemy resulted in faster progress.

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