Precious Metals by L.A. Witt

Author:L.A. Witt [Witt, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2014-09-28T20:00:00+00:00

I hadn’t drawn an easy breath since we’d untangled ourselves in the cave this morning. Though I was relieved we’d made it to Skagway, that we were this much closer to the Klondike, I still couldn’t relax. Not with the quiet Mountie walking beside me.

We didn’t speak on the way to the docks. There, dozens of boats and barges bobbed on the water, creaking with the slow, lazy rocking motions as waves sloshed against hulls. Their unobtrusive sounds made the silence between us even louder. We’d spent most of our short journey walking without speaking, with only a little conversation here and there to keep us both sane, but now the silence seemed strange. As if we should be talking to each other, but couldn’t.

The most important thing, though, was securing passage to Juneau, so I made myself ignore this tense quietude and concentrate on finding someone who’d get us from here to there.

Except there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Paul stopped at the edge of the pier. Frowning, he looked around, then shook his head. “Damn. Everything is shut down for the night. We’ll have to try again in the morning.”

My heart sank. Though it made no difference—buying a ticket tonight wouldn’t make the boat leave any sooner—I couldn’t stomach another delay.

“We’ll get there.” Paul touched my shoulder, apparently oblivious to the shiver his hand sent through me. “As long as we come down here before the tide starts going out, we’ll get aboard a boat.”

I nodded. “I know. I just want . . .” I couldn’t even bring the words to life. This many miles from the Klondike, they sounded futile to my ears.

He squeezed my shoulder, drawing my attention back to him. Our eyes met, and my thoughts shifted toward that silence between us, and I quickly looked away.

“We should eat,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a hot meal besides at Chilkoot.”

“That sounds good.” He lifted his hand, leaving a cool place on my shoulder in spite of my thick jacket.

The tavern below our room had a bustling kitchen, and though we didn’t have a lot of money—not much we could spare and still afford tickets to travel, anyhow—we had enough for some stew and salmon. We huddled over the steaming bowls and plates at a tiny table by the far wall.

And still didn’t speak.

This wasn’t the kind of place where a man dared breathe a word about what he’d done with another man the night before. Anyone in this room could’ve been like us, but there would likely be ten more who weren’t inclined to tolerate that behavior in their town.

Which left us sitting across from each other with a thousand unanswered questions hanging in the air.

I concentrated on eating, which wasn’t all that difficult. The stew was thick and heavily spiced, the fish beside it dry, but since they weren’t bland beans, I relished every bite. I’d been away from home so long, I didn’t even remember what a home-cooked meal tasted like.

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