Into the Hold

By the time Eleanor reached Harbor Point, the Western Star was breathing smoke.

Amos Reed caught her at the end of the dock lane, one hand braced on a stall post, the other black with grease. “You’re too late to be polite,” he said.

“I’m not here for polite.”

He looked past her toward the pier. Men were casting off lines. Steam banged inside the ship’s iron belly.

“You’ve got no business on that deck,” he said.

“I’ve got thirty families’ grain.”

He grunted and wiped his forearm across his apron. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, strip the skirt off first. Boots too. That water’ll drag you under before you can blink.”

Eleanor was already unfastening her work skirt. The dock was crowded enough that two teamsters turned their heads, then pretended not to. She stepped out of the heavier cloth and kicked off her riding boots. Underneath, she had wool trousers and light canvas moccasins tied tight at the ankle.

Amos stared at her feet. “Lord help us.”

“Help me with the harbor master after.”

She shoved the boots into his arms and started for the gangway.

He grabbed her sleeve. “The hull’s got a service recess below the waterline. You keep to the starboard side. There’s an access panel where the old quartermaster lock sits. If the ship was built right, the box’ll be in there.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s enough if you know what you’re doing. Which you don’t.”

She pulled free and climbed the last steps.

Whitmore was on the deck rail in his dark coat, one hand locked around the brass railing until his knuckles blanched. Boilers thumped below. Two sentries moved toward her.

“Stop there,” he said.

Eleanor planted herself by the rail. “You’re taking the valley’s shipment out to sea.”

“Your presence here is improper.”

“You know what came in on that ship six weeks ago.”

His jaw set. “You will return to your valley.”

“No.”

One of the sentries reached for her elbow. She stepped back, then looked straight at Whitmore.

“Thirty households waited on your word. My father’s leg won’t carry another month, and neither will their children.”

“Remove her.”

Eleanor gave him a short nod, like she was agreeing to the weather. Then she swung one leg over the rail.

Whitmore took a step forward. “Eleanor.”

She reached down, unfastened the last strap of her boots, and let them drop to the deck. They hit with a hard thud.

His face changed then. Not much. Just enough.

She climbed onto the rail and looked at him one more time. “You had a chance to do this clean.”

Then she stepped backward into the gray water.

For one clean second, the world went silent. Then the bay closed over her head, and the shouting on deck broke apart above her.