Noble Metals

by L. A. Witt

  His eyes darted toward the locked box between us.

  “So what do we do?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  The Mountie scowled as he watched the team go, then shook his head and picked up the list of names. “Fauth and Belton.”

  John blew out a breath and hoisted himself off the mech. “Here we go.”

  We stopped in front of the Mounties, and I set the brake. As the brass spider idled, we both stood back to let the inspectors do their job.

  All the while, John chewed his thumbnail, deep crevices forming between his eyebrows.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

  He put up a hand and shook his head, but said nothing. The tautness of his lips did nothing to comfort me. Neither did his silence. Or the wary glances he kept throwing toward the gathered crowd.

  One of the Mounties withdrew the locked wooden box from the mech. He dropped it unceremoniously in the snow, which brought an aggravated growl from the back of John’s throat.

  “You.” The Mountie gestured sharply at John, then at the box. “Open that.”

  John stiffened. “Is that necessary?”

  The Mountie raised an eyebrow. “It is now.”

  “Why?” John set his jaw. “I have the necessary provisions. I don’t see why—”

  “Excess provisions and contraband,” the Mountie snapped. “We can’t have people taking more than they can carry over the pass, and you’ve already reached your quota for weapons.” He nodded toward the guns, which another Mountie inspected, and glared at John. “Open. The box.”

  “There’s only scientific instruments in there,” John said quietly. “They’re quite delicate, and I—”

  “Open the box, Mr.—” The Mountie glanced at the paper in his hand. “Open the box, Dr. Fauth.”

  John took a deep breath. “May I open it in there?” He indicated their inspection station with a sharp nod.

  The Mountie’s eyes narrowed. “Open it here, or consider it confiscated.”

  John swore again. Then, muttering a few curses, he pulled the key from the pocket of his trousers. As he knelt beside the box, voices rippled through the crowd. Necks craned. Curious eyes peered.

  The lock clicked, and hinges squeaked as he raised the box’s lid.

  “Take it out,” the Mountie said tersely.

  John exhaled. He lifted the device and cradled it on one arm as he carefully unwound its red shroud. Murmurs and whispers fluttered around us, and all eyes were on John.

  Just before he lifted the last layer of fabric away, he cast one more wary glance at the gathered crowd. His lips thinned, and when his eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, the concern in his raised the hairs on the back of my neck. He took a deep breath, then pulled off the sheet of red and let it fall into the box.

  Everyone stared at the device. The Mountie extended his hand.

  John held the device to his chest, eyes darting left and right. “This is a delicate scientific instrument.”

  “And until it’s inspected, it’s contraband.”

  John clenched his jaw, but then he sighed and held out the device.

  The Mountie took it and turned it in his hands, sunlight glinting off its brass casing and glass display. “What is it?”

  John hesitated, absently tugging at his glove as if he needed to occupy his hands. Then his shoulders sank slightly, and he lowered his voice. “It detects noble metals in soil.”

  “Noble metals?” The Mountie eyed him. “Gold, then?”

  Voices rippled around us with greater enthusiasm, and more heads turned.

  “A gold detector?” somebody asked.

  “A machine that finds gold?” someone else called out.

  Shifting his weight, John spoke through gritted teeth. “Platinum, mostly. Rhodium, iridium, things of that nature.”

  The Mountie furrowed his brow and regarded the device curiously. “How does it work?”

  John released a sharp, impatient breath. “It detects the metals based on their chemical nobility. How they react to a specific charge and the solution that’s in the glass capsule at the top.”

  “Peculiar,” the Mountie murmured.

  “But will it find gold?” another voice shouted.

  “It does no such thing,” John barked. “It identifies traces of platinum.”

  The Mountie raised an eyebrow. “And what good will it do you in the Klondike?”

  “Because platinum is found in gold deposits.” More impatience seeped into John’s voice. “Which is why I’m going there to look for it.”

  “So if it finds platinum,” the other Mountie said, loud enough to make John cringe, “wouldn’t that mean there’s gold nearby?”

  Shouts and murmurs rippled through the crowd. John closed his eyes, released a long breath through his nose. Then he glared at the first Mountie.

  “May I have my device back?” he asked through his teeth. “It’s very delicate. I didn’t carry it all this way to have it break before I’ve even crossed the pass.”

  The Mountie’s lip curled into a snarl, but when his gaze swept over the increasingly agitated crowd, he didn’t argue. He thrust the device back into John’s hands. “Everything is as it should be.” He signed the bottom of the tattered form and handed it back to John. “Put up your tent where there’s space. You’ll be informed when your number is up to take the machine over the mountain.”

  “Thank you,” John muttered. He looked at me and gave a sharp nod toward the camp. “Let’s go.”

  With every voice whispering about the device in our mech, and every eye on our backs, we entered the encampment to wait our turn to go over the pass.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  John sighed. “Now we have to be extra vigilant. The men who threatened you back in Ketchikan?” He shook his head. “I suspect that as long as we’re inside this encampment, they’re the least of our worries.”

  Most of the outfitters who’d set up shop in the encampment sold their wares for double or triple the going price in Seattle. Stampeders who’d run low on supplies had no choice but to pay such exorbitant prices, but even those of us who didn’t need anything to gain access to Canada found something to spend money on—if not the whiskey and whores, then the shoes that hadn’t been battered by hundreds of miles of rocks and mud.

  For both John and me, our luxury of choice came in the form of steaming hot baths. A dark-eyed old woman rented out four immense tubs like Beatrice rented out the girls and me in Seattle, and men lined up around the building in the shin-deep snow to exchange a nickel for ten minutes.

  Even standing in the line was worthwhile—after waiting outside in the bitter cold, one would eventually move into the building, where the line stood right against the rumbling twin boilers that kept the baths heated. They ran on wood instead of coal, and the old woman’s daughters and son constantly stoked the fires to keep them roaring beneath the boilers. Heat radiated off the backs of the two huge machines, and if the proprietor wanted to, she could have charged men just to stand within the building.

  Raggedy curtains had been draped from the ramshackle ceiling, hanging between each tub to offer some semblance of privacy. At the end of each curtain rod hung a bell, which the proprietor or one of her daughters rang when a patron’s time was nearly up. One clang signaled he had one minute left, two clangs meant his time was up. Heaven help the man who tried to stay beyond his allotted time—the proprietor had a voice like a shotgun and a demeanor that removed any doubt from her threats to beat someone with the shovel beside the door.

  After several men had gone through, the water would be emptied and refilled. Within ten minutes, the newly filled tub would be steaming and ready for the next patron. As luck would have it, on my first trip to the boiler house, one of the tubs had just been emptied and refilled with clean, hot water. I paid the proprietor, stripped off my clothes, and eased myself into the metal tub. It stung my cold-nipped skin, but I just sighed and lay back against the tub�
��s edge.

  The only way it could have been better was if I’d been sharing it with John. Oh, that would have been a dream. Resting against his body instead of the hard metal, his arms around me in the hot water, his breath cooling the perspiration on the side of my neck. I shivered at the thought.

  Clang! The bell startled me out of the warmth of my mind. I sat up, reaching for the towel I’d brought with me, and—

  Oh, Christ. Heat rushed into my cheeks that had nothing to do with the water around me. I took a deep breath, thinking of anything that could cool the effect John had on me, but the damage was done.

  I closed my eyes, breathing deeply again. Not that I was the only man in this encampment who’d ever been aroused, but I was—rationally or not—afraid they’d know who had given me these insatiable thoughts. Men in this place were short-tempered from exhaustion, and half were looking for a fight. One of “our kind” among them was as good a reason as any, so—

  Clang! Clang!

  Fuck. Better to get out and risk someone seeing, than stay in and risk the woman shouting at me, drawing attention, and everyone seeing.

  I stood and quickly pulled the towel around my waist, but not before I caught the eye of the woman’s eldest daughter. Her lips pulled into a knowing smirk, and she batted her eyes at me. Face burning even hotter, I dropped my gaze and grabbed my clothes. There was a room off to the side where men could get dressed instead of staying beside a tub and keeping the next patron from his turn.

  I dried off quickly and dressed, all the while cursing the bitter cold that would no doubt keep John and me from doing anything beyond keeping each other warm, though at least it would help me calm down below the belt. For now, anyway. Damn our limited supply of coal—that heating device would’ve been very, very useful tonight.

  I laced up my boots and picked up my coat. As I started toward the door, a bear of a man stepped in front of me.

  “I know you,” he said.

  My blood turned cold. The grizzled face was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Probably just someone I’d seen around the camp.

  I swallowed hard. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

  He gestured with his chin toward the other side of the encampment. “You’re with that scientist, aren’t you?”

  I released my breath. Better to be recognized as John’s traveling companion than someone who might be interested in selling a service.

  “I am, yes.” I pulled my jacket on.

  The man grunted. His eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t help drawing back. Maybe it would have been better if he’d tried to proposition me. Some thought deepened the creases between his thick, bushy eyebrows, and I didn’t want to wait for that thought to come to fruition.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” I put on my hat and started for the door, but he caught my arm.

  “Hey, Turner,” he called to someone else.

  Another man appeared, blocking the doorway.

  The one gripping my arm said, “He’s that kid who was with that scientist. The one with the gold finder.”

  My blood flowed even colder.

  The man called Turner looked at me. “We want that gold finder. We’ll pay you three hundred dollars and half of whatever we find in Dawson City.”

  I swallowed. Three hundred dollars? Lord, how many men would I have to take into my bed to come up with an amount like that?

  “Do we have a deal?” the other man asked.

  “No.” I gritted my teeth. “The device isn’t for sale.”

  “I’m not asking if it’s for sale.” Turner’s tone was menacing. “I’m asking you to get it for me, and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

  “You’re asking me to steal it.”

  He nodded.

  “No.” I jerked my arm away from the other man. “The device isn’t for sale, and I’m not stealing it from him.”

  He snatched my arm again, gripping it harder this time. “Maybe we’re not making ourselves clear.”

  Turner narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps ‘asking’ isn’t the word we should be using.”

  Fear crackled along the length of my spine. But then I remembered a piece of advice Gladys had given me when we were both between bedmates one night in the brothel.

  “Let ’em know you’re intimidated or scared,” she’d said, “and they’ll keep at you ’til you break down and give ’em what they want.”

  I took a breath and wrenched my arm away again. I stepped toward Turner so we were almost nose to nose. “The instrument is not for sale, nor is my loyalty to its owner. You want something that detects gold? Build it yourself.”

  I didn’t wait for a response. I shoved past them, pulling my coat around me on my way outside. Shoulders bunched against the cold and chest tight with both fear and fury, I nestled my face into my collar and swore under my breath as I hurried toward John and the campsite. That encounter had ruined all the comfort I’d gained in the hot water, and the muscles in my neck and shoulders were taut as cables. On the bright side, at least it had taken care of my troublesome erection.

  Not a moment too soon, I reached our campsite.

  John sat beside the fire, one foot on the locked box and a tattered book in his hands. As I approached, he looked up, and it only took a heartbeat for concern to take over his expression.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, a note of alarm in his voice.

  I sat beside him, the box and rifle between us, and whispered, “We need to keep an eye on your instruments.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. “Word is spreading like wildfire around the camp.” Furrowing his brow, he held my gaze in the firelight. “What’s wrong, though? You look shaken.”

  “Someone just tried to pay me to steal the device from you.” I held my hands out over the fire to regain some warmth. “Again.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you all right? Did they—”

  “I’m fine.” I waved a hand. “They just . . . rattled me a bit, that’s all.”

  John swore under his breath. “Damn Mounties. I could’ve shot the bastard for revealing the device to half the encampment.”

  “You might have warned me before that it was so fragile. If I’d known it was such a delicate instrument, I’d have been more careful with it.”

  John laughed. “Oh, it’s not delicate at all. I didn’t want that ogre manhandling it, but I knew there was no chance of it surviving this journey unless it was hardy enough to withstand whatever happened along the way.” He looked around, as if someone might be waiting in the shadows to snatch it away. “Not much I can do if it winds up in another man’s hands, though.”

  “True.”

  John met my eyes. “And the men who saw the device at the gate aren’t the only ones we’ll have to look out for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He held my gaze.

  A piece fell into place, and icicles formed along my spine. “John . . .”

  “I saw one of Sidney’s men earlier.”

  I swallowed. “You’re certain?”

  “I thought I was imagining it, but then I saw him again.” He chewed his lip. “They’re keeping their distance for now. Probably because there are too many people around. But . . .”

  “But they’re here.”

  John nodded. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it. I should have just gone into business manufacturing gold finders and selling them to stampeders instead of continuing with the university. I’d be a wealthy man, and I never would have had to leave the comfort of Seattle.”

  “But you wouldn’t find the platinum you’re looking for.”

  “No, perhaps not.” He shrugged, then sighed again. “But maybe I’d have been able to afford to build a spare in case one was stolen.”

  “Or make enough money, you wouldn’t need to do your research.”

  “Oh, it’s not that simple.” He gazed into the fire. “Were I a wealthy man who didn’t need to work another day in his life, I’d still be tinkering in my lab.” He laughed softly. �
��Just wouldn’t have to spend so much time chasing down everything I need. I could have a whole staff of miners to hunt down the necessary platinum.”

  I watched the fire’s reflection in his distant, unfocused eyes. “You’d keep working? Even if you didn’t need to?”

  He nodded. “I’m not the kind of man who can be idle, Robert. I need to do things.” He held up his hands, gesturing like he were holding an object and tinkering with it. “I need to . . . make things. Discover things. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I suppose I understand. I can’t imagine there’s anything less satisfying than being idle.”

  “No, nothing at all. I’d go mad.” He paused. “What would you do? If you didn’t have to work to survive?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, I think I’d be content if I could just spend some time looking at the things that are already around me. I don’t need to make something new, I want to see what’s already there.” I gestured past the fire, as if that wave of my hand could indicate the universe beyond the encampment. “See the world.” Turning to him, I added, “See the things other people have made.”

  He cocked his head, regarding me curiously. “What things? I mean, anything in particular?”

  “Would everything be too easy?” I asked, chuckling.

  John smiled. “Not at all. I’ve done a fair bit of traveling myself, and the more I see, the more I want to see.”

  “I envy you. I’ve been as far west as Seattle and as far north as, well, here. That’s all.”

  “You have plenty of time. With any luck, we’ll both be wealthy men soon, and then you’ll have the world at your fingertips.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “Indeed.” His smile faded and his gaze shifted toward the fire. “One can only hope.”

  The nights were painfully cold now, even with John’s body against mine beneath the thick furs—he’d bought a second from the encampment’s outfitters—and with our clothes and coats on. More than once, I wanted to beg him to put on the heating device, but I knew as well as he did that we couldn’t waste coal. We had enough money for baths and whiskey, but coal was scarce. Even the outfitters had none to sell, and already there were problems with theft amongst the other stampeders.