Mortimer Scofield's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Mortimer walked the dusty streets of Gritstown, his eyes scanning for the kind of place where an outlaw could find specialized help. He needed more than just locks and mirrors—he needed connections to people who dealt in illegal goods. The kind of people who could supply dynamite, forged papers, or information about vault mechanisms. The general store sat at the corner where three roads met. Wagons lined up outside while townsfolk loaded sacks of flour and grain. Mortimer stepped through the door and heard voices mixing with the creak of floorboards. Women compared prices on fabric. Men argued about cattle feed. A group near the counter swapped stories about a marshal two towns over. This was where information moved through Gritstown like water through a creek. He browsed the shelves slowly, listening to conversations about delivery schedules and which families would be traveling next week. Near a barrel of nails, he spotted a weathered stone wedged between two boards. Strange symbols covered its surface—arrows and marks that ordinary folks would ignore. Mortimer recognized the thieves' code immediately. The carvings showed meeting times and warned about law patrols. Someone had placed this guide stone here for people like him, tucked where only the discerning eye would find it. He traced one symbol that pointed toward the saloon, another that marked midnight. The stone told him exactly where crooked dealers gathered after dark. Mortimer left the store with more than he'd hoped for. Gritstown had an underground network, and now he knew how to tap into it. The vault was within reach, and every piece of this town seemed to whisper that his retirement was just one perfect job away.