Marcus Hartwell's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Aldrich did not raise his voice. He stepped over the smoke and studied Marcus like a ledger with one line out of place. "You copied my records," he said. "Before the fire. I know they are gone from beneath that counter. But I also know the girl kept a set for you." Marcus said nothing. His mouth went dry. He had trusted Emma with those copies. Now Aldrich held that trust in his hand like a coin. "Two ways this ends," Aldrich said. He raised one finger, gold rings catching the lamplight. "I take a seed from what remains of my tree and put it inside you. Then inside the shopkeeper and his daughter. I collect my records from the bodies at my leisure." He raised a second finger. "Or you bring me those records yourself. In exchange, I give you enough money to buy your family a house in any town you name. You go, you stay silent, and you never think of this place again." Marcus thought of his wife. He thought of his children, three towns away, waiting in a rented room. Eleven coins had brought him here. This man offered him the house he had crossed the country to earn. "You have my word," Marcus said. Aldrich smiled and stepped aside from the door. On the hall table lay a revolver, dark and heavy. "Take it," he said. "The road is not safe at this hour." Marcus lifted the gun. It weighed more than he expected. He walked out of the manor into the cold. The shop sat dark under its torn awning. Marcus knocked. A lamp moved behind the glass, and Emma opened the door in her work apron, hair still tied back from the day's shelving. She smiled when she saw him, the way a girl smiles at someone she has decided to trust. "You came back," she said. "I kept them dry, just like you asked." She crossed to the cashier's table and reached into the gap beneath the top. Her small hands drew out a folded packet of papers. "Nobody found them. Not even Father." Marcus felt the revolver against his ribs. He looked at the papers in her hand. Then he looked at her face, bright and sure, sixteen years old and proud of a job well done. He took the papers. His fingers closed around them. Emma waited for him to speak. "Thank you," Marcus said. His voice cracked on it. "Go upstairs. Lock the door. Tell your father to bolt the shop tonight." Her smile faded. "Marcus, what's wrong?" "Please," he said. "Do it now." She backed toward the stairs, watching him. Marcus stepped into the street with the evidence in his coat and the gun at his side. He had what Aldrich wanted. He could walk it back to the manor and buy his family their home. Or he could keep it and run. Either choice left the girl behind him, and he had not decided which man he was.