Noah Mine's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Noah Mine needed forty fares this week to keep saving for his father's dock. Instead, he sat in a courthouse hallway holding a subpoena, and the ferry sat empty at the water. The town council had seized that dock over a missed hearing, and now the courts wanted every hour he had left. He'd made one mistake. His night logbook recorded a crossing the night of the harbor murder. He'd written the time, the fare, and the passenger. That single line made him a witness in a closed case, and lawyers kept calling him back to say the same words again. The rumpled inspector found him on the bench. Coffee stained the man's notepad and the cuff of his too-big coat. Noah knew him. Silas Munk had cracked the harbor case and paid for it, locked out and now facing a review board over his badge. "They keep dragging you in," Silas said. "How many fares does that cost you?" "Enough," Noah said. "I run at night. I can't run and sit here both." Silas sat. His knee knocked the bench and rattled Noah's cap onto the floor. "Your logbook already proved the crossing. The case is closed. You shouldn't be a live witness anymore." "Tell the lawyers that." "I can do better." Silas tapped the notepad. "I need dated records for my review board. Your logbook, with times. If I file it as sealed evidence, the court accepts it as fixed testimony. No more callbacks. You'd be a document, not a body they can summon." Noah weighed it. The logbook was his only proof of every fare he'd banked. Handing it over felt like handing over the dock money itself. "I need it back," Noah said. "Every page. That book is how I count what I'm saving." "I'll copy it and return it today." They went to the boarding house, to a back room where the blind clerk kept his files. Amos Kettridge sat with a cane against his chair, one forearm inked like a filing cabinet. He heard the door and named them both before they spoke. "The ferryman and the inspector," Amos said. "A dollar a secret, gentlemen." "I need a filing certified," Silas said. "Sealed witness record. You've stamped a thousand." Amos ran his fingers down Noah's open logbook. He recited the crossing time back word for word, though he couldn't see the ink. "Filed and sealed," he said. "The court can't call a sealed man twice." He pressed a stamp to the page. It was done. By dusk Noah had his logbook back and no more subpoenas. He walked to the water free of the courthouse for the first time in weeks. But Amos had told him the fee in full. Ten dollars for the certified seal, due Friday. Friday at eleven, Alderman Pruitt boarded his ferry. And Noah's dock savings were now ten dollars shorter than the week before.