by Terry, Mark
“Nikola, please explain,” Ida said.
“Is electricity. Electricity is not dead if we are dead. Yes?”
Ida and Edison looked at each other, confused.
“You mean, electricity as a tool?” Ida said slowly.
“Electricity as tool, yes. As life force. The physical circuit. Now, all that has been suppressed in the past has returned stronger than ever, more powerful from struggle. So someday man will pull electricity from air, free for everyone. Whole earth will be illuminated.” He raised a finger in the air. “But!” He stood up. “What if you do not want any of that? No illumination. No enlightenment. No physical circuit completing the harmony of human existence?”
Edison sat down.
Ida covered her mouth with her hand. “How would that happen?” she asked.
“If we returned to a previous energy,” Tesla said thoughtfully “the light would continue. But if fear existed—”
Ida and Tesla looked at Edison.
“Now look,” Edison held up his hands, “just because I made a few examples—”
Tesla waved it off and turned his back to Ida and Edison. “Is human nature. This is key. What about disaster? Great disaster?” He turned back. “Disaster and death.”
“Disaster and death at the same time,” Edison said thoughtfully.
“Your deaths at the same time. That would be a shock,” said Ida, nodding. “Your deaths and some kind of disaster would be a—catastrophe.”
“Our deaths now, Ida,” Tesla noted, glancing at her.
She took note of that reality.
“So how would it happen?” Edison asked.
“Imagine Indri, Zeus or Peron with the bowler hat and wearing white cotton gloves preparing lightning, fires and earthquakes. Whatever would be, would be as one. Together.”
Ida nodded. “At the same time.”
“Same time.” Tesla nodded. “So. Not here. Not now.”
“Why not here?” Edison sat forward. “Why not now?”
“Train station?” Tesla asked rhetorically.
“So where then?” Ida asked.
“His time and choosing. Will be apparent.”
“Well, that makes me feel better!” Edison said. He stood up again. “So we arm ourselves. Protect ourselves. Trap him!” The inventor paced. “No, I can’t stay here.” Then he stopped. “Take the fight to him! I’ll get men and guns and take the train out tomorrow. I’ll wait for him to make his move.”
“We should not travel separately,” Tesla said thoughtfully.
Edison’s face scowled. “You said he wants to kill us at the same time. Drama. Death. Disaster. And you think it’s a good idea we stick together!”
“He will be expecting separation.”
“What would you do, Nikola?” Ida asked.
“Take him where he wants to go.” Tesla smiled.
Edison shook his head. “I’m not going to line myself up for anyone. If we split up,” he pointed at Ida and Nikola, “then he doesn’t get what he wants. He’s off balance. Frustrated. And if he’s frustrated,” Edison smiled, “then I have a chance to discover the secret of the next century! The next evolution of man!”
“If is only one of us, we may have less chance. Whichever one he moves against first, the other could strike him.”
Edison held his hands up. “I’ve made the decision. I have to find this creature—”
“His name is Wedderburn,” Tesla said. When they looked at him, he shrugged. “It’s all I ever got.”
“I have to find Wedderburn, and I am not staying put for him to decide to move against me.”
“Mr. Edison, there’s all four of us to think about,” Ida said.
“I’m going to send for the Pinkertons. Maybe I’ll get half a dozen. In the morning, I am going to set off to find him.”
Tesla sighed. “We will go into town.”
Edison shook his head. “You’re going to move about town. You are a fool.”
“You said you were going to leave in morning, yes?”
“That’s right.”
Tesla shrugged. “Then is safe until then.”
Edison turned and walked out.
The Gunslinger strode across the roof of the Kansas City Depot in West Bottoms, looking down on the great locomotive sitting silent and unmoving. He caught the blur of movement behind him and turned.
The dreadlocked creature from the New York docks crawled across the roof, on all fours. It spotted people scattering about below and opened its mouth, emitting a low hiss.
“No,” Wedderburn simply said, and held out a wrist.
The creature leapt up and sucked from a vein.
After a moment, Wedderburn pulled her away. “Wait,” he commanded.
“Yes. Wait,” the young vampire hissed, drifting back into the shadows.
Interlude 52
Friday, March 17, 1893, 8:25 p.m.
Coates Opera House, Kansas City
The carriage ran them the half a mile under from the West Bottoms to near Tenth and Broadway where the Coates Opera House stood and where they climbed out.
“Paper here! Get your paper here! The first edition of the new Sunday Kansas City Star! Hey, paper, mister?”
Tesla and Ida stopped when the boy handed a paper out. Tesla nodded to him and took out a nickel.
“That’s too much, mister,” the boy said, hopefully, but the pair had already walked on.
Ida glanced back at the boy and smiled.
Tesla read the paper for a moment, then tucked the newspaper under his arm. “It’s getting darker, so we should get inside.”
“What’s to stop that thing from coming after us?” Ida asked.
Tesla stopped at that, and two ladies in evening gowns passed them by. While Nikola searched for thought, he and Ida could hear the women talking.
“I heard Mr. Irving is to be knighted by the Queen of England,” said the one with the Paris bustle and a princess bodice.
“He is such a gentleman and so brilliant!” said the other, in her cuirass and shoulder to hem panels.
Tesla chewed his lip before speaking, “The devil's greatest trick is convincing people he doesn’t exist. Revelation is what he fears.” Tesla smiled grimly
Tesla and Ida headed up to the ticket office and stopped at a poster. “Conan Doyle’s Waterloo by Henry Irving.” Tesla reached for his wallet and bought two tickets.
The Coates was considered the finest theatre between the Mississippi and California. The ninety-five-by-two-hundred feet, three-story building held more than eighteen hundred spectators at once.
The band members in the main hall of Coates Opera House were dressed in ragged and eccentric street clothes common amongst the travelling performers of the day. As the great hall filled in preparation for the evening performance, the musicians played a rousing melody made famous in 1844 by the Hutchison Family Singers.
Now, again the Bell is tolling.
Soon you'll see the car wheels rolling:
Hinder not their destination,
Chartered for Emancipation.
Wood up the fire! keep it flashing,
While the Train goes onward dashing.
Hear the mighty car wheels humming!
Now look out! The Engine's Coming!
Church and Statesmen! hear the thunder!
Clear the track! or you'll fall under.
Get of the track! all are singing.
While the Liberty Bell is ringing.
On triumphant, see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
Th' Bell and Whistle and the Steaming,
Startles thousands from their dreaming.
Look out for the cars! while the Bell rings,
Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.
Tesla and Ida passed by the performers and into the seating area. Henry Irving stood in the entryway, shaking hands and signing autographs.
As he and Ida sat down, Tesla asked, “Feel sa
fe?”
Ida looked about for several seconds and cocked her head. “For the moment,” she said dryly.
A gentle cough behind them caused Tesla and Ida to turn in their seats.
A barrel-chested gentleman stood before them, over six feet tall with a Franz Josef mustache. His red hair matched his Irish brogue when he spoke. “Would you be Nikola Tesla?”
“Yes, this is Mr. Tesla,” Ida said.
The big man grinned. “Mr. Irving is quite an admirer of your inventions, Mr. Tesla. You are quite the celebrity across the pond.”
“Thank you,” Tesla said, uncomfortably.
“Mr. Irving would like to extend an invitation to visit him backstage after the show. It isn’t often we get a fellow companion of Mark Twain and Rudyard Kipling.”
Tesla turned his back to the man.
Ida took up the cause. “Again, thank you, sir. We would be honored.”
“Wonderful. My name is Abraham. Abraham Stoker. I am Mr. Irving’s business manager. Following the show simply make your way to the backstage entrance where you will be expected.”
Interlude 53
Friday, March 17, 1893, 9:05 p.m.
Climax Saloon, Kansas City
Edison entered the saloon on the first floor of the hotel, looked around, and strode purposefully to a gentleman in a bow tie and a gold badge on his chest that read PINKERTON in blue lettering. The inventor looked around the room disdainfully and waited for the agent to acknowledge him.
The Pinkerton representative looked up from the small stack of papers he held, pushed his cap back and grinned. “Mr. Thomas Edison.”
The detective rose from his seat. He stood over six feet tall and was well built with a strong nose and chin. The only thing out of place were the full lips which stretched into a broad smile. Pinkerton held out his hand and Edison shook it. “Tom Horn at your service,” he said and sat back down. “Want a drink?”
“Putting alcohol in the human brain is like putting sand in the bearings of an engine,” Edison said.
Horn poured another few ounces into his snifter. “What can I do you for?”
“I need some hunters—trackers. I lost a man between St. Louis and Kansas City. It doesn’t matter the price.”
Tom stared at Edison for a couple of long moments. His grin disappeared. After sizing him up, his gaze went around the room.
“Well, I am sure there are a few bright and willing constables in town who’d look for the extra few bucks and—”
Edison slapped his hand on the desk, cutting off Tom Horn mid-sentence. “I don’t want some whippersnapper on this! I want a marshal or soldiers. I know William Pinkerton in Chicago!”
The detective held up his hands. “Mr. Edison, the Anti-Pinkerton Act no longer allows us to hire employees of the United States Government in our activities. We are still particularly concerned here in Kansas City with labor-employer relations and cannot have public employees on our payroll. Congress just passed the law this year.”
Edison harrumphed and stood.
“Now, I have a number of excellent hunters and ex-Indian trackers who happen to pass through here. We’ll see what we can find.” Tom Horn took a drink and stared at Edison. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Not what, who. My bookkeeper. John Randolph.”
Horn stared at his empty glass for several moments.
“Mr. Edison, the Pinkertons are used to track and bring back many people. Men and women fleeing from justice. Men who’ve abandoned their families. Children who’ve been kidnapped. But when we are sent out to find someone who isn’t a wanted criminal or been taken for ransom, well, then,” he swallowed the last of his drink, “we only work when that person has something on him or knows something that is of value.”
Edison remained silent.
“So I’m going to ask you again, Mr. Edison, what are we looking for?”
“I need to find the man. That’s all.”
Tom Horn sighed and sat back in his chair. He looked Thomas Edison up and down and then cocked his head. He spoke flatly, in rote, his eyes not leaving Edison’s.
“By order of the Congress of the United States, I am obligated to tell you that before you go any further, the Pinkerton Agency will not represent a defendant in a criminal case except with the knowledge and consent of the prosecutor; its operatives will not shadow jurors or investigate public officials in the performance of their duties, or trade union officers or members in their lawful union activities; they will not accept employment from one political party against another; they will not report union meetings, they will not work for vice crusaders; they will not accept contingent fees, gratuities, or rewards—”
“Yes, fine!” Edison finally gave in waving his hands. “He helps me keep the books, which I cannot.” Edison smiled crookedly. “Without the books I can’t keep track of my experiments, my pending patents,” he raised his hands palms up “paying my workers. John Randolph takes care of all of those things. And he had the records on his person when he…disappeared.”
Tom Horn nodded. “That is within the purview of our mandate.”
Somewhere in the bar, a group of laborers had imbibed a few too many pints and they began singing loudly.
Um te iddle de, hi de aye.
Toimes is moighty ha-a-rd,
It’s a dollar a day is dom poor pay
For worrk in the Kansas Settee yar-r-d!
Edison and Horn left the table and strode out the back door. Horn hummed along with the workmen’s song.
“I need you to find John Randolph.” Edison said, then stopped. He pointed his finger at Tom Horn. “They will track back along the Burlington line as far as Eureka. Four men. Hunters. Guns. Fearless men.” He gave Horn a stack of notes.
The Pinkerton’s eyes narrowed. “It will cost quite a lot of course,” he said, opening a ledger.
Edison reached into his coat, producing a second stack of notes. “I want to start immediately.”
Tom Horn folded the bills and tucked them into his jacket. He didn’t nod or look up from his ledger.
Interlude 54
Friday, March 17, 1893, 9:22 p.m.
Coates Opera House, Kansas City
Tesla and Ida watched the actors play out the scene onstage.
Enter Sergeant McDonald
Sergeant: [Saluting] Beg your pardon, miss, but
does Corporal Gregory Brewster live here?
Norah: [Timidly] Yes, sir.
Sergeant: The same who from the Scots Guards?
Norah: Yes, sir.
Sergeant: And fought in the battle of Waterloo?
Norah: Yes, the same, sir.
Sergeant: Could I have a word with him, miss?
Norah: He’s not down yet.
Sergeant: Ah, then, maybe I’d best look in on my
way back. I’m going down to the butts and will pass again in an hour or two.
Norah: Very well, sir. Who shall I say came for
him?
Sergeant: McDonald’s my name. Sergeant
McDonald of the Artillery, but you’ll excuse my mentioning it miss. There’s been talk down at the Gunners’ barracks about the gentleman’s care. But I can see now that it’s only foolish talk, for what more could he want than this?
Tesla glanced to the right of the stage and observed Mr. Stoker unobtrusively emerge from a small door behind the curtain and seat himself it the front row.
Ida cleared her throat and leaned over to Tesla. “What are we going to do? Stay in the Opera House all night?”
“It’ll be fine,” Tesla said, glancing at his watch. “Another half hour should be plenty.”
Ida gave a fake pout and nodded her head toward the stage, still looking at Edison. “I won’t get to see the third act?”
Tesla gave a slight tilt of his head without looking at her then glanced at a young girl standing in the aisle next to him. She held out a small basket of breads, dried meat, and a pint-size, capped bottle of
milk. Tesla held a couple of rumpled bills out to her. She took them, smiled broadly, and hurried off.
Nikola held the basket in front of Ida. Her eyes flashed hunger as she took a roll. Tesla tore a corner off another roll and ate, balancing the basket on his knee. “Miss Tarbell,” he began, then pulled himself up, “Ida, we could just go. Abandon this enterprise. Leave Mr. Edison to his patents and successes.”
She looked surprised, then narrowed her eyes. “Still think I can’t handle myself, Nikola? I’m surprised.”
Realizing he had said something wrong, he shook his head. “No! I worry about your safety. I’m saying we don’t need to pursue this. We could go to desert. Or to jungle. I can pull power from the air from anywhere. I could build us an airship to take us to remote island.” His words softened as he let the rest out, so low no one around them could hear, “Just the two of us?”
Her eyes widened and her strong demeanor softened. “Nikola, that’s so…so unexpected. And, well, it’s difficult imagining myself saying this to a man who can barely shake hands, but it’s sweet.”
“I assure you my words are of the best intentions, Ida. I’m not a person of easy rapport.”
She smiled sheepishly. “Nor am I, Nikola. Nor am I.” They looked at each other for several moments before the audience clapped and broke the moment. They both joined in the applause.
Wedderburn stepped across Ninth Street as the last cable car of the evening passed. The street turned dark and silent towards Quality Hill. Every few moments, he stopped and peered in several directions, then continued up the incline.
The magnificent Broadway Hotel could be seen from the bottom of the hill. Coates Opera House stood just across the street, surrounded by nothing more than cow pastures. The former Union Cavalry stable, built in the American colonial revival style, stood four stories proud. Tall windows looked over the pastures and grasslands that surrounded the famous destination.
As Wedderburn got further up the incline, his pace quickened and he let out a slow growl. A stray dog had been whimpering and cowering in the middle of the road, and it bolted away with a high-pitched howl.