by S. L. Hawke
“What kind of papers?” I asked, trying to sound jaunty and drunk. Lam rested a single finger on my forearm to mock steady me.
“Your Chinese is your property. You need to have proper papers.”
Pretending to be a bit tipsy, I leaned over, faked my attempt to try to vomit as I handed the work paper to the Sheriff. The Sheriff took the paper from my grasp and then stuck it into the torch.
“Looks like he ain’t got no papers, boss,” another deputy said. The rest laughed at us.
“Rope him up, boys.” The Sheriff made a loud whistle as if calling a dog. They tried to lasso Lam but were unsuccessful.
“Get outta here!” I yelled to Lam and ran into the loop of the next deputy. They cinched me tight but I dropped to the ground and unseated the man trying to haul me in like a wayward calf. Then I loosened the loop and let it fall, stepping out of it as if it were a puddle.
A rifle fired. Everyone went stock still.
“Ashton! I thought we had an agreement about the Chinese workers.” The voice of Jonathan was never more welcome. “I’m sure my brother-in-law will serve his time in the jailhouse for being drunk, but the worker belongs to me.”
The Sheriff receded into the darkness but I felt arms on me. “Sorry, Mr. Guild. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this louse to the jail to learn some manners. Besides, folk are a bit skittish at night around here, if you take my meaning.”
“I do, and by all means. Take him. But let him out in the morning.” I heard coin tossed and taken. “That should take care of what he cost you.” Then he turned in mock severity to me. “Dammit, Jack. What am I gonna tell your sister? You should be ashamed, whoring, drinking, and God knows what.” Then I heard a creaking wagon shift as Jonathan pulled a buck board full of workers past me. I let out a breath. My cover was fully intact now. There would be no more assuming that I was a Marshal but under the eye of one.
The deputies roughed me with a kick or two and dragged me back to the small, one–cell, dank adobe building just a few buildings away from where they roped me and locked me into the cell.
The waste bucket was full and the old strap bed had rat droppings on it. It was going to be a long night.
Dammit. Then my thoughts went back to Sally Towne’s caresses, Miles’ softness, and then finally I forced myself to think about other things, like my son.
Hiru was most likely asleep, but was he learning how to be dirty? How to be clever? How to understand mathematics? My tension eased a bit.
The deputy on duty opened the cell only after an hour.
“Your Chinese came to get you.” But the deputy’s eyes looked down. Someone had said a word or two stronger than Jonathan’s. Who, I wonder?
The dawn was not far off. Venus was bright on the horizon. I was grateful to see Lam and felt the cold too much. We walked on back towards Harris House.
“There is trouble here,” Lam said in the darkness. “A group of men routinely encircle and frighten many of the workers. They are angry that we work but they themselves do not want to do the jobs that we do.”
“How can I help you, Shifu Lam?” I asked.
“Complete your mission, and mine will follow,” he said carefully, but in order to move ahead with my mission I had to know just one thing from him.
“Why did you spare my life in Kaua’i?”
“Because I knew I would need your help in Santa Cruz.”
“Does this involve opium?”
“Does justice involve compromise?”
It was clear there were no easy answers to Lam and the Tong’s involvement here.
“Is the Confederacy involved in your plans?”
“No. But the fate of my country is tied to your nation’s needs.”
I was tired, beyond anything I had experienced before.
“Tomorrow you must contact the Duchess.”
“Make sure I have my best clothes. Right now a bath would be the most heavenly thing on this hellish earth.”
I fell asleep in the bath, not caring about anything. I dreamt I was digging up a broken headstone.
Wanting Beautiful Things
Santa Cruz Township
Sally woke up early and had Beth’s servants dress her in Beth’s best yellow day dress. Then she went over to her desk and wrote out a note to Mrs. Guild, inviting her to tea. She also invited Eliza Schwann and then stopped herself. She quickly tore up the letter.
John charged in. His eyes were bulging, a danger sign for Sally. Quickly she went to her jewelry box and retrieved the four gold bars she had taken off of A.J. Sloan a few evenings before.
“It’s gone!” John announced. Then he looked at her, eyes bleary but alert, both hands clenching and unclenching. “My letters, my…it’s gone.”
“What’s gone, John?” Sally asked carefully, holding the small velvet bag in both hands like an offering to placate an angry god. “Your letters are here at your desk.” Sally pointed to the paper-strewn desk in the opposite corner. John swallowed and looked past her.
“My private things, my important, special things…things that can help us...” John whispered the last part.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Sally watched her brother’s face. Faustino had been successful, she knew. But John had looked for his strongbox much too early. This was going to change her plans.
“You wouldn’t steal from me would you, Sally?” John asked, his voice tiny and scared, like the boy she once loved. She came forward and gave him the bag.
“I’d steal FOR you, my love.”
John swallowed and took the bag. He weighed it in the palm of his hand. He giggled and wept, tears, Sally could see, from frustration.
“I’m sure you will find these special things. They are just misplaced, the move into this house,” Sally cooed, the voice she knew would calm him.
“I misplaced it,” he mumbled in agreement to her prompting, then he opened the bag she had given him.
His wheezy laugh made Sally relieved. Today she would take John to the brothel, recover the strongbox from the whore named Rosa, as Faustino had told her to do, and then make sure the rest of her plans would go forward.
“Where did you get this?” he cried.
“From Beth’s brother. His pocket change.” Sally came closer to her brother, teasing him with her lips. He kissed her gently, then more intensely, but she pushed him away, because they both knew it was wrong. “He gave it to me. For...my touch.”
John giggled again. Sally then took her finger and touched her brother’s cheek. “I have a present for you.”
“For me?” John again whimpered, trying to kiss her. Sally felt him with her hand, engorged from lack of release, because Beth refused him in her bed, as most pregnant women were supposed to do. Sally envied her that.
“Rosa is waiting,” Sally whispered and squeezed his penis. John gasped and said in his best small boy voice: “Really?”
“Right now. Think of the relief. My treat for my very, very special hardworking…”
“Yes,” John agreed.
“Striving…”
“Oh yes…” John nodded.
“Driven and forcefully commanding MAN!” Sally gasped as she rubbed her brother until he came all over the inside of his pants. Then she walked away from him and called the servant to have the trap ready to take her and the Supervisor to the Red Salon.
*******
Just as his sister said, Rosa was waiting for him.
Her arms were held in shackles that hung from the walls. Rosa lay on the horsehair mattress, on the floor of the dark red room. Her ankles were put in manacles as well, legs spread apart. She wore expensive black boots like his wife had, and his wife’s bloomers as well. The dress was dark green and velvet, her bodice tight and cinched, her neck and bosom completely covered. The final, most exquisite touch was her kerchief, stuffed inside her mouth.
He began slowly, not wanting this time to end so quickly. Sally had made sure he would not experience release soon, but he was ready for a long
, deep, penetrating withdrawal of pain.
The first thing he wanted was to hear her voice. He pulled the kerchief out slowly. She whimpered. Then taking his whip, he fingered the sharp end, cutting his fingertip on accident.
“Ow!” he cried and sucked his finger. It was time, so very much time. And it had been too long since they had enjoyed each other. He said this to Rosa, caressing her head, then he ripped the skirt apart and felt the bloomers, admired them, and stuck his face deep into Rosa’s nethers and bit.
*******
Sally heard the screams of the whore and smiled. John was happy. Now it was time for her to find A.J. Sloan and make him beg. After that, she would convince him to steal from the Duchess, and Tom could set all their plans in motion. But the best plan of all was for Tino to get arrested holding John’s papers in his house. Her secret of betrayal would be silenced. Then she and Tom could leave this place, build their home in a world of true freedom, where men and women could exist without judgment, without need, without fear. God please hear my prayer! Sally whispered, as she paid the madam for ‘damages’ John would ensue this time. The rest would be taken care of on Sunday. She left a single gold bar in the madam’s left hand, enjoying the silence money bought.
2
“Well, they took the bait,” I announced as I did up my collar and wound my cravat.
“Who?” Andrew simply watched me.
“Sally Towne picked my vest pocket. And I have someone who will lure the whore killer out. We just need to make sure we arrest them before another girl gets hurt.”
“When do we set the trap for the killer and how in hell did Sally Towne get those bars from you? You didn’t let her—” Andrew’s eyes dropped to my trousers.
“Sally Towne pickpocketed me.”
“Uh huh,” he said.
“The girls go visit Evergreen Cemetery this Sunday. My ‘bait’ will be among them. We simply follow our girl to the cemetery, and I am assuming the killer will strike, as he has done for the last two times. Both were Sundays,” I emphasized.
“What if he doesn’t?” Andrew was always the realist. Nothing was ever going to be that easy.
“We keep trying, even if that means one of us has to dress up as one.”
“That sounds like fun. So what about Miss Mouth?”
“Well, that gold should be yet again another point in my favor.”
“Honestly I was hoping you’d be in jail most of the night. Any notion as to who ended your stay there?”
Here I shook my head.
“Well, what next?”
“Deliver a very special, unique type of weapon of mass destruction and then, kaboom! We’ve got them.”
I did feel better. I slept most of the day away yesterday, and then I simply went for a walk along the seaside this morning with a hazy recollection of the strange conversation I had with a member of the Hawaiian Royal Family. McKenna’s interest in one of its members, who was also a member of the Russian Royal Family, made my head spin. I needed Andrew to find out more about these ‘Royals’.
“Did you see Ingram?” Andrew asked in much the same way as he did when we first met. I nodded. “Well, is he involved in transport?”
“Yes, he is definitely the Captain on a vessel called ‘The Southern Cross’.” Andrew wrote down what I said in his journal. “It’s possible that he is their connection to the seaways.”
“Do you know exactly where they pick up supplies?” Andrew asked, not looking up from his notebook.
“Not sure exactly where as yet. They don’t trust me that much.” I sat down in a wing chair suddenly wondering about the unhealthy interest these men seemed to have in her true identity. Juan’s secret seemed at the heart of all of this.
“You talk to the Russians yet?” Andrew was fingering something in his pocket as if contemplating telling me a secret.
“That is what I hope to accomplish today.”
Andrew pulled out a telegram. His expression was serious and my first thought was for Hiru.
“Lee took Chancellorsville. The Grey Coats are winning.”
“Supplies are still getting through.” My comments just didn’t help sometimes. But I knew this, Poole and Santa Cruz’s efforts were succeeding.
“We need to find that camp,” Andrew and I both said together.
“I just got this as well.” Andrew handed me an ornate vellum envelope with a large wax seal on it. “I plan on declining, due to my ‘injury’, but I am hoping the Duchess will use this event as an opportunity for you to be visible as her Security Consultant. So I would make your way up there today. It will take you a while to get there.”
“I’m happy that you think I will get this position so easily. How does this help in any way get me into the good graces of the thieves?”
“European money has long saturated the Southern cause. And your buddy McKenna’s got a thing, I hear, for a certain royal princess. They need a security guard for that certain princess.”
“A woman named Emma. From Hawai’i — The Queen’s court.”
“Not just Hawai’i — but Hawai’i, Japan, AND Russia. McKenna, according to the store keeper downtown, has been trying to get in her bloomers for months. Has something to do with meeting her on Schwann’s beachhead.” A porter interrupted our conversation with an announcement that the Royal Coach was here for me and that Lam was already on the footman’s seat, ready for departure.
“Go get ‘em, A.J.,” Andrew smirked. I rolled my eyes.
On the wagon journey I thought about my little Juan. She was half Asian, had good clean clothes, and was about the same age as the Hawaiian princess I met last night. Could it be my little Juan might be this mysterious Emma? If that were so, I could not allow her to be bait for the killer. The notion that my little Juan could be a princess was a foolish notion. Women like that were not made of heroic intent. Heroes were fashioned, not bred. Andrew handed me the gilded invitation.
The crest of the Czar was visible on its letterhead, but so also was another crest, a fanciful one, of a local winery. Now I remembered that symbol.
It was on the bottle of wine Pierre and I shared at New Almaden. This had been the plan all along. Why was I always the last to know?
*******
Volant Winery, Summit Ridge, Santa Cruz Mountains
Emma felt like she was about to faint. The corset was too tight, and the weight of bustle made her feel like she was rooted to the spot. At least this was not a hoop skirt. She hated those. The gown was peach silk, with a translucent overlay of deep blue chiffon. It was the latest from Paris, and a gift from her Aunt. Austrian Crystal and Japanese pearls studded the gown’s bodice and the over skirt. She wore her mother’s necklace and earrings given to her by her father on her wedding day.
“The time for mourning is at an end, I’m afraid,” Aunt Vera explained with a stomp of her cane. “Please help me tell that monstrous slave owner Ian McWort?—” Here she looked to the side at Virofsky who was directing the placement of crates within the wine cave that they were going to use for the Gala this evening. The cave was as lovely as Ava, Emma’s friend and Cynthia Guild’s first pupil from her time in San Francisco, had promised it would be.
“McKenna, Your Grace.” Virofsky came over to both of them. “Who incidentally appears to have ties to an underground network of troublemakers.”
Aunt Vera made a loud humph of agreement. “I took the liberty of hiring, on the recommendation of a Frenchman, sight unseen, oh what is his name, dear Virofsky?”
“A Mr. Andrew Jackson Sloan, Your Grace.”
Emma tried hard not show anything, but Virofsky smiled slightly. Is there nothing I can hide from him? Emma stared hard at them both. Virofsky brazenly returned her gaze with a look of impish glee. Her Aunt also put her chin in and pouted.
“Well, I see, my dear Virofsky, that this was a good thing. This is the man you’ve been cavorting about town in trousers with?”
“Aunt, I have not been cavorting.”
“We
ll, call it whatever you like.” Her Aunt met Emma’s gaze with some uncomfortable clarity. “But do not ever think you were the first to do such a thing.” Here Virofsky started and looked down at Aunt Vera with a somewhat shocked expression, then quickly hid his face from them both. Emma smiled.
“Oh all right, you two. Yes, I have been showing him the byways of the town. I also needed to go to see…my little…John.”
“Well, now I am afraid, Highness, that with the younger Sloan boy’s threats—”
“What are you saying? Uriah would never betray me!” Emma cut him off.
“My dear, I think you should keep company with Mr. A.J. Sloan in an official capacity. That way, this infernal man who keeps pursuing us will stop.”
“But he might hurt A.J.!” Emma blurted, then blushed. “I mean Mr. Sloan.”
Here Virofsky shook his head. “I do not think so, Highness.” Then he looked at both Emma and Aunt Vera as he spoke. “His credentials are impressive. He has spent time in Japan, learning the ways of their warriors, and worked in the capacity of guard of the Royal Court of Japan.”
Emma shifted again uncomfortably and was steered by one of her maids onto a chair. “Is that why I must attend this function, so that you can make Sloan’s appointment public?”
“Partly, and another is to officially end your mourning. Having the affaire d’état at our neighbor’s wine cave creates a rather mysterious air and preserves the security of the estate. Is that not correct, dear Virofsky?”
Virofsky nodded his agreement. “A function that we are indeed late for.”
“Shall we, my dear?” Aunt Vera rose and walked over to Emma. “I personally think Virofsky hired Mr. Sloan because of his knowledge of wine. I heard they had quite a time of it at the storage house earlier today,” Aunt Vera whispered conspiratorially.
3
Volant Winery, Summit Ridge, Santa Cruz Mountains
Santa Cruz did not seem a likely place for a French style wine cave. But that was where the Cossack guard brought me. It took nearly two hours to reach the top of the mountain, but as we came out from the road, without losing an axle or wheel, to my surprise, the vineyard, like a medieval castle, loomed in front of us.