“Why not? You designed it. You know how all the machines work. This city depends on the carnival. It loves it too much to let it crumble and die. You’re the person best qualified to keep it with us.”
Brady retrieved his hands from Magdalene’s and glanced away. “Thank you for your vote of confidence.” His voice shook with gratitude.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Katya did not dare speak to Maddox at the carnival. She was not so focused on keeping him out of danger that she would refuse to return a smile or nod of the head. Maddox crossed her path from time to time as he walked from one ride’s mechanical workings to another. His eyes twinkled as they fell on her, and he always found time to slow his stride for a few steps, tip his cap, and greet her. “Good evening, Miss Romanova.”
Katya would bow her head, finding it impossible to stop the corners of her mouth from lifting up. “The same to you, Mr. O’Sullivan.”
Katya never stopped moving, determined to keep herself so busy, not even Maddox could find the opportunity to waylay her. The less Mr. Warden suspected about her – personally or where Brady’s plans were concerned – the better.
Katya tried to stay near the front of the carnival to avoid running into Maddox around the maintenance building. She was assuring a family of five that they could indeed see half the city from the top of the Warden wheel when she recognized a familiar face twenty feet behind them. Mary wandered past the ticket booth, her face raised to take in the enormity of the Beast thundering and racing above the band.
“It’s a magnificent view,” Katya informed the family. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Katya hurried over to Mary before she could lose her in the crowd. She met Mary with an impetuous hug, her unexpected joy making it tighter than she meant to. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t think you’d really come.”
Mary glanced around, her mouth caught between excitement and trepidation. “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“It’s marvelous. Did you just get in?”
Mary nodded.
“Let me show you around.” Katya linked her arm around Mary’s.
Mary slipped her arm away. “I’m not sure I want to stay long. It’s so late already.”
“Is it? I almost never know what time it is here.”
“It was after ten when I left the house.”
Katya looked from one fantastic attraction to the next, the Tower, the El vibrating beside it, and the Kaleidoscope whirring to her right. “Are you sure I can’t show you around a bit? Mr. Warden hasn’t given in to my suggestion that we print off maps yet. He says that’s what he’s paying me for.”
“All right.”
“You sound so tired, Mary.”
The two women began to walk together. Katya did not reach for Mary’s arm a second time.
“I was up about dawn,” Mary pointed out, stifling a yawn behind her plain black glove. “I suppose I’m as tired as you are when you get home so late on your really late nights.”
Katya’s breathing shallowed. She forced deeper breaths into her lungs. “The late nights?”
“Yes. Sometimes I hear you and Magdalene come in an hour or two later than usual.”
“I’m sorry if we wake you, Mary. We try to be quiet.”
“It’s all right. It isn’t very often. Sometimes I can’t sleep well, and I read a magazine for a while.”
Katya had never noticed a light under Mary’s door or any other door in the house after the meetings with Brady, but then again, she realized she might not have looked.
“So this is where you work,” Mary mused. Her brown eyes roamed over every metal column, every wooden plank.
“Is it what you thought it would be?”
“I don’t know. I remember the pictures in the papers when it opened last year. They didn’t do it justice. The coasters look so much bigger in person.”
“This is the side stage here.” Katya gestured to another of the increasingly popular dance contests. “We used to have more eating contests and sewing demonstrations, but this has become a great way for people to meet each other.”
“Love at the famous Steampunk Carnival,” Mary quipped.
Katya thought of Maddox, her most enjoyable secret. “Yes. How about you, Mary? Don’t you ever have any adventures? I can’t remember the last time you talked about having a date.”
Mary shrugged under her thin cotton jacket. “I don’t have time for such things. Ever since Dad died, I’ve worried about helping Mom keep up the Boarder.”
“I’m sure she could spare you a few hours every week or so.”
“I entertain myself at the Boarder. Did you ever thumb through Mom’s copy of Miss Beecher’s? It’s a few years old, but the advice is solid. Mom still cooks out of it. Miss Beecher has a very sharp wit.”
“I’ve always preferred magazines to books. There’s more pictures in them.”
Katya led Mary closer to the food stall. Magdalene was too busy with customers to notice them coming.
“This is where Mags is stuck night after night,” Katya said. “She’s not free to roam like I am.”
“Should we get in line?”
“Not if we just want to talk.”
Katya reached the corner of the stand, giving the customers a reassuring smile. “Hey, Mags. Look who’s here.”
Magdalene glanced down, then glanced again. “Oh, hello, Mary. I didn’t expect to see you. You didn’t have to make the trip just because Katya keeps insisting.”
“I should see it,” Mary replied good-naturedly. “I’m glad I came. It’s not the kind of thing you can describe in words or pictures. It’s too unusual for that.”
Magdalene took a few silver coins from a customer and traded them for a white paper bag of popcorn. “Are you hungry, Mary? Do you need something to drink?”
Katya encouraged Mary with shining eyes. “Live a little, Mary. We never have root beer at the house. It doesn’t cost much.”
“Maybe I will.”
Katya turned and peered across the carnival. She was hoping to avoid Brady’s game stall, too, not just the maintenance building beyond it. The journal had returned to his possession, as it should have, but Katya felt the bittersweet pull of it. She had spent as much of the afternoon as possible reading it, touching the pages Brady had once labored over before they packed it up. Magdalene had wrapped it in fresh newspaper and hidden it in the bottom of a sack she topped with several of Mrs. Weeks’ still-warm blueberry muffins. Katya could not stomach watching Magdalene deliver the sack to Brady, and it would have been dangerous for her to try. She knew Magdalene had done a sincere, convincing job.
“I brought you some baked goods, sir, for your family,” Magdalene would have said, or maybe, “Here are the muffins you ordered from my landlady.”
Magdalene would craft the most inconspicuous wording. Katya could only yearn to explore the journal again. Perhaps one day, after they had driven Mr. Warden from his stolen property, Katya would have the chance to flip through it at her leisure.
“I should get back to the guests,” Katya decided, returning her attention to Magdalene and Mary.
“I should get in line,” Mary said.
“I’ll probably see you sooner than you think,” Katya told her. “The rides are huge, but the carnival itself isn’t that big. Seek me out before you leave, won’t you? Just look for the hat.” Katya adjusted her navy-blue top hat, bedecked with white flowers, gears, and delicate lace.
“I will.” Mary walked along the single file of patrons to the end.
Katya retraced her steps to the front of the carnival. She staked out an area not far from the ticket booth where she could greet the incoming guests and offer her help. She was glad to miss Isolde that night. The most Katya felt sure she could have managed under the gaze of the celebrated blonde beauty was a terse, suspicious grimace.
As often happened, Katya lost track of the exact time she spent there. She only measured it as too long when keeping to the same spot dragged h
er cheery disposition down with increasing boredom. At first, Katya let herself move closer to the Kaleidoscope. Meandering further, she made her way to the blasting Cannon and the line of water closets, but no one seemed to need her help there. She told a joke to herself, a resolve never to mention to Mr. Warden that the guests were slowly gaining knowledgeable independence.
Katya kept an eye peeled for Mary, expecting to see her at any moment. In her practical bonnet and plain clothes, Mary was harder to spot than Isolde Neumann or most others who visited the carnival. Even Magdalene stood out in her bold reds, wines, and crimsons.
Katya walked as far past the water closets as she was willing to go, glancing down the length of the carnival’s back stretch toward the far food stall. Mary’s pale skin and curly brown hair were nowhere to be seen. Katya turned, wondering for a split second if Mary had left without telling her. Mary always kept her word, Katya felt certain. She was as dependable and honest as they came.
Katya saw brief movement behind the water closets, in the narrow space between their back walls and the Cannon’s support system. She assumed it must be Agna, chasing down some rubbish blown there by the wind. But Katya recognized the silhouette of Mary’s bonnet and rail-thin form. Katya slipped into the slender passageway.
“I looked for you everywhere,” Katya said. “Did you try the root beer? Isn’t it sweet and refreshing?”
Mary coughed into her glove and nodded.
The cars of the Cannon zoomed overhead, shaking down dust, dirt, and sawdust. The image of Mary coughing before the particles tickled their noses bothered Katya.
“Are you all right?” she asked. She reached for Mary’s free arm.
Mary jerked away, moving farther into the space no patron was meant to occupy. “I’m fine,” she called out as the firing of the Cannon died from their ears.
Katya swept her hand out, swiping her pale ivory glove across the palm of Mary’s black one. A smear of bright blood stained Katya’s fabric like a sounding alarm.
“Go away,” Mary pleaded, waving her back the way she came.
“Mary.” Katya’s voice stuck in her throat, disbelieving, her foundations rocked. “You’ve got–”
Mary glared at her with the strictest warning she had ever seen in a woman’s eyes. Mary shamed her into silence, and Katya wished she had not pursued her.
“I need to get home,” Mary insisted, maintaining her distance.
“How bad is it?” Katya hissed, feeling betrayed and protective. She had always liked Mary, but now that Mary was ill, her respect and admiration intensified.
“I can’t talk about it now. I have to go.” Mary looked the other way, down the other half of the chute to the main carnival grounds.
“Will you be all right? I can go with you. I can hail you a carriage for hire. I can wait with you until the streetcar comes.”
Mary shook her head. She covered her mouth with her telltale glove, choking gruffly into the fabric. She walked away, past the last water closet in the line and disappearing behind it.
Katya stayed where she was, blinking to keep tears out of her eyes. The secrets she felt forced to hold onto kept piling up, threatening to crush her. She wanted to sit down behind the water closets, hidden from the prying eyes of the carnival, and cry into her soiled satin gloves.
Instead, Katya hiked her chin up and strutted out from behind the water closets. There must be patrons at the carnival who needed her, and she promised herself solemnly to find them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Why did Mary have to be dying?
Katya rode in the carriage along its insufferable route, dropping Agna off first in the southern neighborhoods of the city, then Irina closer to the Weekly Boarder. Katya could not wait to reach home, but she also dreaded it, which was the true mark of having to perform serious work.
Magdalene chatted infrequently whether Katya responded or not. “It was nice to see Mary at the carnival.”
Katya bobbed her head slowly.
“Did she say when the last time she went out was?”
Katya swiveled her head from side to side. Her eyes focused on the scuffed floor boards past the squared toes of her narrow boots.
“I like to see Mary happy. It’s so rare sometimes. She perked up tonight, though, when she tried the root beer. I only pretended to take her money in case anyone was watching. I didn’t want anything that Mary’s earned to go to Mr. Warden.”
The carriage finally pulled up in front of the Weekly Boarder. Magdalene, seated closest to the door, stood up at what Katya deemed to be a snail’s pace or slower. She eased the door open and gradually descended to the sidewalk. Katya followed close behind her.
“Good night, Mr. Davies,” Magdalene bid him quietly.
Mr. Davies leaned into view and tipped his black hat. “Good night, ladies.”
Katya managed a hasty but passable curtsy before rivaling Magdalene for the stairs to the porch. Katya pulled her key out of her bag and let them into the hall. She locked up impatiently, now stuck behind Magdalene’s slow footsteps up the circular staircase.
In the upstairs hall, Magdalene pattered to her door. “Good night,” she whispered.
“It’s good morning,” Katya corrected her. “Sleep well.”
Katya hid in her room long enough to hear Magdalene’s door click shut. Katya did not even bother removing her hat. She slipped back into the hallway and tried the handle of the room on her right. Mary’s door swung open.
Mary was not sitting up reading this morning. She stretched out in bed, her eyes blinking in the dim light from the hallway that Mrs. Weeks left on for her more nocturnal boarders. Mary gazed at the wall, giving no indication she knew Katya was there. Her braided hair fell back from her face, the white cotton sleeve of her nightgown illuminated on her shoulder.
“I know you’re awake,” Katya accused under her breath.
Silence dominated the room. Katya would wait all night for a reply if she had to. Determination always gave her energy.
At last, Mary whispered, “Go away.”
“Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll tell everyone first thing at lunch.”
Mary pushed herself up sideways, twisted in the bed sheets to challenge Katya. “You wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would. I’ve done worse things in my life.”
Mary straightened her back and sat up in bed. “Come in before you wake someone.”
“Where are the matches?”
“There by the door.”
Katya felt amidst the shadows on top of the small table beside her. She closed her fingers around a box of matches and singled one out. She struck the head against the side of the box and lit the gas lamp on the wall. She blew the match out as she closed the door to the hallway. Katya left the box and the spent match on the table. She positioned herself in the center of the room and folded her arms.
“My mother needs me,” Mary appealed to her.
“She wants you well. We all do.” Except maybe Lizzie, who would immediately realize there would be an extra slice of pie available at dinner. Katya ignored this and focused on Mary. “How long have you been coughing up blood?”
“A few months, I suppose. Maybe half a year. I haven’t been keeping track.”
“You sound better now.”
“It’s not that serious.”
“What do you have? Do you know? Have you sent for a doctor?”
“No. I think it’s consumption.”
Katya thought of Brady watching his wife cough herself into oblivion. “People die from that, you know. You should see a doctor. We don’t want to bury you, Mary.”
“I’m fine, really.” A cough bubbled up through Mary’s lips, and she sipped water from a glass by her bedside.
“You weren’t sitting up reading all those nights because you wanted to, were you?” Katya asked, a new realization dawning on her. “You were trying to stop the coughing.”
Mary nodded, draining half the water in her glass.
Katya wanted to step toward Mary and reassure her with a gentle touch, but she remembered she should keep her distance. “You should tell your mother. She’ll feel awful if anything happens to you and she didn’t know you were sick.”
Mary nodded again.
Katya watched Mary take small sips of water over and over. Mary’s insistence she was not critically ill had comforted Katya, but a sinking feeling sucked her down into the muck of reality. “You want to cough, don’t you, Mary? That’s why you’re not saying anything.”
Mary held onto the glass with relaxed fingers. “I can–” She barely threw her arm over her mouth in time to block the forceful hacks of air.
Katya lurched back a step.
Mary extended the glass toward the bedside table until it clinked steadily on its surface. She pulled a dark rag from under her pillow and coughed into it, holding it tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound.
“Mary, are you sure you’re not dying?” Katya whispered. She thought of Mrs. Weeks, sound asleep at the other end of the hall. “Please, let me get your mother.”
Mary shook her head vehemently. She opened the top drawer in the bedside table. A row of bottles played against each other with various high-pitched rings. Katya eased closer to look at them, staying a few feet away from Mary.
The bottles, maybe a dozen in all, lay on their sides with varying amounts of liquid sloshing inside of them. Katya recognized the glowing burgundy of Mrs. Week’s favorite, Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral. Some of the syrups were so dark, they gleamed almost black, while others shone amber, rosewood, and ginger.
Mary lifted out the bottle of Ayer’s and took a small swig. She eased a few breaths in and out as her coughing subsided.
“How long have you been sick, Mary? Don’t lie,” Katya pressed her. Fury constricted her chest, and she thought about dragging Mary out of bed, straight down to City Hospital.
“I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you been to the hospital? This is ridiculous.”
“I don’t have time for the hospital. My mother needs me.”
Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) Page 15