Katya shook her head. She felt clawing, mounting dread, as if something horrible had already happened. “Did you leave her alone in your office?”
“Yes. She said it was urgent.”
Katya bolted toward the back of the carnival without explaining why. Every twelve steps or so, she quickened her pace. She ran past the Beast and Brady’s game stall by the time she heard a muffled sound like a wet handclap. Only then did Mr. Warden speed past her, reaching the door to his office before she could.
“Stay outside,” Mr. Warden barked.
Katya was not prepared to listen. Mr. Warden opened the door, and without bothering to steel herself, Katya peered past him into the office.
In the far room, on the floor two feet from where her husband passed away, rested the finally motionless body of Agna Lieber. Katya stared at the gun by her hand. The only thought repeating itself in her head cried accusingly, I told her. I told her where her husband died.
Mr. Warden started forward but hung back again. Mrs. Lieber was not moving. Blood seeped across the muddy tone of her jacket.
“Where’s Mr. Weis?” Mr. Warden asked, for once sounding unsure of himself.
Katya felt just as ungrounded. “I don’t know Mr. Weis.”
“The new head of security.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Will you stay with the body, or should I?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Katya volunteered softly, her head swimming with the decision.
Mr. Warden strode away toward the maintenance office, and Katya moved slowly into the outer room. She pulled the door closed behind her, muting the sounds of the carnival. She looked at Agna’s body for a few moments, testing her limits as her breath thinned in her throat.
What about Agna’s little girl? What would happen to her? Relatives? An orphanage?
Katya stepped forward and closed the door to the inner room. She sat down on Mr. Warden’s gold silk settee to wait for him and Mr. Weis.
What drove Agna to such a violent, irreversible action? Did she miss her husband, or was it too hard to support herself without his salary from the carnival?
Tears tumbled down Katya’s cheeks. Missing a handkerchief, she patted the fingers of her gloves to her face.
Katya called herself a fool. She worried that Brady’s plan to expose Mr. Warden to his numerous carnival guests would tarnish its reputation so badly, it could never recover. Yet under Mr. Warden’s leadership, one couple lay dead. The most the public knew, the most press Mr. Lieber’s murder had garnered, was a short, innocent obituary:
Mr. Ernst Lieber, a valuable employee of William H. Warden’s wonderful Steampunk Carnival, passed away last night due to sudden illness.
The sudden illness of a letter opener spilling the blood from his neck.
The outer door sprang open, and a man stormed in ahead of Mr. Warden. Katya recognized him immediately as the man who had named Agna for her weeks before. Katya stared at him. He had stood right beside her and given her no indication Mr. Warden had named him as Mr. Lieber’s replacement.
Mr. Weis stood taller than Mr. Warden. His soft features and bushy facial hair made him look docile and trustworthy. It was not until Katya saw his eyes that she shrank back. The mousy brown orbs swiveled unexpectedly and observantly, piercing everything they took in.
“Who’s this?” Mr. Weis commanded. Katya still could not place his accent, sort of a slow, lilting affect between German and Swedish.
“Miss Romanova. She works for me.”
Mr. Weis flicked his eyes over Katya. “Yes, I recognize her now. Where’s the body?”
Katya cringed. That body was Agna Lieber, until five minutes ago, a fellow employee to Mr. Weis. She had thrown herself into work at the carnival none of the others would touch.
Mr. Warden gestured to the closed door. “In there.”
Mr. Weis tossed a hand at Katya. “Get her out of here.” He opened the door to the office and disappeared inside. He shut the door, but what he needed privacy for, Katya could not guess.
Mr. Warden spoke to her more civilly. “Katya, you should go. I’m sorry you had to see this. I had no idea she was planning to do it.”
Katya rose to her feet, making sure she maintained a steady balance. “She’s been upset for weeks.”
Mr. Warden’s voice sharpened. “Are you blaming this on me?”
“No, sir.”
“You told me I could do better.” Mr. Warden took his hat off and smoothed his straight hair with the flat of his hand. “Maybe I should’ve tried.”
Sympathy pulled Katya toward Mr. Warden. “It might not have helped. It’s not your fault, whatever you did or didn’t do. She was obviously stricken with grief in one way or another.”
Mr. Warden nodded, considering this. He lowered his head, easing his lips toward Katya’s. She leaned back, creating an undeniable space in the smoothest motion she could manage. Mr. Warden stopped, his eyes darkening as he searched her face, looking for the reasons she was suddenly denying him.
Katya worked to keep her face a blank page. Her mind drifted to Mr. Weis’ suit, a plain brown that had blended him into the crowd the past few weeks, obscuring his duties from her. Now Magdalene’s newspaper reporters would be roaming the grounds, equally incognito and indistinguishable from the other guests. Katya tried to hide the pride she took in trying to beat Mr. Warden at his own game. By the deepening creases in Mr. Warden’s forehead, he might or might not have noticed it.
“I don’t want to be in the way, Mr. Warden,” Katya explained. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
Suspicion strained his monotonous voice. “No. That’s all. Thank you for your help.”
Katya let herself out of the building. She moved toward the nearest food stall, seeking out Magdalene’s reassuring red clothes. Her burgundy hat, star charms flashing like mirrors among the ostrich feathers, sat precisely in place atop her blonde hair. Her red sleeves moved as quickly and rhythmically as ever, down to the customers and over to Irina. Katya watched her, jealous for the first time of the certainty in Magdalene’s life. Magdalene had one place at the carnival: the eastern stall. Katya might find herself on any inch of the property at any given moment. Magdalene seemed content to let rare suitors seek her out and pay visits to the house of their own accord. She performed no rush for the altar. Katya, on the other hand, had always been forward. She had always pushed for more, employing more tactics in grabbing a man’s attention than most women knew to forget. She could fake a fainting spell and drop a well-timed handkerchief better than any actress adored on the stage.
Magdalene had not gotten herself into trouble with Mr. Warden, and Katya had. She decided to stop arguing with herself over whether she should have started anything with Mr. Warden or whether she should have enjoyed his illicit company so much. It was time to figure out how soon she could react and what she could possibly do to move Brady’s plan forward.
Chapter Thirty
Katya was not so enthralled with the predictability of Magdalene’s life that she forgot to appreciate her many freedoms. With her family seven-hundred miles away, Katya felt free to travel the city alone as she needed. Mrs. Weeks had neither the time nor the beginnings of an inclination to chaperone any of her unrelated boarders through the city streets.
Making her way along the sidewalk downtown, Katya glanced at the other young women her age. Not one of them walked alone. Some of them held the hand of a younger brother or sister. Some of them were elbowed by hawk-eyed mothers spying an acceptable suitor, and others were guided briskly away from potential suitors by more protective matrons.
Katya crossed Pennsylvania Street and reached the two-story building marked with a wide sign running between two rows of windows: Holloway Brothers Pharmacy. She strolled in, nodding politely to the other patrons. Even in her everyday clothes, Katya did not see the need to ignore those around her. She walked along the row of glass shelves, reading the labels on bottles even more varied than Mary
’s home collection. Advertisements hung on the wall above them, adding to the overwhelming display.
Little’s Oriental Balm cures all aches and pains.
Veno’s Lightning Cough Cure.
Mellin’s Cod Liver Oil Emulsion for all chest ailments.
Katya selected a few bottles she did not recognize from Mary’s drawer, a deep amber one and a mossy green vessel the color of Lizzie’s fragile hair. She added a cobalt blue vial to her hands and approached the pharmacist’s counter.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted her, taking the bottles.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Holloway.” Katya watched him pick up a pencil and start to write the costs of the cure-alls on a pad of receipts. She leaned toward him and dropped her voice low. “I also need something from the back room.”
Dr. Holloway grunted discreetly. He finished adding up the cost of the medicines and set them inside a brown paper bag. “Three dollars, please.”
Katya pulled the bills from her little bag and handed them across the counter. Dr. Holloway secured the money inside his register drawer. “Right this way.”
Katya kept in step with Dr. Holloway on her side of the long counter. He led her to a closed door at the rear of the shop. A neatly centered sign read Pharmacists Only. Dr. Holloway unlocked the door, and Katya followed him inside.
The room was little more than a stock room. Expansive wooden shelves held extra bottles, jars, and boxes. Dr. Holloway closed the door and continued deeper into the room. “What were you interested in?”
“What do you have available?”
“Goodyear rubbers, of course. Those new, natural skins from New York. Diaphragms. Spermicides. Douches.”
“I want...” Katya struggled to explain her thoughts without embarrassing herself. She wished Dr. Holloway had a female assistant, but talking to a woman about it would not have made her request much more comfortable. “I want something I don’t have to carry with me.”
“You’re traveling around?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You won’t want the skins, then.”
“It’ll be easier to take care of at home before I leave the house than... afterward.”
Dr. Holloway reached for a cluster of paper bags and looked through the boxes inside them. “Do you know how to insert a diaphragm?”
Katya’s face flushed hot. “No.”
“Spermicidal tablets are easier. They dissolve in the body. You can put them in beforehand.”
“I’ll take some of those.”
Dr. Holloway slipped a small, rectangular box from one of the bags. He murmured the price to her, and Katya paid him quickly. She stuffed the box into her purse.
“Have a good day,” Dr. Holloway said.
“You, too. Thank you.”
Katya hurried out of the cramped, stuffy room. She crossed the pharmacy with the bag of cure-alls in her hand, relieved to reach the sidewalk.
Katya thought about taking the streetcar home but decided to walk the three miles to the boarding house. The outdoor air felt good in her lungs, even if it did reek of burning coal and horse manure.
By the time Katya reached the Weekly Boarder, her feet ached from the sidewalks, less forgiving than the open ground she walked at the carnival. She entered the house as soundlessly as she could, listening to where the others were in the structure. She could hear Mary and Mrs. Weeks talking at the back.
“Mary?” Katya called.
Mary appeared from the living room with a feather duster in her hand.
“Will you come up and help me get ready for tonight?”
“Of course.” Mary left the duster on the nearest table.
Katya climbed the front stairs and waited for Mary in the hall. Katya did not open the door to her room. She motioned Mary to the other end of the hall, to Mary’s room. Mary said nothing and led her inside.
Only behind the closed door did Katya hand Mary the paper bag.
Mary opened it, and as soon as she saw the bottles, she extended it to Katya. “I won’t take this.”
Katya folded her hands against her skirt. “You can, and you just did. I’ll pay for your trip to the hospital if they don’t work.”
Mary’s eyes burned but not as furiously as before. “If you can find a good enough alibi for my mother.”
“I will. I’m working on it.”
“Thank you.” Mary turned and arranged the bottles in the drawer with the others. “I’m not like Lizzie. I don’t care what happened between you and Mr. Warden. I don’t feel good about spending your money.”
“You might as well take it. I was saving it up to have a jacket made with a working clock on the back of it, but I don’t want it now.” It would only attract more of Mr. Warden’s attention than Katya wanted.
“You’re a good person, Katya.” Mary wiped at her eyes and folded the paper bag along its seams with a crinkle.
Mr. Davies had told Katya the same thing. She still did not believe it.
“You’re the better person, Mary,” Katya said. “You don’t get yourself into messes so you have to relieve your conscience by helping other people. You help because you want to.”
“Do you really need my assistance getting ready for the carnival?”
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
Katya went into her room and stood in front of the dresser. It was easy to see where most of her money had gone. A wooden jewelry box sat on the dresser, lined in green velvet and stocked full of jewelry. In the mirror’s reflection, the armoire door rested closed, but Katya did not need to see her wardrobe to know how much fuller it was than anyone else’s she knew. She kept more knickknacks by her bed than Magdalene and Mary added together, and her bedding was nicer.
Irina was right. Katya was lazy and spoiled, but she was not stupid. Nothing could clear her conscience more thoroughly than exposing Mr. Warden for the fraud he was and making sure Brady took his place. Supposing the carnival did recover from such an upheaval, it would be the idyllic place to work like it had been in the beginning. No fear, no uncertainty, no lying and dodging.
They needed the perfect opportunity. They needed the press to be there in their innocuous-looking suits, ready to pull their cameras out of concealment. They needed Mr. Warden trapped in front of his patrons with nowhere to hide.
It would happen. Katya just did not know when.
Chapter Thirty-One
The carnival seemed busier and more active than usual. Katya could not tell whether it was the effects of successful advertising, Mr. Warden’s added security, or the patronage of Magdalene’s tipped-off journalists.
Katya needed them busy. She needed the maintenance workers focused on their machines, their fingers and faces coated in coal dust and grease. She needed the game stalls buzzing with customers trying to beat the crooked rigs. She needed the food stalls swarmed by curious, starving guests. Security needed to look the other way, and Mr. Warden needed to shut himself inside his office, his nose buried in his record books.
There was only one person Katya wanted to catch between jobs, and it took her half the night to find Maddox. He meandered her way in front of the Warden wheel, wiping his hands with a soiled rag. Katya swept up to him by the exit gate and dropped into a springing curtsy.
Maddox brightened and used his cleaner hand to tip his hat. “Miss Romanova. A pleasure to see you.”
Katya gestured one of her spotless gloves to the dirty rag. “Did one of the rides break down?”
“No, it just needed a little adjusting.”
“While it was still running?”
“Aye.”
“How do you work on it when it’s running?”
“As carefully as I can. I don’t want to burn or smash my hands.”
Katya did not doubt Mr. Warden condoned such dangerous tactics, but she did not like the sound of it. Brady would not make his workers risk disfigurement if he were in charge. Katya was sure Mr. Warden encouraged maintenance during operating hours under the guise of not ke
eping them extra late in the morning. Brady could easily find a safer solution.
Maddox pulled at each finger with the cloth. “How are Mrs. Weeks and your housemates?”
“They’re well. Thank you.”
“Has Lizzie repaired her hair yet to, what’d she call it? Its proper glory?”
Katya smirked. “Not yet. She damaged it too severely. She has to treat it before she can dye it. She’s been wearing hats all the time, even at lunch.”
“Sounds to me like justice, eh?”
Katya did not want to seem too bitter about her rivalry with Lizzie but found it impossible to be completely civil. “Perhaps.”
Maddox rubbed the cloth across his palms a few times. They were mostly clean except for dark particles forming lines in the deeper creases of his hands.
“Are you terribly busy, Mr. O’Sullivan?” Katya asked. She licked her lips nervously.
Maddox grinned, his eyes shining. “Am I busy, or are there things for me to do? They’re two very different questions.”
“Are you busy?”
“I can always make time for a break.”
“Is there a place we can be alone?” Katya could hear the scrape of desperation in her voice. She did not want to get caught, and she did not want Maddox to say no.
Maddox remained casual and upbeat. “We might be able to find one. With this many people at the carnival, it’s almost as busy as your house.”
Katya eased half a step toward Maddox. “I’m not talking about a conversation, Mr. O’Sullivan. I was thinking of something a little more personal.” Katya slid her hand out of its purple velvet glove and touched the back of Maddox’s hand, still slick and moist with oil. She traced her fingers down between his thumb and index finger, rubbing the tips of them back and forth over the skin of his palm.
Maddox shuddered and pulled his hands away. He glanced at the thick crowd passing by in both directions. “I’m sure we can find something. Let’s try this way. The storage building might be empty.”
Maddox guided Katya behind the western food stall to the maintenance building. He pushed the door open for her, and she stepped in ahead of him. He paused for a moment, listening to the vacant, silent rooms before pulling the door closed.
Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) Page 17