The Fugitive and the Vanishing Man

by Rod Duncan

  “There are other kingdoms in the wilderness,” she said. “The floating nation of the Sargasso…”

  Winslow stopped writing. He seemed outraged. “A rabble of pirates!”

  “Yet they’re organised. Don’t they now threaten the Atlantic? And there’s the kingdom of Patagonia.”

  “Slavers!”

  “There may be other nations we don’t yet know. Alone, they’re dangerous. But immeasurably more if they can trade and form alliances. Their problem is that the Gas-Lit Empire controls most of the world. It makes communication difficult for them. Trade, harder still. But if Oregon could make a bridge across the continent – if it could connect to the kingdom of Newfoundland on the other side…”

  “They would have both oceans,” said Farthing.

  He had sat quietly through the meeting. Now the others turned to look, as if surprised to find him still in the room. Elizabeth concentrated on McLeod’s face, the wrinkles on his brow. She couldn’t tell whether his frown was one of concern or merely confusion. But they needed to be concerned. They needed to be frightened. If she couldn’t convince a few agents in one room, how could she expect the nations of the Gas-Lit Empire to wake, to arm themselves against what was coming?

  “Should I minute Agent Farthing’s comment?” Winslow asked.

  “No need,” said McLeod. “The witness can speak for herself.”

  Farthing stared at the floor, as if rebuked.

  “Why don’t you listen to him?” she asked. “He has it right. While Newfoundland was at war with itself, it was no danger to you. And no use to the other kingdoms of the wilds. So, the king of Oregon smuggled a bomb onto the rock of Newfoundland. I was there. I saw it. Hundreds died. All the warlords were killed except for one. And he is now a king. If Oregon can strike a deal with him… then it’ll be just as Farthing says.”

  “That’s a mighty big jump of reasoning, Miss Barnabus.”

  “You think it can’t happen?”

  “We’ve held the peace for almost two centuries.”

  “Can’t you see that things have changed? The dream is over. In a few years, they’ll have the power to invade you. They may have it already.”

  Some of the agents glanced at each other, as if looking for reassurance. The first cracks of doubt.

  “I’ve made a list of all the weapons I’ve seen. And all I know of the peoples of Newfoundland and the Sargasso.”

  She held out a sheaf of papers. No one took it.

  “What are you proposing we do?” asked McLeod.

  “I’m not proposing anything.”

  It came to her that these men were so rooted in belief that they couldn’t see the truth. The Gas-Lit Empire, the Patent Office: a perfect answer to the problems of the world. If things went wrong, the agents just had to follow the blueprint more perfectly. She’d just told them that the plan itself was flawed, that it had been from the very start.

  “If new nations emerge, we’ll invite them to join us,” Winslow said.

  Others nodded.

  But McLeod was frowning. “It would mean giving away their weapons.”

  “It would mean peace,” Winslow said. “Prosperity. They would be able to travel in safety, anywhere in the world. They’d trade and become rich. They’d have luxuries, medicines. No one could refuse what we have to offer.”

  “They want to take those things by force,” Elizabeth said.

  “Then, what is the answer?”

  “Why do you think there is one?”

  She met their gaze one by one and all looked away, except for John Farthing.

  “I’ve given you everything,” she said. “Our agreement has been witnessed by a lawyer. You’ll see to it that Julia and Tinker come to no harm.”

  “We will,” said Farthing.

  “And I have one more request. They must know nothing of this till you’ve taken me wherever it is I’m going. And the boy can’t ever know where I’ve gone, or he’ll come looking.”

  “Agreed,” said McLeod.

  “Where am I to go?”

  “You could walk out of here,” McLeod said. “Your lawyer friend has made it abundantly clear that we can’t hold you. But if you do, you’ll be found and taken into custody. You’re a wanted woman. They’ll transport you back across the Atlantic in chains. There’s a prison cell waiting for you in Liverpool. You’ll have your day in court. And then the gallows. But… we could offer you something better.”

  John Farthing’s shoulders sagged. He had warned her of this moment. And now he would think all his fears realised. She hated to see his pain.

  “Make your offer,” she said.

  “Go back to the crossing place. There’s a boat captain ready to take you downriver. You’ll have to make your own way to Newfoundland. That’s beyond our reach. But you have contacts there. From all you’ve told us, you could even speak to the new king. Convince him to sign the Great Accord. Have Newfoundland join the Gas-Lit Empire, and this conspiracy of rogue nations of which you speak – it will come to nothing.”

  “The new king won’t agree.”

  “You haven’t tried yet.”

  The more clearly she presented the case, the more desperately they clung to their illusion. So great was their need to believe in the Gas-Lit Empire that they were incapable of seeing its doom.

  All but John Farthing, perhaps. His was a different tragedy. He loved her. He trusted her and couldn’t dismiss her words. That meant he saw the end of the age approaching. All that he’d worked for would come to ruin. All the sacrifices he’d made would be for nothing in the end. She was crushing him. She hated them for making her do it.

  “Will you go back?” McLeod asked.

  “I will,” she said. It was only half a lie.

  Robert had taken Tinker and Julia to see the waterfall again. That had been Elizabeth’s idea, to get them out of the apartment. The boy would spend his time staring over the railings while the husband and wife would stare into each other’s eyes, no less awestruck. The surprise of reunion had not worn off. Perhaps it never would.

  It was dusk by the time they returned: Julia and Robert arm in arm, Tinker striding out before them, a young man in all but stature, a new confidence in his expression.

  “Did you give them the information they wanted?” Robert asked, and then turned to McLeod, “Did she?”

  “Yes,” they answered in chorus.

  “Then we’re free to go?”

  “You are free,” McLeod said.

  Robert shook the agent’s hand and beamed. “We will set off tomorrow. I’ll arrange a carriage. New York first. The place is a marvel. You may stay for as long as you wish, Elizabeth. And the boy too. You can stay forever if you will. What you’ve given me, I’ll never be able to repay.”

  Julia embraced her, then. “We shall be like a family,” she said.

  But Tinker looked at her and said nothing.

  The evening’s meal was to be a modest affair, but Robert demanded a celebratory feast, and offered to pay for it, though it seemed the agents had no procedure for accepting his money. Nevertheless, they relented. He compiled a list of courses, with the extravagance of a Londoner. They sent instructions down in the dumbwaiter and presently the food began to arrive: small portions of braised quail followed by a light broth to clear the palate, and then duck, and after a delay, turkey with a sauce made of cranberries, and then fruits and cheeses and coffee. The entire process continued for over two hours, the agents seeming embarrassed by such excess.

  When the last of the plates had been cleared away, Elizabeth said, “I should like to walk in the grounds. John Farthing can accompany me.”

  It seemed that Winslow might object, but Farthing got to his feet and inclined his head in a small bow, which seemed to indicate that he would be honoured so to do. “She will be safe with me,” he said.

  Hardly believing that they had allowed it, she set off down the stairs to the small black door, which Farthing unlocked. And then she was properly out, for the fi
rst time in days. The air was chill. She’d not brought a coat, but would suffer it rather than go back inside and risk a change of mind.

  Neither of them spoke as they stepped away. Elizabeth’s instinct was to stay underneath the balcony and skirt the building with the agents unable to see from the window above. But John led her out over the grass, in plain sight, his hands clasped behind him. And he was right. They needed to be seen, for his protection. A man sworn to celibacy and a woman who was everything they distrusted.

  At the line of trees that marked the edge of the grounds they turned and started off towards the back of the hotel.

  “Why did you agree to go?” he said. She could hear the pain in his voice.

  “It was the only way I could protect my friends.”

  “You could have just kept saying nothing. They would have been forced to make a deal. Now they can make you do anything they want. They’re sending you out again, across the border. I cannot bear it.”

  “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

  He laughed. “You told me once that our lives were made from secrets. You were right.”

  “There’s something I didn’t tell them. It’s not important really. Not for the future of the Gas-Lit Empire. But to me…”

  They had reached the corner of the grounds where the land sloped away towards a road below.

  “Run,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “I’ll say you gave me the slip. I have money you can take. Get away from here. Hide your identity. Pretend to be a man. They know you can disguise yourself in that way, but it would make it almost impossible for them to track you. America is a big continent. You can lose yourself here.”

  “They would never believe I got away.”

  “Suspicion is one thing. Proof quite another.”

  “You’re not as good a liar as you suppose,” she said. “They would know what you’d done. What’s the punishment for agents who break their vows?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I could go to Newfoundland,” she said. “But I don’t believe the new king would do the deal you all hope. Even if he wanted, they’re too proud of their independence. Having a king was a big enough step. Submitting to the rule of the Patent Office would be impossible.”

  “You could hide,” he said.

  They were behind the hotel now, out of sight of the windows of the apartment, unless one of the other agents had sneaked out to watch. She wanted to take his hand. She loved him. She’d never been so sure of that. She loved him utterly. But she also knew that they could not be together.

  She said, “When I was a child – very small – my father taught me to pretend to be my brother. On stage, in front of an audience, I could walk behind one of the disappearing cabinets and when I stepped out again I would look like him instead of me. It was part of my father’s great illusion. The Vanishing Man. My brother would be transported from one side of the stage to the other. But really there were the two of us, swapping places.

  “Before that – I don’t remember it myself, but my father told me – he had performed the bullet catch illusion. He had two pistols, in the same way that he had two children. Twins. The trick involved swapping one for the other. So that when the gun was fired it was not the one the audience had seen loaded. But one day there was an accident. I don’t know the details. But one of the men who worked with him was killed. He gave up the bullet catch.

  “My mother and brother left when I wasn’t quite seven years old. For a time we pretended that my brother was still there. My father dressed me in his clothes and no one could tell the difference. The trick changed. I had to do both parts – my brother’s and my own. It seemed easy then.

  “When I left, my father gave me one of the pistols. I hadn’t seen it for years. It’s all I have left of him. You know the gun. You’ve seen it.”

  “The turquoise leaping hare,” John Farthing said.

  She nodded. “When I was on Newfoundland I met a man who’d seen my brother. My brother is in the west. In Oregon. Somehow he’s with the people who put a king in Newfoundland.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “There are three proofs: he had a pistol just like mine, he looked like me, he spoke like me.”

  “You can’t throw your life away on such a chance.”

  “If my brother was there, my mother might be also.”

  “Please…”

  “If they’d told me to go to Oregon, it would be easy. But they want Newfoundland. I can either do what they say or disappear. If I stay in plain view, they’ll give me to the navy and I’ll be hanged as a pirate. If I do what they want and go to Newfoundland, nothing good will come of it. Perhaps the king wouldn’t kill me. There are plenty around him who might. But in the Oregon Territory – that’s where the answer may lie for the Patent Office, for the Gas-Lit Empire. And for me. If I can go there and return, perhaps I’ll have enough to bargain with, to save my life.”

  “You could hide,” he said, again, pleading.

  “I’ve spent half my life hiding. I know how to do it. But this is for me as well. I thought I’d lost all my family, that I was the only person like me. I was alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” he whispered.

  Light from a hotel window caught his cheekbone and she saw that it was wet with tears.

  There had been wine with the meal, though Elizabeth drank none of it. Tinker had stolen a glass or two along the way. She hadn’t stopped him. Even the agents had taken a sip from time to time. Now, all were asleep.

  Standing in the bedroom, she watched the faces of Julia and Tinker, trying to fix them in her memory, peaceful and safe. The boy turned over and sighed. She lifted her bag and her shoes and stepped out in her stockinged feet.

  All the agents were bigger than her, but Winslow was closest in size. She slipped into the room he shared. A small wardrobe stood near his bed. She opened it, lifted out his coat and a hat. A hanger ticked quietly, rocking on the rail as she went through the pockets of his jacket and emptied his wallet of banknotes. She had never stolen so much money before. Neither man stirred.

  Muffling the bell, she pulled the rope to lower the dumbwaiter a couple of feet. Then placing the bag and coat on the top, she sent it down the rest of the way. She’d thought of this escape route from the start, but quickly dismissed the idea, since the compartment would be too small for her body. But she could perhaps clamber down the shaft itself. It was still a tight fit. Her feet went in first and when she was sitting half-in half-out, she turned over to face the floor. Then she inched backwards, feet searching for holds. There were none. But the rough brick surface gave purchase enough.

  When she was at last hanging by her hands, she brought her feet out to press against one wall, forcing her back towards the other. Letting go, she remained suspended. The fabric of her sleeves scratched against the rough brick as she let herself down inch by inch. The blackness was complete. The air felt stuffy. Then her foot found the top of the dumbwaiter. It creaked as she let her weight down onto it.

  A thin layer of wood was now all that separated her from the kitchen corridors. Breaking through might have been noisy but she had come prepared. From her pocket she pulled one of the hotel’s silver knives. It fitted into the gap between the planks. She pressed down and heard the nails squeak as they pulled free. With one plank out, the others were easy to remove. Letting herself down through the gap she slid out into a narrow corridor, the domain of servants rather than guests.

  With her bag in one hand and Agent Winslow’s coat over her arm, she set off towards the front of the building, coming at last to a door with no handle, which she pushed through and found herself suddenly standing on thick carpet in a wide space, with the lamps still burning.

  Seeing the front desk, she froze. Someone would be on duty and it wouldn’t do to be seen leaving. They’d think she was a guest trying to slip away without paying her bill. Explaining to them would be impossible.

  She waited and listen
ed. At first there were no sounds beyond the slow ticking of clocks. Then she did hear something: a man’s slack snore.

  Stepping silently on the thick carpet she slipped through the lobby, casting a glance to the sleeping night clerk behind the counter. Then she pushed open the front door and felt the night air across her face.

  CHAPTER 8

  The consort was with child and beautifully pale, they said, though sturdy. She stood in the Great Hall, her arm linked with the king’s, her gaze lowered from the cheering crowd of courtiers and guards, a faint sheen on her forehead. The most fervent cheer and the loudest clapping came from the king’s own brother.

  A display of loyalty was in order. But Timon was overdoing it. If the child lived to term it would push him one place further from the throne. Assuming it were a boy. And how could the royal seed do less than sire another stallion? A bowed head of dutiful submission would have been more believable.

  For a moment, the consort leaned more heavily on the king’s arm. Concern crossed his face as he guided her to a chair. Ladies-in-waiting rushed from the crowd. One touched a handkerchief to the consort’s brow, the other wafted with a fan of black and white eagle feathers.

  “A toast to the king and all his line,” called Timon, raising a glass. “May they live forever.”

  All followed his lead. But Timon’s fervour had been badly timed. With cups half drained, the consort threw up. Forcefully. Copiously. As befits one who has been practising. Even the warriors in the room seemed shocked.

  The ladies-in-waiting helped her away. Two of the courtiers begged leave to go and change their clothes. The king seemed distracted. He waved a hand in dismissal. The hubbub of voices grew to fill the room. Janus had somehow positioned himself next to the king’s right arm. Edwin, dressed fully male for the gathering, pushed through the crowd, trying to take back the place that was his by right, but two courtiers were standing in the way and wouldn’t yield.

  “What does your magician say?” Janus asked the king, his voice loud enough to carry. “Will your heir be healthy?”