Maggie felt something, it took her a moment to realize it was honesty and truth. Tears formed in her eyes and she nodded.
Chapter 10 – Moonshadow is Found
Boots and Persi decided to split up. She would make her way to the Observation Deck, while Boots disembarked at the station with the excuse of acquiring a newspaper.
Though Downingville was not the thriving metropolis as was his Boston, it was very busy with people leaving the depot and boarding the train. The excitement of travel was on every face, though Boots recognized that the gay expressions of the children were more prevalent than those of their parents. Conductors were busy giving directions and answering questions, while baggage handlers moved through the crowd.
A high-pitched whistle startled Boots and he jumped back as a small steam-powered wagon carrying passenger’s bags passed in front of him. A white cloud engulfed him for a second before dissipating leaving him feeling damp. Of the several shops located inside the station, he found one that sold taffy, peanuts, and newspapers. In fact, as Boots scanned the shelves, he counted twenty-five newspapers, from the New York Times, to the London Daily Gazette, and included the small, “Downingville Star.”
Paying for a Downingville Star, a Boston Tribune, and a bag of hot roasted nuts, Boots strode to a nearby bench to wait and watch. No sooner had he opened his paper than loud angry voices near the train drew his attention. He looked up and saw the man calling himself Robert Pinkerton in an animated dispute with a conductor and three baggage movers. The argument seemed to have to do something with one of the large trunks loaded on the steam wagon.
He glanced up to the train’s top deck and smiled, the altercation was taking place almost directly under the spot in which Persi had positioned herself. He knew she was in a superior location for reconnaissance, but he decided he would approach the group from his side with the stack of luggage hiding his advance and placed himself within hearing distance of the disagreement.
“Listen to me, you inbred idiot,” Pinkerton said, “I do not have any live animals in my luggage, nor will I be giving you permission to open any.” His wallet out, he was flashing his badge about, as bank robber might whip his gun around to frighten the customers. It did not appear to phase the bag man.
“Conductor James,” the baggage handler began, “it is not only against Morgan Landliner policy to pack or confine a living creature in an inappropriate container, but it is also against my union rules to move pets, livestock, horses and such, without proper certification and I ain’t certified!”
“Conductor James,” Pinkerton said, stepping toward the smaller man and trying his best to loom, “there is no such thing going on here. This man obviously needs to get his hearing checked.”
“I tells ya, I heard something from one of these steamers.”
“Agh, I’ve had enough, please get me Senior Conductor Washington. We’ll see who has a job at the end of the day.”
“Ain’t no conductor, senior or otherwise, gonna help you here,” the bag handler moved his hands indicating the station. “This is now a station manager problem.”
“Very well, please contact the Station Manager, and hurry, I don’t have all day,” Pinkerton yelled.
Shaking his head, Conductor James walked past him and toward the ticket office. The head bag man whispered to the other handlers, then turned and caught up with the conductor. The two junior baggage handlers moved to stand between Pinkerton and the bags as though they had been ordered to guard duty.
Boots was within inches of the baggage and indeed thought he heard something moving within the pile of bags, trunks and boxes. As he listened through the station noise around him, he was sure he heard a low moan coming from one of the steamer trunks on the bottom of the pile. Pulling a knife from a sheath mounted to his shoulder holster, he cut the straps keeping the tall load contained, then quickly stepped away and opened his paper as if reading. It took several seconds but eventually gravity took control and the stack tipped. The baggage handlers saw the luggage topple and grabbed Pinkerton by the sleeve, pulling him away as the pile fell in the place he had been standing.
“What the hell,” Pinkerton yelled, as his men ran to his side.
The men mumbled something, which must have been an inquiry to his well-being but he waved them off. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Is the vehicle ready?”
“Outside the station,” the man with the eye patch said loudly. “The boiler is up and ready.”
“Good, get your personal bags, we’re cutting our losses. We got what we came for,” Pinkerton said.
“Yes, sir,” the man said and motioned the others to the pile, now strewn across the station floor.
Within minutes they had acquired their bags and were out the door just as the baggage handler and conductor lead a tight-faced man in an expensive suit to the scene of the now tumbled trunks.
Boots followed the Pinkerton men, staying behind other passengers and steam wagons until he reached the door. For a second he fought to focus through the fading daylight, then he saw the senior Pinkerton agent mount a huge steam wagon. The vehicle was wider than ten feet and had to be at least twenty-five feet long. Boots had heard of them and remembered they were called something like a ‘long-haul Conestoga.’ A glass-enclosed driver’s seat stuck from one end, suspended at least six feet from the ground and Boots watched as one of the men ascended a ladder affixed to the vehicles side and climb into the seat.
The last of his men stood in the doorway of the behemoth, grabbed the chain connected to the steps and pulled. They rose, causing several young boys to leap out of the way and the stairs became the bottom two thirds of the door. He reached above and pulled the upper third of the door holding a window, which swung down and snapped into place. A minute later, they drove away from the station, heading west. Boots was impressed at the speed of the large vehicle getting smaller and smaller. He knew he was seeing land travel of the future.
When he arrived back at the baggage pile, several baggage handlers were searching through the trunks, listening to each. Finally, focusing in on one, they cut the straps and popped the lock, then stood back and gasped. Both Persi and Boots stepped up on the wagon and looked into the open trunk. There, looking back at them, a bandana tied around his mouth, was Jr. Conductor John Moonshadow. Boots pulled his knife again and cut the ropes around the young man’s wrists and ankles, and removed the gag. The baggage men helped him stand, though with difficulty since little blood had circulated through his legs and arms in the last few hours. Within minutes, Senior Conductor Washington, along with several junior conductors had surrounded John and were slapping him on the back, relieved that he had been found alive.
“John,” Boots said, shaking his hand, “it is good to see you. I take it you did not fall from the Observation Deck.”
“No sir, those men grabbed and blind folded me, then took me to a room on the train. I know it was a suite though since I got a peak around when they let me relieve myself a couple times. They tied me up after I tried to escape. They told me they didn’t care if I soiled myself.”
The young man’s face began to distort. “I was so scared, and I didn’t know what I did to deserve kidnapping.”
Persi stepped in and enfolded him into her embrace.
In a few minutes, John raised his head and wiped his face. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I think I’ve stained your pretty dress.”
“Tish, nothing a drop of water and bit of lye won’t get rid of,” Persi said, patting his shoulder.
“So you never found out what they wanted?” Boots asked.
“No, I think it was because I had seen so much, starting with the robbery.
“And the ball, did they ask you if you took the ball?”
“The ball, no, they had the ball. They took it the same night of the robbery. ‘Found that out by listening. Something about how the Duke was going to be glad he -- the Pinkerton man -- had created the back-up plan.”
“The Duke again,” Persi said to Boots.
“Anything else you can remember, John?” Persi asked.
He shook his head, then spoke, “Wait, something about how the Florida event went well, and soon they would take back what was there’s.” He looked at the two agents, “I think they were confederate soldiers and meant to take back the South somehow.”
Boots shook his head. “I wouldn’t let it bother you. We shall tell the authorities and the men will be caught. The mammoth vehicle in which they left will be easy to see and easier to track. They shall not get far.”
Persi spoke to the group around them, “Senior Conductor Washington, might it be possible to get word to Chief Walkingcrane of the Sioux nation? This is his nephew.”
“Yes ma’am, I will send an aethergram to the station near their camp right away.”
Moonshadow nodded, “You know my uncle?”
“We served together in the war. He was on the train with us earlier,” Boots said.
“Meanwhile, you should allow these men to escort you to the doctor and after he clears you, retire to your room and rest,” Persi said.
“I agree,” the Senior Conductor said. “In fact, it’s an order.”
****
Back in their cabin they cleaned up and Persi climbed into bed while Boots sat in his chair glancing at his Boston Gazette.
“Dear heart,” Persi said, sleep in her voice.
“Yes, my love.”
“Do you think we will actually catch those men? I mean, they seemed to have a plan and I suspect, getting caught was not part of it.”
“I think I’ve said before that the jails are filled with men who believed they would never be caught.”
“Yes, I know.” She paused for several second. “And what about our case? We have a lightning storm that wiped out a third of a town and orders to go to Florida to find what? I feel like we lack traction.”
Boots stood, stepped to the bed and knelt. “Persi, you must have faith. I feel we are still on the right track, we just need to stay in motion.” He laid the newspaper onto her stomach and stood. “Now I must prepare for bed, I believe I am as tired as you.”
She smiled as he walked away, then picked up the paper. A picture of a burned building covered a quarter of the page. The title of the article read, Florida Factory Struck by Freak Lightning Storm.
She smiled, folded the paper and laid it on the table, then extinguished the light. On the right track indeed, she thought.
Chapter 11 – A Cook is Acquired in Orlando Florida
The next morning, they arrived in Texarkana, said their goodbyes to John Moonshadow, and disembarked the Journey, which ran north and south and connected the two cross-country rail systems. They then boarded the Expedition, currently travelling the southern east/west line. Persi and Boots had previously traveled the eastern north/south line running up the east coast between Jacksonville, Florida to Kittery, Maine. Persi, while on a business trip with her father, had travelled the Northern east/west line and the Western north/south line. She was excited that this trip would place her in the Morgan “Far Traveler” category and win her decorative luggage tags indicating her status. Boots, whose fortune came from hard work and good business sense in practice through his family for the last hundred years, thought these tags were gaudy and a too accurate indicator of the Nuevo riche. Fortunately, he had better sense than to express his thoughts aloud.
The rest of the trip lacked excitement and gave the couple ample opportunity for rest and relaxation. In Atlanta, they switched landliners again, taking the Voyage to Jacksonville. The eastern north/south line would eventually continue south from Jacksonville but to date, only a mile of track had been laid. They boarded the J’Ville Southern, a feeder line for the Morgan Landliners that serviced the newly incorporated, Orlando, Florida.
“Boots, we are a day late. Do you think the Daedalus is still waiting for us?” Persi asked.
“I have no doubt the good captain has arrived and is patiently waiting for our arrival.”
“You are speaking of our captain, are you not?” Persi asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye.
Boots smirked and nodded.
“My love,” she continued, “he is known for many things -- smuggling, bootlegging, gun running and womanizing, but I do not recall ‘patience’ being in his repertoire, let alone counted as a virtue.”
“My dear,” Boots said patting her hand, “he may not be known for his patience, as such, but the man absolutely knows who writes his paycheck. He will be waiting.”
Several hours later, they pulled into the station at Orlando, Florida and disembarked. They were immediately met by three things: a climate of heat and suffocating humidity, clouds of insects, and a tall thin man wearing black pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and grey waistcoat. That he stood in public with no coat caused Persi to raise an eyebrow, or would have had the gentleman not also been wearing a black top hat sporting a sky blue ribbon and shiny airship pin pushed through on one side. He also wore an eye patch over his left eye and a scar across the lower part of his right cheek. A single lensed driving goggle hung from his neck. The man reminded Persi of a very stylish undertaker.
“Captain Grimm,” Persi said, reaching out her gloved hand. “Have vagabonds stolen your coat?”
He took it and bowed curtly. “Mademoiselle, Persi,” he said with a deep, French accented voice, in a tone known to make a lady’s knees wobbly. Fortunately, she had known and worked with him for nearly a year and so was immune to the effect, or nearly immune. “Madame, had I known this place was near a vent to Hades, I would have suggested meeting you further to the north.”
Persi’s face relaxed and she stifled a giggle.
Boots rolled his eyes but reached out his hand also. “Captain,” he said with a nod.
He held nothing against the man, on the contrary, he had a great deal of respect for him. During the war, Grimm had carefully nurtured the façade of a free-spirited merchant who carried dry goods to boondock communities, supporting neither North nor South. In secret, however, he ran guns and supplies to Northern forces trapped behind enemy lines, thus saving uncounted lives and contributing to the eventual outcome of the war. He was the survivor of two airship crashes, having been shot three times, and losing his eye from canon ball shrapnel. No, Grimm was a man of singular bravery and integrity. But why does he have to be so, debonair, and so ... French? Boots thought.
A few feet away, handlers had deposited their luggage in the middle of the boarding platform. Captain Grimm placed his fingers to his lips and whistled.
Persi blushed. “Really, Captain. So uncouth.
“My pardon, Mademoiselle. I will try to be more couth in the future. As I said, it is the heat.”
Two young men, dressed in clean shirts and trousers, quickly ascended the stairs. Though their clothes were clean ships uniforms, their hair and faces had the appearance of being quickly splashed with water, and a towel pulled across.
“Joseph. Nicholas.” Persi said as she nodded to each in turn.
The young men normally worked as sootys stoking the ships boilers, but the Captain had obviously pressed them temporarily as stewards. They both nodded the awkward smiles teenage boys give when spoken to by a pretty, young woman.
Boots appreciated the interest his wife took in their employees. Though she was a tough and experienced agent who often found herself in dangerous situations, she was still a lady and her finishing school training slid into place when needed -- like remembering the names of all the staff.
The two young men collected the bags and carried them down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps sat a four-wheeled steam velocitor, an Excalibur model. It carried sleek lines formed by a shiny steel frame, a black stained ironwood body, and polished brass fittings and trim. Boots had special ordered a large firebox, an additional fuel tank for liquid fuel, and an extra-large boiler for extended range and speed.
As they approached, the young men finished stacking the bags on the back of the contrivance, then
stepped onto a small platform that folded down behind the rear of the velocitor. A steel bar crossed in front of them giving them a handhold. The two boys now morphed from stewards to footmen, pulling goggles from their pockets and placing them over their eyes.
“Any troubles with the Icarus?” Boots inquired as they approached the beautiful piece of engineering.
“No sir, as you hear yourself, he is purring like the kitten,” the Captain said.
“And the Daedalus?”
“Again, she is, how do the British say, “Shipped shaped and the Bristol fashion?”
“Close enough,” Boots said, looking at Persi and smiling.
Captain Grimm opened the left hand door and climbed in behind the steering wheel, while Boots help Persi into the back seat, which sat just forward of the baggage, then climbed in to sit beside her.
Without warning, Grimm engaged the clutch, moved a center lever forward making the vehicle jump forward, causing Persi to yelp. Their speed tapered off as the station grew smaller behind them. Within half a mile, the sparse smattering of houses condensed and suddenly they were in Orlando proper. Still a small town, all business was strung out along this main street. They had a post office, stockyard, black smith, mercantile, and combination saloon and hotel. Side roads harbored rows of small smart houses with well-kept yards. New construction was everywhere and seemed to indicate a thriving town.
Halfway through the burg, Grimm made a hard left, sliding sideways and plunging down a road heading west. Women and children ran from their houses to watch the amazing contraption and fancy dressed people pass. Persi waved at the children, as if she were First Lady Lucy Webb Hayes out for midday carriage ride. All Boots could do was hold onto his hat and wonder why he had given permission for this crazy Frenchman to get behind the wheel.
The Lightning Lord Page 8