by Sikes, AJ
Eddie showed her where to drive the car. A garage stood behind the cobbler’s shop. Emma pulled in on a pad of concrete. Off to the side of the space, a set of stout wooden stairs led down to a well-lit cellar. The cobbler held open a trap door and ushered them down the steps. Eddie thanked the man called Nagy. Emma couldn’t look the man in the face, but she nodded as she passed him and mumbled a quiet “Thank you,” before following Eddie into the cellar.
Candles and gas lamps illuminated the room, reflecting off of wood panels that lined the space. A small bar stood in one corner. The glow of light bouncing back from assembled glasses and bottles warmed the chamber, and Emma couldn’t resist the temptation to sit at the bar, despite the early hour. Eddie had brought his horn down and opened the case on a table at the side of the room. While he busied himself cleaning the instrument, Emma took in the space, pretending not to be searching for exits other than the stairs. A low stage sat at one end, framed by a circle of what Emma knew to be handmade chairs. Everything in the place had the look and feel of the handmade. Emma ran a hand along the bar and felt the tiny ripples in the wooden surface where a chisel had knocked aside or sliced off uneven layers of wood. She glanced up from the bar surface to the bottles arranged beyond. A woman’s voice, full of authority and compassion, shook Emma from her tempting thoughts.
“Miss Farnsworth. Cards did say we would meet again. Did they not?”
Chapter 22
Inside the building, Brand made a fast dash for the stairs. Suttleby asked why he didn’t want to take the lift, and he couldn’t resist the chance to dig at the plump little ball of a G-man.
“Figured a guy your size’d be up on the latest fitness techniques. Climbing stairs does more for you than standing in a box on a rope.”
Suttleby grimaced as he stepped into the lift. Brand raced up the stairs but didn’t make it to the fourth floor before his new colleague. Just his luck, Brand thought, that the fat little runt would get a look at his office before he could go in there and splash some ink around. Brand still had to make good on the story he gave Wynes the night before. And he was certain Crane would come storming in any minute, shouting about Brand’s act of sabotage in the print room.
But the Minister of Hokum Peddling didn’t show his face all day, and Suttleby had gone straight for his own office. Right next to the lift. Brand had plenty of time to toss a few bottles of ink on the walls and floor, making sure to keep his hands and shirtsleeves clean in the process. A few droplets splashed onto his pants, but they were dark anyway.
At a little before nine o’clock, Aiden Conroy and Digs Gordon came up to Brand’s door, sheepish and scared.
“Mr. Brand, sir?” Conroy said. “You got. . .you got a minute?”
“Yeah, Conroy. What do you need? Shouldn’t you two be on your beats with the morning run by now?”
“No, sir,” Digs piped up. “Minister Crane says we’re sacked and to let you know. He says we got work today, but after today that’s it. No dice and no pay. We’re supposed to head down to some scrap yard with Mutton.”
“Scrap yard?” Brand said. “Unless Crane wants to get into the junk business, why send Mutton to a place like that? You know that old wrench and bolts fella loves collecting left overs. You too, Conroy, isn’t that right?”
The kid nodded. Brand immediately felt guilty when he saw a half smile die on the kid’s face. “Hey, Conroy, chin up, yeah? You and Digs here, you’ve always done good work. I’ll put in a word. Maybe Crane’ll listen to me and we’ll have you back on the payroll lickety-split.”
“Is it true, Mr. Brand?” Conroy asked. “About Chief, I mean. We heard he quit and that’s why Minister Crane is running the show now.”
Brand barely kept his temper. For the boys’ sakes, he had to find some way out of the black mood that had settled over his brow. He watched Conroy and Digs fidget some more and worked up the courage to respond. He had to choke down his sorrow first though. “About Chief, yeah. He quit, and that’s all you need to know about it for now. But don’t worry. I’ll square it with Crane about you two working here. You’d better be getting on. Go on down to the maintenance rooms and check in with Mutton on the gearboxes. They’re probably the first thing headed to the scrap pile.”
Digs cut in ahead of Conroy, “I don’t follow you, Mr. Brand. If the gearboxes aren’t going to—”
“Mutton likes to have the machinery working right no matter what it’s called up for, even if that’s being laid to rest in a heap. I figure the old boy could use a hand keeping the metal men tip top until Crane gives the order to haul them out of here.”
Conroy’s eyes brightened up right away. The kid gave a quick nod and then one of the rusty salutes the newsboys had always kept ready for their boss. Digs shook his head but followed suit. Brand snapped his hand to his brow in return and ushered the kids out.
“Carry on, gentlemen.”
After the two boys left, Brand set to clearing out his desk, fuming and muttering to himself the whole time. Talking to Crane on the way in, he’d seen the end of his job as Chicago City’s top newshawk. And with what he’d just learned from Digs and Conroy. . .a gnawing in Brand’s gut said be ready to skip out and not leave any trails if he could help it. Stacks of old notes went down the waste chute where they were shredded up and dropped on a belt headed for the incinerator. Brand tossed out anything that Crane and his toady might be able to use as they set about pulling the rug that much further up over Chicago City’s eyes.
Brand spent the day in his office wondering when Crane would show, but the G-man never did come down from his lofty perch in Chief’s old office. Twice, Brand thought about going up there and collecting what he could of his old friend’s mementos and keepsakes. Hell, even his pen set would have been nice to have. But each time the thought came, it was replaced by the memory of his conversation with Chief the night before. That just sent Brand fumbling in his brain for something that smacked of reality. Everyone around him seemed fine enough with what was happening. Change coming to Chicago City. Big change. Real change.
Around the noon hour that day, Suttleby came by with a document titled the Dictates for Journalistic Etiquette, which Brand accepted, glanced at, and tossed down the waste chute once Suttleby had waddled his porcine bulk down the hall. By half past four, Brand had a full pot of coffee souring in his guts and a mood to match. With Crane still a no-show, Brand locked up his office, skipped the lift and took the stairs back the way he’d come. In the corner of his mind where things still made sense, he half hoped that he’d emerge from the stairwell and find his old boss and friend waiting for him like he used to when Brand tried to leave early. He waited at the stairwell door. Took a breath and then another before pushing it open. The foyer stood empty except for the receptionist at her desk. Down the room from her position, the main doors waited for Brand like a pair of guillotines turned on their sides.
The girl at the desk nodded smartly at Brand, like she always had. He put a finger to his hat and mumbled something about a story on his way to the doors. She looked back down at her desk and paid him no mind. Brand pushed a hand against the door and crashed into it when his momentum got away from him. The door didn’t budge. Brand turned to the receptionist. She’d lifted her eyes from her desk and smiled at him from behind a mask of curiosity and fear.
“They’ll be unlocked at 1700 hours, Mr. Brand. Orders from Minister Crane.”
Brand stepped over to a waiting bench and plopped down on it, too tired to get really angry and too angry to think straight enough to find another way out of the building. True to her word, half an hour later the receptionist removed a key ring from her desk and marched to the doors. Brand stared in disbelief while she undid the locks.
“Any chance of the employees getting a set of those keys, miss? In case of a fire, I mean.”
“Minister Crane has entrusted me with a set, Mr. Brand. The sol
diers outside have a set, too, and so does the minister.”
Brand blew it off with a shake of his head. He blew the whole day off going down the front steps and kept it up as he crossed the street. At least four people stopped to listen to the blue streak he let out all the way back to his rooms. When he saw the empty bottle from last night waiting for him, Brand cursed some more and then threw a few things around the apartment before collapsing into his chair. Outside, night fell on Chicago City, drifting down like gossamer but landing like a lead weight when the curfew bells rang out. Brand stirred from a shallow sleep just long enough to curse the night and the patrol boats he could see outside. Searchlights stabbed down here and there, piercing the city’s belly and making her curl into a ball. Brand followed suit and wrapped up in his chair. He slipped into a fitful sleep, dreaming of a knife he felt twisting in his guts. In the dream, Brand wished the knife would finish the job before morning, and at the same time he knew it would only cut him enough to leave a lasting scar.
Chapter 23
The glow of candles and gas lamps illuminated the scarves around Madame Tibor’s head. Light glinted from her earrings and from her dark eyes. Emma sat across the table from the woman, stealing glances at Eddie now and then. He stayed put on the side of the room cleaning his horn and sometimes blowing soft notes from it. Emma had asked him to join her at the table, but he shook his head and hugged her. While they embraced, Eddie whispered in her ear that he didn’t trust gyspy magic.
Madame Tibor placed a card in the center of the table before Emma. “Is you,” she said. Emma stared at the card. It was upside down. On it, a blue-tinted female figure held a sword in front of her with the point between her feet. Around the figure swirled balls of varying shades of blue. A balance framed the figure, with the two plates sitting evenly beside her hips.
“Card is reversed, Miss Farnsworth. Is sign of your struggle. You would see the world through eyes of fairness. But too much you are thinking you are right. So you struggle. World does not look fair to you.”
Emma sniffed at that last and turned her eyes to Eddie. Was it fair that she and the man she loved would have been thrown in jail if they’d shown their affections in public? Was it fair that Archie Falco had been a filthy rat and she’d been forced to kill him to save herself from the unspeakable ordeal he had planned? And now she had to run away. With or without Eddie, she had to leave Chicago City behind.
“What kind of world is fair when every step you take lands you in the soup?”
“Ah,” Madame Tibor said, smiling. “Is this world. Or other. All worlds are the soup.” The gypsy placed another card on the table, directly above the first. On this new card, an indistinct figure stood in front of a field of colors bursting in a star shape from a central point just below the figure’s navel. Madame Tibor tapped the card with a long-nailed finger. “The Eternal. Is your dark man,” the gypsy woman said. “He lets much fall away to be with you. This card critical to you both. To dark man, is his place now. Place of change. Of endings, but also freedom that ending brings.”
“And to me?” Emma asked, afraid of what endings the gypsy might be referring to.
“Is what you bring with you. Eternal is very powerful ally in time of chaos. Will know when to act. When to rest. Now.” Madame Tibor slipped three more cards from her deck and placed them on the table in a fan around the central cards. Two of the cards were reversed. The last of them was placed upright. Madame Tibor stared at the spread of cards and tutted. Before Emma could ask why, the gypsy lifted a card and held it up for Emma. The image was of a man standing on one foot against a background of stars and planets.
“Card is reversed. Is man who waits, not man who—” Madame Tibor paused and searched the air with her eyes, finally bringing them back to meet Emma’s gaze. “Is not man who lives.”
Emma took in the card’s full image. The man wasn’t standing. In the upright position, the card presented him suspended by one foot while the other foot and both hands were held fast by nails driven into cloud shapes. “So who is he to me?”
“In place here,” the gypsy said, putting the card back on the table, “is one you will help. But reversed. Does not know you will help. Will not ask you to help. Next card though, is one you will save.”
Again Madame Tibor lifted the card for Emma to examine. This one also sat reversed on the table. Emma studied the image this time, looking for details to help explain its meaning. A male figure stood central on the card. His hands and feet seemed to wave in the air around him as he stepped off the edge of a cliff. A discarded walking stick tumbled down into blackness before him, and at his heels a dog trailed happily as if to follow with no concern for the drop ahead.
“That’s the Fool,” Emma said, remembering the dog from a previous reading with the gypsy. That was the night of the Mayor’s Gala. Who had the card been that time? Her father?
“Yes,” Madame Tibor said, as if reading Emma’s thoughts. “We see this card before. Reversed that time, too. That time was one you would think lost. But—” the gypsy cut off, seeming to wait for Emma’s reaction.
“I’m listening.” Emma said.
“Ah. This time then. Fool is one you will save but is reversed now. You wait, act later. Because you act here, or maybe there, card will move on its own. Fool saves himself.” Madame Tibor set the Fool card down and spun it around so the figure stood upright. Her face darkened as she lifted the final card for Emma.
“Is your future.”
At first sight, the image on the card seemed to present a threat, something to prepare for. But hearing the gypsy’s words staggered Emma. She flinched away and had to force herself to stay seated. Madame Tibor put a hand out, clasping Emma’s interlaced fingers. “Is not bad. My eyes scare you, Miss Farnsworth. I am sorry. Here.” The gypsy pressed the card into Emma’s reluctant hands.
“This is what’s waiting for me?” she asked. A horned figure, half man and half goat, stared out of the card at Emma. Around it swarmed vaguely male and female figures of pale yellow and blue. The scene stood out from a background of swirling black lines and flesh-colored shapes that looked like viscera.
“Not waiting for you. Is future. It comes to you when it is time.”
“But this looks horrible,” Emma said, feeling a tear course down her cheek.
“Horrible,” Madame Tibor scoffed at the suggestion, waving a hand as she said, “Horrible. No. Is beautiful. This card Lightbringer. One who knows risks, always sees darkness. Goes forward anyway.”
“And that’s me. I’m going forward into darkness. How is that anything but horrible?” Emma couldn’t take her eyes off the card. The swirling black lines pulsed and coursed like snakes around the image. They intertwined and wrapped around the indistinct human figures as if to entrap them.
“I tell you this now,” the gypsy said. “You or one close to you in future will bring light to darkness. Makes it so other people can see.”
Emma set the card down, still unable to shake the sense of dread that made short gasps of her breath. Eddie’s horn filled the low, close room with a mournful melody. Emma turned her face to him and saw the same fear and worry in his eyes that she felt clouding her own.
Madame Tibor drew another card and placed it across the first one she’d set down.
“Two of Lances. You have courage to fight. Will succeed if you trust yourself.” She placed yet another card on the table, to the left of the stacked pair representing Emma. A second card went to the right of the stack and Madame Tibor smiled. “Ace of Medallions and Ten of Vessels. Yes. I think you and dark man will see freedom. And will help others escape, too.”
The gypsy woman cleared the cards away, her face blank except for the glint of light reflected in her dark eyes. Emma stood on shaky legs and went to Eddie. “She says we’ll be all right.”
“I heard what she said, Lovebird,” E
ddie replied. He held Emma tight to his chest. “I heard she said you’re going to make it so other people can see better. As if you and me didn’t have enough trouble.”
“What do you mean?” Emma said, leaning back to look Eddie in the eye.
“I mean we already got every copper in town ready to slip a rope around both our necks. You for that man you shot down and me for touching your hand. Won’t help us escape the hangman’s noose if you go shining lights where other folks want it to stay dark.”
Eddie pulled her close and they held each other. Emma turned to thank Madame Tibor for reading the cards for her, but the gypsy woman was gone. Emma gasped, afraid again that they’d been left out to dry until the coppers could show up and collect them. She relaxed when the cobbler called down to them, asking if they needed something to eat. Eddie said that’d be fine and thanks. The cobbler brought cheese and bread, and a pot full of a thick stew. They ate from wooden bowls and drank a rich red wine out of glass jars the cobbler pulled from behind the bar.
“Eat. Then you rest. Nagy leaves soon. Will come back and put Eddie Collins to work.” The cobbler laughed and Eddie let a smile curl his mouth. Emma smiled, too. This was the closest she’d felt to happy in a long time. She wondered how long it would last.
Chapter 24
Aiden and Digs tore down the streets. The curfew bells rang out all around them. Mutton had left them as close to Aiden’s neighborhood as he could before turning back down the street to drive his old jalopy home. The clunking and sputtering of the steam car’s engine still echoed in Aiden’s ears.
“How’d we end up so late?” Digs said. His breath came easy. Aiden huffed and puffed to keep up with his friend, not used to running or being very active beyond hauling stacks of papers on and off his airbike.
“I don’t know, Diggsy. Old Mutton. He had us at that yard for ages. Them guys out there. They yelled him off’a the piles. He kept digging for stuff. And then he parked us out there. Waited ages.”