Sev took the card and read it: General Robert E. Lee, Commander of the Gentlemen’s Confederate Army, Governor of Virginia, Advisor to the Viceroy. He looked up from the card at Sharpe and Danforth. The latter wore a smirk that Sev didn’t care for, and following that man’s gaze to Michelle made Sev sick to his stomach. “And what is General Lee interested in?”
“Well you, sir, in general.” Sharpe mopped his pale, balding pate. “But more specifically your inventions, sir, especially that amazing automatic bicycle that you’ve been seen riding through the city. He thinks it could be a great asset to the Gentlemen’s Confederate Army and, to be honest, he thinks it appears to be a ‘damn good time’.”
“The gearcycle,” Sev said. He addressed Sharpe but made sure to watch Danforth out of the corner of his eye. “Aye, this design isn’t fer sale. I only made three o’them fer meself and me friends.” Sev laid his accent on a little thicker because he found it made people underestimate him for some reason. “My apologies, fellas.”
“Ah. Um. Well,” Sharpe stammered, glancing between Sev and Danforth and looking extremely uncomfortable. Danforth moved slightly, slipping his hand beneath his coat. Sharpe’s gaze continually darted at the taller man. “He’s willing to pay you a handsome fee for your troubles.”
Sev regarded them both before answering, realizing now that Danforth was no butler; more likely he was a hired enforcer. Sev’s every fiber cried out for him to kick them violently from his premises. His common sense and shrewdness told him to accept their offer and gain some ground to infiltrate the southern establishment. He glanced at Michelle, her brow furrowed with worry, stealing furtive glances at Danforth, obviously seeing the same danger that Sev sensed from the man. “How handsome a fee?” Sev asked, not really caring. Michelle’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but it still cut Sev to the quick.
Sharpe beamed, and Danforth’s hand fell back to rest at his side. “Oh, sir,” Sharpe crooned. “The riches of the Brotherhood of Confederate Gentlemen are legendary in our humble country. He will be sure that you are generously compensated.”
“Do I deal with ye? Or will I meet the man ’imself?”
“I’m certain that the general would be honored to meet with you, young sir. When can I tell him to call?”
“Anytime at all,” Sev answered.
“Very good, sir.” Sharpe dashed forward and caught Sev’s hand, pumping it several times. “We shall send word. General Lee is in town seeing to some of his real estate interests. I’m sure he will be pleased to fit you into his schedule.”
“Sounds fine,” Sev said. “I’ll wait t’hear from ’im.” Sev ushered the two men from the building.
ACROSS THE street patience was finally being rewarded. Mason Brown, agent of the Victorican government and on a personal mission for Ulysses S. Grant, peered through his binoculars at Robert E. Lee’s men exiting the warehouse of the newly arrived British inventor, Steven Stephens. “They’re coming out, Roth. It’s that fat pencil-pusher Sharpe and the shady one with the crazy eyes, Danforth.”
His partner, Burton Roth, looked up and shrugged. “It don’t really mean nothin’.”
“How so?” Brown asked. They’d been in the dilapidated building for days waiting for some clue after the debacle at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He didn’t trust the Southerners for a second.
“Just ’cause they were in there doesn’t mean these British fellows are doin’ anything bad.”
Brown clucked disapprovingly and shook his head. “What about the dead men in the hotel? I think we need to report to Commander Grant.”
“I’ll never get used t’referrin’ to General Grant as commander. It feels like a demotion.”
“No matter,” Brown growled at the change of subject, watching the two men, Lee’s assistant and the rangy hired killer. “We still need to tell him that this fellow and his compatriots are meeting with the South.”
“Holy hell, look at that,” Roth said, pointing to the building.
Lee’s men disappeared just before a lanky figure in a stovepipe hat marched up to the door and went inside. Roth dropped his binoculars and regarded Brown. “That was that Kettlebent fellow.”
“Damn.” Brown retrieved the binoculars and peered through them.
“It almost looked like Lincoln himself.”
Brown grimaced at his partner. “That’s not amusing. What’s this all mean? You’ve heard the rumors.”
“Kettlebent’s stealin’ kids.”
“Exactly.” Brown lowered the binoculars. “And now it seems he’s in cahoots with this Stephens fellow.”
“And Stephens is meetin’ with Southerners,” Roth added. “Damn.”
“We’ve got to get this information to Grant.”
Roth nodded. “You go. I’ll keep an eye on those bastards.” Brown handed over the binoculars and descended from their perch on the building across the road. Once on the street, he hailed a cab.
SEV SHUT the door behind Lee’s men and closed his eyes, reluctant to turn and face Michelle’s judgment. After a moment he heaved a sigh and turned. He allowed his gaze to meet hers. “Michelle, I’m sorry. Ye know I don’t want t’work with those buggers.”
“Sev,” she said, touching his arm gently. “I know you’ve done what is necessary to further our goals.”
“Thank ye.” He rubbed her shoulder. “This might be our break t’stop them.”
She nodded. The door opened and Kettlebent strode through, stopping when he noticed Sev and Michelle in their minor embrace. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” he asked in his tinny, artificial voice.
“General Robert E. Lee’s men were just here.” Sev released his grasp on Michelle. “They want t’hire me t’make gearcycles fer him and his soldiers.”
“And what did you say?” Silas dropped Kettlebent’s goggles and peeled off the beard.
“Yes, o’course. This is a chance we could nay’ve orchestrated.”
Silas frowned but nodded. “That was a good decision. We’ll be able to have some inside information.” Silas whipped off his stovepipe hat and tossed it on a hook. “We can’t let them actually have the knowledge of the clockworks, though.”
“I agree,” Sev said. “I’m not intendin’ t’make anythin’ fer them. But if I’m forced to, I’ll make sure that whatever I make will break down.”
“That’s good,” Silas said with an approving nod. “We’ll have to be on our guard.”
“Aye,” Sev agreed. Random cooing drew his attention to the rafters. He looked up to see a few pigeons perched there, making him think of the owl he’d been forced to leave behind.
Silas must have noticed Sev’s distraction. “Are you all right?”
“Hmm?” Sev looked over. “Oh. It’s those pigeons.” He indicated the ceiling.
“You miss Henry,” Silas guessed.
Sev nodded and Silas wrapped him in a hug. Michelle crept away, leaving them alone. Sev didn’t want to be babied, but he had to admit it felt good to just be held, and he rested his head on Silas’s shoulder. Silas rubbed Sev’s back.
“Break it up, you two,” Rat barked as he stormed through the door. “We have a revolution t’organize, mates.”
Silas released Sev. “He’s right, I suppose.”
“Aye,” Sev agreed. “We’ve got a lot t’sort out if we’re goin’ t’be dealin’ with the Southerners.”
“If we can get into the South and talk to the people who are being kept as slaves, there’s a distinct possibility we can recruit them to our cause,” Silas said, shrugging out of his Kettlebent costume.
“That’s a fair point.” Sev sat down at their little kitchenette.
“You all should talk to the folks running the Underground Railroad,” Michelle suggested.
“There’s a railroad underground? That’s brilliant.” Rat looked from one of his friends to the other. Silas finished hanging up his Kettlebent clothes.
“It ain’t the way it sounds,” Tanya explained. “It’s more of a networ
k o’people who help slaves escape the South.”
“Can ye put us in touch with any o’those folks?” Sev asked.
“We might can,” Michelle said with a nod.
“How soon?” Silas asked.
“Well, I’ve a few more things to finish up here.”
“No ye don’t,” Sev told her. “Ye’ve got the rest o’the day off, so t’speak. Whatever needs done around this place can wait.”
“If you’re sure, Sev.”
“Positive, luv,” he said with a smile. “We can handle anythin’ that might arise round here.”
“All right, then.” She untied her apron and motioned for Tanya to follow. “We’ll just go freshen up and we’ll be off.”
A FEW moments later, Michelle and Tanya bid Sev and Silas farewell. Rat had disappeared into New Undertown, and he reemerged just as the girls exited the warehouse. He joined Sev and Silas at the table, spinning a chair and resting his elbows on the back. “All right, fellas?”
“All right, Ratty. What d’ye need?” Sev leaned forward.
Rat shrugged. He pointed at Silas with the stem of his pipe. “What have you been up to, Benty, disappearin’ fer days at a time?”
Silas’s jaw dropped. “I, um. I’ve been rather busy.”
“That didn’t really answer the question,” Sev said, looking suspiciously at Silas. He thought they’d agreed not to keep things from each other.
“I’ve been testing the waters of the government officials, seeing who is on the abolitionists’ side and who are loyal to the Southern Alliance.”
“And?” Rat asked.
“And it’s amazing to me how few people are neutral on the matter. Most of them just don’t seem concerned. There are a fair number who are against the slavery but feel helpless to do anything about it. I wish we could show them how many of their children are willing to stand up for their rights. It might inspire them to our cause.”
“I think it’s a bit early fer that,” Sev said. “Unfortunately.”
“Aye.” Rat puffed on his pipe. “We need t’get that Lincoln fella on our side. He’s the spearhead o’the abolitionists.”
“How do we do that?” Silas asked. “He spends most of his time in the capital of Victorica, Washington DC. Although I’m told the real seat of power lies with the Federation of Southern Gentlemen.”
“We should take a trip t’the capital, then,” Sev said, thinking the solution obvious.
Rat shook his head. “Don’t need to. He’s comin’ t’New York. Some black fella’s on trial fer killin’ a white fella. He claims he’s innocent, but no one’s hearin’ any of it. Lincoln’s comin’ in t’defend ’im.”
“How the devil do you know all this, Rat?” Silas asked, shocked.
“It’s in all the newspapers,” Rat answered simply. He tapped the ashes out of his pipe and repacked it. “Ye should quit workin’ hard and start workin’ smart.” He gave Silas a snarky smirk and put flame to his pipe.
“Do you believe this little beggar?” Silas cocked his hand back, threatening to wallop Rat.
“Ye can’t be cross with ’im,” Sev said. “We’ve been preoccupied with our own tasks. He just had the common sense t’open a newspaper.” Silas still stared darkly at Rat, but he lowered his hand, though Rat never flinched once.
“Hmph,” Silas grumped. “Well, we still need to figure out how we can get in contact with him.”
Sev shook his head as Rat chuckled and tossed a little jibe at Silas. “Ye really are workin’ too hard aren’t ye, Benty?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Silas folded his arms, lifting his chin.
“Silas. Yer cover story is a lawyer. Lincoln is a lawyer,” Sev explained slowly.
“Good Lord. Where is my mind?” Silas dropped his head into his hands. “Of course you’re right. I’ll pop round the office tomorrow as Jameson and post him a letter.”
“Don’t be too tough on yerself, Benty. Not everybody can be as smart as me,” Rat said with a chuckle.
“Why you little—” Silas started to growl as he jumped up from his seat and grabbed at their short friend. Quicker than a rabbit, Rat put a hand on the brim of his top hat as he sprinted out of Silas’s reach. Sev laughed as Silas chased Rat around the kitchen, then the warehouse at large. His laughter drew Teddy’s and Tab’s attention, and they joined in Silas’s merry chase. The interlude of lightheartedness seemed to be just the thing they’d all needed.
18
MASON BROWN fidgeted in the leather chair in Commander Grant’s office while he and his partner, Burton Roth, waited. “Quit squirmin’,” Roth told Brown.
“I can’t, Burt. This is mad. This whole thing.”
“Just relax, pal.” Roth pulled out a cigar, snipped the tip, and prepared to light it up.
Brown reached over and knocked it out of his hands. “Knock that off, Burt. This ain’t your office. What do you think you’re doin’?”
“What the hell, Mason?” Roth stretched down to retrieve his smoke. The door opened and both men jumped.
Ulysses S. Grant marched into the small office, his hands clasped behind his back and a cigar gripped firmly in his teeth. A trail of smoke followed him. He noticed Roth’s cigar and pulled out a lighter, snapping it alight and offering the flame. “Can I offer you a smoke as well?” he asked Brown.
“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Grant shot a suspicious glance his way. “My secretary said you were by the other day, Brown. I’m sorry I missed you. What have you got for me, boys?” He removed the cigar and tapped ash into a glass dish on his desk.
“Well, sir,” Brown began, then related everything they’d discovered about Stephens, Kettlebent, and their little commune within the warehouse—how children went in but never came out, how they’d met with Lee’s men and the notorious Bruiser and the Killer. “That’s all we’ve seen, sir. But it seems bastardly suspicious to us.”
Grant puffed on his cigar. He allowed the smoke to billow from his mouth as he nodded. “This is a goddamned conundrum.” He slammed his large fist on the desk. “I’m so goddamned sick of the South and their goddamned allies,” he growled. “We need to stop this shit. Forgive my French, boys.”
“Forgiven, sir,” Brown rushed to respond. “What do you suggest?”
Grant leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, smoke seeping out the corner of his nostrils like some legendary beast or a charging bull. “I think we need to slaughter all of the bastarding slavers and scare the shit out of the sympathizers.” He removed the cigar from his mouth and used it to point at Brown and Roth. “These Brits ought to be eliminated before they can help the South.”
“I’m not so sure about that, sir,” Brown responded.
“And why not?” Grant asked.
“Well, sir. If we follow them, if maybe we even infiltrate their inner circle….” Brown allowed his idea to trail off.
Grant sat stoically frowning. “Go on.”
“Well, sir, we could conceivably work our way into their good graces and find out who they work for and how best to undermine them.”
Grant nodded. “That’s an idea.” He puffed his cigar and sat back. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Brown.”
Brown stammered and glanced quickly from Grant to Roth.
Grant held up his thick hand, interrupting Brown’s sputtering. “Hold on, son. I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I’m just not sure it’s all that good. But I’m willing to give it a try. You and Roth infiltrate the limey bastards and see what you can find out.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brown said, throwing Roth a smile. Roth rolled his eyes in response.
“You have a week. If you haven’t discovered their plot or found out who they’re working with, I want you to put a stop to them, save whatever innocents you find, and send a proper message to their allies: You don’t fool with Victorica and you certainly don’t fool with Ulysses S. Grant.”
Brown worried over his orders for a moment. Grant was essentially telling h
im to murder British citizens in cold blood. He’d killed before, mostly in self-defense or during battle but never to simply send a message. That was something the Italian gangs played at. “We’ll do our best, sir,” Brown responded, keeping his reservations to himself.
“Roth,” Grant growled. “Keep your partner honest.”
“You can count on me, Commander.” Roth blew a smoke ring after his statement. “You realize, sir, that killing these fellas may be a declaration o’war, that their allies may respond in kind?”
“Not only do I realize that, Mr. Roth, I’m counting on it.” He crushed out his cigar. “This country needs a revolution if things are going to change. And revolutions tend to begin in violence.
“I know most of our allies are trying to avoid bloodshed, and they don’t want a war, but they’re deluded. The South ain’t going to give up slavery without a fight, and that means war, boys. And if I have to be the one to instigate change, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“This isn’t a job for men with weak stomachs. This is a job for real Americans. Because no matter what they force us to call this land, we’re Americans through and through. Are you with me, boys?” The fervor and conviction Grant spoke with stunned Brown and Roth into silence. “Don’t sit there with your mouths hanging open, answer me!”
“Sir, yes sir!” they responded in unison, their former military training resurfacing.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear. Lincoln will be here in a few days. I’ll have a talk with him and let him know our plans. Hopefully he’ll understand, see the logic in this strategy. I know he wants to avoid a war at all costs, but I believe deep down he knows you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” Grant sat down and shuffled some papers on his desk. “All right, men. Dismissed. Make me proud.”
Brown and Roth tipped him a relaxed salute and exited his office. “What are we going to do?” Brown asked in a hushed tone as they trod down the hallway.
The 7th of Victorica Page 18