Mom and Dad wandered about by themselves. Merritt and I had been banned from bringing any tablets or electronics with us (“Take in the history!”) so after sitting in uncomfortable wooden chairs for a few minutes we joined in with a small tour that had just started.
Apparently the museum was having an exhibition on Confederate currency. They had a collection of coins and paper money and the tour guide (an animated woman with a large rear who was wearing black Crocs) was very excited to tell us about it.
“We here at the museum are very excited about this exhibition! Does anyone know anything about Confederate currency? No? Or how exceedingly rare it is? Anyone?” She made eye contact with all seven of us on the tour. No one said anything.
“Well, let me tell you! One of the greatest mysteries of all is the location of the Confederate treasury. Namely, the gold and silver bars that have, to this day, never been located. Now, where could they be, you might ask?” She was practically jumping out of her skin to tell us. “It’s shrouded in mystery! Some say it’s buried in Danville, Virginia. That’s about two hours southwest from where we are right now. Others say it was taken by deserters, people who knew the jig was up and it was time to take what they could and get out of Dodge. Many say the amount of the treasury was exaggerated by Union officials to incentivize the troops who were combing the Carolinas and Georgia for the fortune left behind. But to this day, no one has a firm answer on what happened to it. All we have to show for it is what we have in this exhibition. If you could follow me this way…”
The other people in the tour followed her, but Merritt and I stayed behind to examine the glass case that had various gold coins laying on velvet inside it.
“I hope a bunch of newly freed slaves found the gold,” Merritt said. “And that they started amazing lives with it. Is that too much to hope for?”
I shook my head. “Sounds like the perfect ending to me. But you know what Mom says. Perfect endings only happen in the movies.”
ZILLAH MARCH
James Campbell always included Leets Coin & Currency on his weekly treasure hunt of antique shops, because though the small store rarely had anything exciting in its showcase, he enjoyed swapping stories with the owner, Tommy Leets.
“G'day, Tommy! Got anything new to show me today?”
“I was hoping you'd stop by today, James. I've got nothing new to show you, but something old you might appreciate,” Leets answered, pulling an acrylic-slabbed coin from showcase drawer next to the cash register.
"That's not an 1861-D, is it, mate? From America?" Campbell held the coin up to the light to allow his surprised eyes a better look.
"Yeah it is, although not really 'American.' It's a Confederate coin, from their Civil War."
"Blimey! I never expected to see one in this condition, especially here? I go to the big show in Chicago every few years, and I think the last time I saw one of those was '03 or '05, but it wasn't near as nice as this one. One hundred and fifty years old, and it looks freshly minted. How do you suppose it got to Sydney?" James asked, clearly awestruck by the find.
"You know Mark Dale, big bloke who runs that brekkie place down the street? He sold it to me. His great-great- three or four greats-granddad owned a pub over in Bonnyrigg back around the gold rush. He tells me it's been in his family ever since,” Leets replied.
"Sounds fair dinkum, gold fever made people mad as cut snakes. Can't believe a Yank would have come all this way rather than just stopping off in California, though. The trip back in those days must have taken six months."
What neither Sydneysider could know is that for a peculiar girl named Zillah March, the trip could be made in the blink of an eye.
With the fall of Petersburg, Virginia, the Civil War was essentially over. Union troops would move on to the Confederate capital at Richmond next, so little time remained to evacuate government officials and, perhaps more importantly to fund any further efforts on the part of the Southern states, the Confederate treasury. Train cars were quickly loaded for a midnight departure bound for Danville, Virginia, where Jefferson Davis and company would mount horses and seek to rendezvous with surviving generals to determine if fighting could continue. The Confederate war chest, gold and silver worth millions of dollars, would be loaded onto wagons, entrusted to Navy Captain William Parker, and sent to the former United States Mint at Charlotte, North Carolina. The soldiers under Parker's command were mostly young and inexperienced, new Naval conscripts who'd trained on water.
Low-hanging fruit for Zillah March's blade to harvest.
Sunrise brought with it troubling reports to Captain Parker. A covered wagon near the rear of the caravan had been attacked, its treasure plundered, and guards slain. Indians, Parker suspected. Some natives seemed to possess the ghostly ability to materialize, slit throats, and disappear as quickly as they'd arrived. Certainly the wagons were slowed due to the weight they carried, but the thought that a man, or men, could board one, kill four armed guards, make off with hundreds of pounds of silver bars and gold coins, all with nary a sound? It defied reason.
Parker stopped the procession, conferred with his subordinates, and decided the culprit had to be deserters; cowards taking all they could carry, killing who they had to in order to escape undetected, and then disappearing into the woods.
"Any recreant man who chooses to desert this mission will be executed without benefit of trial. Likewise, anyone caught getting too familiar with the gold will share a similar fate,” announced Captain Parker. "Once we reach Charlotte, you lot will be compensated for your efforts here today. Remain steadfast and alert. Our scouts return with word of Billy Yank all over this area. If our mission fails, and the treasury is lost, our sacrifices these past four years will have been for naught."
As Parker spoke, he was completely unaware of the wagon mere yards away, being looted.
Not by Indians, nor by deserters, but by the most unlikely of figures. A lone girl, so blonde her hair was nearly white, rifled through a chest filled with Mexican silver coins. Callously ignoring the carnage she'd caused by cutting the throats of three surprised young sailors before they had time to call out a warning or level a weapon in her direction, Zillah March lifted the sacks of coins she could manage, gritting her teeth with the effort, and piling them in the back corner of the wagon.
By the time the Captain finished his address to the troops, an alert guard noticed blood staining the wagon's canvas and called out to his comrades. The wagon was surrounded, and when commands to the occupants were ignored, guards entered to find only dead men and chests much nearer to empty than full.
Counting the booty would come later for Zillah, for now she'd simply wipe her blade and choose another target. Wherever a shadow fell, a door was open for her. She could enter any wagon unannounced, and in such close quarters her knife worked quickly to silence and eliminate all opposition. Whatever treasure she could lift was sent back through the portal into her realm, a place she called her "shadowverse."
Anywhere sunlight was interrupted short of its journey to Earth, Zillah March could enter and exit at her leisure. Rare were the days, however, that saw her make use of her talent as often, or in such a profitable manner, as the 3rd of April, 1865.
With Union patrols closing in on the caravan and Zillah culling so many men and so much gold, Parker's men abandoned hope of reaching Charlotte and instead wound up in Washington, Georgia, where General Basil Duke and his 1,000 men took possession of six wagons, fewer than half of what had left Richmond.
With reports of a blonde apparition liberating precious metals from the confines of the wagons, Duke doubled the guard in each to at least eight men, leaving the risk too great even for Zillah. She'd managed to avoid so much as a scrape, and with nightfall near, she'd take her leave of the Western Hemisphere and the darkness that rendered her powerless.
She was famished, and if her math was right, it was mid-morning in Australia. Breakfast and a good sleep would leave her refreshed and ready to return to Geor
gia, South Carolina, or wherever the rest of the crumbling Confederacy was hiding its money. Or there was the Comstock Lode, the mammoth silver strike in the new state of Nevada. Lonely miners meant easy pickings for Zillah March.
Strolling boldly into the Bonnyrigg Saloon, Zillah was stopped by Benny Dale, the proprietor and barkeep. "Oi! You can't come in here!"
With a roll of her striking green eyes, Zillah sighed and tossed the menacing Benny Dale two pieces of Confederate gold. "I need a bath. A private bath, a hot meal, and a bed, in that order. If you can see to it that I'm not disturbed, there's more where that came from," she said, pointing at the coins Benny Dale examined in his meaty hands.
Dale, illiterate on the best of days, had no hope of reading the words on the coin, but he knew gold when he saw it. Confirming his suspicions as to the metal's authenticity with a bite, the barman's scowl melted into a smile and he assured the girl that convention could be ignored just this once, that her gold could make him forget her gender, age, and funny accent.
As the haughty Zillah March ascended the stairs, shaking loose her snowy hair, the eyes of every grizzled Bonnyrigg patron followed her.
"Oi, you mongrels, the next round is on the house, and we all forget that Sheila just blew in, savvy?" Benny punctuated his remark by hammering a fist down upon the bar, the assembled drunkards getting the message loud and clear.
Zillah bathed, ate, and drifted off to sleep, content that the Confederate treasure now in her possession gave her a fighting chance in her struggle against Virginia Embers and her Belles.
Chapter 19
“Zillah March stole the Confederate treasury?”
I stood there stunned. Josephine looked at me, surprised.
“You know what this is, Em?” she asked. “I felt for sure we’d have to explain it.”
Aleta smiled. “Of course she knows what it is. She’s her mother’s daughter.”
I stepped toward the treasure and placed my hand on the case. All that separated me from one of the nation’s biggest mysteries was a thin piece of glass. If my mother could see this she would pass out on the spot.
I wanted her to be here so badly.
Aleta placed her hand on my shoulder. “Now you can see why we have all these precautions.”
I nodded, still staring at the silver bars stacked up as tall as me. “This looks like a hell of a lot more than the 500,000 that they’ve always said was taken.”
Aleta laughed. “It sure does. I think most of the Union officials assumed that Northern military commanders divvied it up amongst themselves, so they lowballed the number to get suspicion off each other.” Aleta looked over at Calista, who had been quiet the entire time.
“Do you want to explain Zillah, or should I?” Aleta asked.
Calista shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Fine,” Aleta said. “Zillah March is a shadowporter. It’s a form of teleporting that requires the use of shadows to psionically move herself from one location to another, without the need to physically travel. Zillah has mastered the art. Others with this ability, some of whom go to Bronwyn, can’t go beyond their own line of sight. Zillah isn’t limited. At all. She can literally be anywhere in the world in seconds. She also has the ability to take people and items with her. None of us have known any other shadowporters that can do that.”
Holy shit, I thought.
Aleta continued, “Now, there is a catch. The shadows that Zillah travels through have to be caused by natural light in order for her to shadowport. Shadows from lamps, or any other artificial light source, won’t work. This is why we have all of this down here, far away from her Shadowverse. Otherwise, there’s very little that can stop her.”
“And she used to be a Belle?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Well, to get this treasure, Zillah had to do some pretty unscrupulous things, as you can imagine. Many people died protecting this. And I’m not just talking about in the war. Zillah slaughtered numerous men to get her hands on it. And it’s not like the Confederate treasury was the only thing she ever stole. Don’t think she had some righteous motivation to put an end to the Civil War or anything.”
“But why?” I was befuddled.
“With Zillah there’s no purpose in trying to find motive. The bitch is just evil,” Calista finally piped in.
“And we go to school with her?” I was stunned. “With a murdering psychopath?”
“Yep.” Calista said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Bronwyn Hall is neutral ground,” Aleta sent Calista an annoyed look. “Nothing can happen there because of the truce. Although Calista came close to messing that up today.”
Calista spoke up. “I was just reminding her of what I could do.”
“What can you do?” I asked.
“Anything I damn well please,” Calista said.
“She has telekinetic abilities. Calista can make things move with a thought,” Josephine was so proud.
“Is there a limit?” I asked. “As far as how big?”
“I haven’t had a challenge I couldn’t meet yet. I don’t use it much. No purpose really. Throwing trucks and collapsing buildings would put a huge spotlight on us. Something I’m not interested in. I have more fun messing with people’s technology.”
“She’s nosy. She messes with people’s phones. Cameras. ATMs,” Josephine giggled.
Calista stretched her long, limber figure. “So that’s one of the big secrets, Emma. You’re on your way to official Belle-hood.”
“Whether I want to be or not, right?” I retorted. For the first time I received a genuine smile out of Calista on that one.
As we walked down the hall toward the elevator bench that would lead us back upstairs, I stared at the numerous doors we were passing.
“So what else is down here?” I asked. “What other secrets are the Belles keepers of?”
Aleta smirked. “That’s for another day, Emma. Virginia is already going to lose her mind that we shared what we did without her here. Haven’t you had enough mystery this week?”
It was a good point. In less than a week I had unearthed a world that I thought only existed in the Young Adult section of Barnes and Noble.
“Speaking of Virginia, should we get back home?” Josephine was clearly anxious. “I’m already dreading her wrath. I’m sure Lillian will call her and tell her about us leaving Bronwyn.”
The four of us looked at one another. I could tell none of us were eager to go home and deal with that situation. Aleta, as always, had a better idea.
“Let’s go somewhere and eat. Martha Lou’s?”
Josephine nodded her head vigorously. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Perfect idea. I barely ate anything at lunch today. I’m dying for the best friend chicken in the universe!”
Even Calista lit up at the mention of it, “Not a terrible idea. I can make up for the caloric intake tomorrow.”
“What’s Martha Lou’s?” I asked.
Aleta grinned as she pressed a button that made the bench move from the first floor down toward us, “Just the best food in all of Charleston. Maybe all of the state. Possibly all of the world. Her fried chicken is pure heaven. And I think today is collard greens day on her menu.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought. The thing I had always loved about visiting the south was the fried food. Nothing was better than trans fats and butter soaked entrees.
As we left the Montagu house I turned around to take another look at the outside. It really was strange how much the outside didn’t match the secrets on the inside. My mother would say there was a lesson in that.
Chapter 20
Martha Lou’s was a pink, cinder block building on the other side of town (and the world) from the Belles. The second I walked in, I was completely in love. The rich smells of southern cooking filled the small room where booths were set up. A whirling box fan sat in the window and we could see the cutest woman in the world in the kitchen cooking up the good stuff. It didn’t feel like a restaurant or a diner.
It felt like home.
Josephine could barely contain herself next to me. “I’m so stoked for her cornbread! Don’t tell Chantelle, but I don’t think anyone cooks like Martha Lou. She’s the absolute best.”
We placed our orders. All of us got the same thing; fried chicken, collard greens, and corn bread. A sweating pitcher of sweet tea sat in the middle of the table. We all filled our plastic cups.
I took a long swig. The sweetness was killer. I could feel it in the back of my teeth. It was amazing.
“So,” Aleta said. She was sitting across from me. “How are you feeling? I know we’ve put a lot on you. But it’s important for you to know who you’re dealing with at Bronwyn and in Charleston. Zillah is not the only person we worry about. But she’s one of the most dangerous. I don’t know if she’ll bother you outside of Bronwyn. My hope is that she won’t. She tends to stay far from me because she knows I can read her thoughts and manipulate them if I need to. But it’s important you always stay on the lookout. Zillah can literally come out of thin air.”
I didn’t say anything. I looked at all three of the girls and wondered so many things about each of them. There were so many things I wanted to ask but the amount of discovery the past couple of days was so much. I kept waiting for this to all be a dream, to wake up either in my fancy pants bed at Virginia’s or, better yet, in my bed back in California. My family still alive and me still normal and nothing extraordinary.
But I knew I wasn’t waking up from anything any time soon. This was my life now. In a way it felt like a beginning. But I also couldn’t think about it too long or I knew it would hit me how much of it was truly an end. A closure to what my life once was; beautiful and whole.
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