The Young City: The Unwritten Books

by James Bow

  She smiled. “So, tell me what the machine does, and if it has anything to do with the letter you received.”

  “How did you know the letter was about an invention?”

  Rosemary grinned at him.

  “I did write to an engineer,” said Edmund. “But not about my Morse code machine. About this.” He reached behind the machine and brought out a small box of translucent pink crystals.

  “Rocks?” said Rosemary.

  “Quartz,” said Edmund. “I experiment with electricity and I heard stones such as quartz produce a charge when they are struck or compressed.”

  Rosemary stopped herself from using the word piezoelectricity. She smiled and nodded.

  “I’ve been looking at the potential uses of this phenomenon,” he went on. “So far, this is what I have come up with.” He fumbled through a drawer and pulled out a gun-like device with two wires for a barrel. He pulled back the spring trigger with a click and a bright spark leapt between the wires.

  Rosemary clapped her hands. “You’ve invented the barbecue lighter!”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. So, what did the man say?”

  Edmund picked up the letter. “He says he is visiting from Montreal ...,” he bit his lip, “... tomorrow.” He swallowed. “His company has a booth at the Industrial Exhibition and he wants to meet me there, around noon.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “I am not ready!” Edmund crushed the letter in his fist.

  “Edmund, what’s wrong? This is the opportunity of a lifetime!”

  He shook his head. “No, no. I canna go before Mr. Ballard with only this.” He gave his lighter a flick. It crackled and sparked. “I would be a laughing stock.”

  Rosemary clasped his hands. This time, he didn’t flinch at her forwardness. “Yes, you can. It’s the best kind of invention: it’s simple. You’ve got notes, right?”

  He held up a sheaf of ragged, inky papers.

  “There. That’s your backup,” said Rosemary. “This is perfect. Faith needs a holiday, and you need to work on something other than your shop. So, let’s all go down to the Exhibition tomorrow. We’ll pack a lunch!”

  “Who’ll mind the shop?”

  “Close it.”

  “I canna do that!”

  “What harm is one day going to do?”

  Edmund opened his mouth to object, then closed it. After a moment, he gathered up his papers and put the “barbecue lighter” beside them.

  Rosemary beamed. “It’ll be great. I’ll tell Faith.” At the door, she hesitated. “One thing: what is this Industrial Exhibition, anyway?”

  “Faith, I’m sorry. I didn’t know the engine would spark like that.”

  Rosemary stood beside Faith, a hand on her shoulder, as the woman leaned against a stall, her face pale. Around them, the crowds chattered, the stall owners called, and, in the distance, a pipe organ tooted its music.

  “That thing,” gasped Faith, pointing to where they had come from, “is a fire hazard. It could well be the creation of the devil. People are not meant to be pulled around by something other than horses or steam!”

  Rosemary moved closer to Faith to avoid the crowds streaming off the temporary wooden platform. A train stood on the tracks beside it, with seats on open platform cars and an electric motor for an engine. The crowds off, the train backed out of the station buzzing like a hive of bees. Sparks flashed off the wheels and the third rail onto the wooden platform, dangerously close to the legs of the passengers. The engineer, Rosemary noted, wore thick gloves.

  “It’s okay,” she said, patting Faith’s shoulder. “We’re here now and we’re safe. These engines are the way of the future. I’m sure they’re safer than they look.”

  Colour reappeared on Faith’s cheeks, but she looked away. “I feel foolish. Do you think Edmund saw my fear?”

  Rosemary looked back. Edmund was watching the train go. He was bouncing on both feet. “Marvellous! To see Van Depoele’s design tested here! Marvellous!”

  She patted Faith’s shoulder. “I don’t think he noticed.” She stepped over to Edmund. “Don’t forget your appointment.”

  Edmund looked up, showed her his envelope of papers, and patted the device in his pocket. He gave her a nervous smile. “I’m ready.”

  Rosemary looked around. “Where’s Peter? He’s got the food.”

  “I saw him heading toward the game stalls,” said Faith.

  Rosemary blinked. “Oh dear. Peter and a carnival. Bad mix. I’ll go look for him. You go on; I’ll meet up with you at your presentation!” She darted into the crowd.

  She’d realized what the Toronto Industrial Exhibition was as she rode the streetcar over. She’d gone to its modern descendant — the Canadian National Exhibition — and there wasn’t much difference between the two. The Industrial Exhibition had different showcase buildings and an impressive Crystal Palace, but had the same crowds as the twenty-first century Ex — people shouting and laughing and kids speeding around the legs of their parents. Rosemary marched past the stalls, looking for Peter.

  “Madam! Madam!” cried a showman. “I can guess the year you were born!”

  Rosemary grinned and rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.” She marched on.

  She heard the sound of a ball smacking against a wooden wall and she found Peter standing in front of a stall, looking disappointed. “Oh, bad luck, young man,” said the stall owner. He handed Peter a ball as big as his hand. “Have another go.” Peter took the ball and reared back to pitch. A row of milk bottles stood as targets. “Peter!” she called, and he flinched.

  “Don’t do that! You’ll throw me off my game.”

  “Peter, we didn’t come here for you to be fleeced by the carnies.”

  He scowled. “I can beat this game. I’m almost there.” He hefted the ball in his hands. “I’d do better if this ball wasn’t so imbalanced. I’d almost think these games are rigged.”

  “Of course they’re rigged!”

  “Just two more sets of bottles and I’ve got my prize.” Peter threw. The ball thumped against the back of the stall.

  “Oh, bad luck,” said the stall holder with a smile. “Have another try. Just another nickel.”

  “Peter,” Rosemary growled.

  He drew the ball to his lips, then whispered to her. “Have a look at what I’m playing for.” He nodded at the stand. “Second shelf, near the middle.”

  Rosemary looked. In the middle of a shelf of tacky bric-a-brac was a brass lantern, straight off a ship. “Peter! It would be cheaper just to buy it.”

  “Oh really?” He clasped the ball. “I’ve just figured out how these balls tack.” And he reared back and threw. The pyramid of bottles came down with a crash. The stall owner’s knuckles whitened on the counter.

  Rosemary watched Peter snatch the ball from the now-reluctant stall owner’s fingers. She pursed her lips, then shrugged. “All right. When you’ve done fleecing this guy, meet us by the lake for lunch.”

  She turned away. Behind her, she heard a crash of falling bottles and a cry of joy.

  Rosemary entered Machinery Hall, a building built like a cross with a clock tower rising from the centre. Inside, people flocked around booths showing the latest inventions. Rosemary found Faith after a few minutes of searching. “Hi!” she said as she came up. “Where’s Edmund?”

  “Meeting his friend.” Faith nodded. Rosemary looked across the aisle and saw Edmund shaking hands with a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bushy moustache. As she approached, the man gave Edmund a curt nod and said, gruffly, “I’m afraid I have to leave soon, Mr. Watson, so let us see what you have.”

  Edmund opened his envelope and passed over the sheaf of papers. He was reaching in his pocket for his barbecue lighter when someone called out, “Edmund!”

  Edmund flinched. Aldous Birge sidled through the crowd, cane clicking.

  “What a surprise to see you here,” said Aldous. “Business must be good if you ca
n close the shop.”

  Edmund didn’t say anything, so Rosemary stepped forward. “Mr. Birge?” she said evenly. “What brings you out here?”

  “Business, of course,” said Aldous. “After all, I am a businessman. I have no time for pleasure.”

  Rosemary’s smile hardened. “What sort of business, Mr. Birge? Anything specific?”

  Aldous looked away demurely. “You needn’t trouble yourself about specifics. It would be a bore to a young lady such as yourself.”

  “Yes,” said Rosemary. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make us uncomfortable.”

  “Mr. Watson?” The man with the bushy moustache cleared his throat. “If you please, I do have a train to catch.”

  “Of course, Mr. Ballard.” Edmund fumbled through his pockets, then realized Ballard was holding the papers he was about to refer to. He took them back and spread them on the table. Aldous came to peer over Edmund’s shoulder. Rosemary stepped forward and casually shouldered him away.

  “I —.” Edmund’s voice trembled and he coughed. “I have been investigating the electrical properties of stones like quartz, and I have tested how they discharge electricity when they are struck.”

  “The phenomenon is known,” said Ballard, peering at the papers.

  “I have quantified the behaviour of the stones.” Edmund pointed at a chart. “And here I show how the electricity can be channelled. The process is reversible, so a mechanical action can produce an electrical current, and the current can reproduce the same mechanical action elsewhere. Fine-tuned enough, and almost anything can be transmitted electrically and replicated at the other end of a wire. Most interesting, is it not?”

  Ballard looked up. Rosemary could see no sign of whether he was fascinated or bored. “An ... interesting body of work, Mr. Watson, and some interesting theories. Do you have any practical application to show for this?”

  “Uh ....” Edmund ran his thumb over his fingers. “Yes ... this.” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the lighter. “Striking the crystal here,” he said, pointing at the trigger, “sends an electric current through the wires so the other end ... uh ...,” he waved his hand over the device, his words gone, “... does this.” He pulled the trigger, and a spark leapt between the wires.

  Some of the crowd watching this display jumped, and there were a few mutters of surprise and appreciation. Neither Aldous Birge nor Ballard moved. Edmund stood as though he had a mole on his nose and everyone was staring at him.

  Ballard rubbed his chin. “Most ... interesting, Mr. Watson.” He flicked open a pocket watch. “But I’m afraid I must leave now. Write and tell me more about your invention. You know how to reach me?”

  “Uh ....” Edmund stood staring. Aldous slipped away into the crowd. “Yes, Mr. —”

  “Good,” said Ballard. “I shall contact you ...,” he considered, “presently. Good day!” He tipped his hat, stepped out of the booth, and walked away.

  Edmund watched him go. Rosemary watched Edmund. She bit her lip.

  “That was humiliating!” Edmund moaned. He sat on the grass, his head in his hands.

  “It’s okay!” Rosemary reached out to pat his shoulder, hesitated, then drew her hand away. “Mr. Ballard seemed interested.”

  “He was just being polite!”

  “There, there, Edmund,” said Faith, setting out the basket of sandwiches. They sat on a blanket spread over a patch of grass overlooking the lake. Picnickers surrounded them. Behind them, the Exhibition hummed. “If Rosemary said it was all right, it was all right. Isn’t that right, Rosemary?”

  Peter strode up the hill, hoisting the lantern and a brass telescope. “Hey, check out the great stuff I won!”

  Rosemary straightened up. “It wasn’t enough that you won the lantern?”

  He grinned. “You should have seen his face. He gave me the telescope on the condition I stop playing. It’s great! I can see all the way across the lake. I was watching this cargo ship heading into dock; clear enough I could see the crates.” He put the telescope to his eye and looked out to the lake, then frowned. “It vanished. Must have pulled into something. It was going so fast, I thought it was going to crash.” He looked past her. “What’s wrong with Edmund?”

  She sighed. “His presentation didn’t go well. He lost his nerve the moment that Birge guy showed up.”

  But Peter had spotted the blanket spread out with food. “Ooo! Lunch!” He brushed past her.

  Rosemary started to say something, but caught sight of Aldous Birge walking through the crowds. She was hit by another wave of déjà vu. “Excuse me,” she said, and she strode off the green.

  She slipped through the crowds amongst the stalls and the shooting galleries, keeping Aldous’s cream-coloured suit in sight. She dodged laughing kids speeding around the legs of fairgoers. Birge left the crowds at the end of the midway and Rosemary held back, watching him as he crossed a small patch of green free of fairgoers. She was about to follow when someone strode out from between two tents. She ducked back behind cover.

  Aldous Birge stopped to greet Rob Cameron. The boy’s nose showed purple around his bandage. The two talked, and Aldous nodded and patted Rob’s shoulder. Then he turned away, heading for the fairground’s exit. Rob watched him go, then turned toward the fairgrounds, heading straight for Rosemary’s hiding place.

  She ducked back, darting between two stalls. She held her breath as she waited for Rob to pass. The crowds bustled back and forth. Then Rob slipped through into the space between the two stalls and almost walked into her. He stared, and she could see the wheels turning. He doesn’t recognize me with my clothes on, she thought.

  But then it clicked. He glared. “You!”

  He advanced on her, his hands balled into fists. Rosemary noted that they were some distance away from the crowds, but she pushed herself away from the wall and faced him.

  “Take one more step,” she said, her voice level, “and I’ll break your nose again. And then I’ll scream. What do you think the people out there will think?”

  Rob stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, then turned back. He didn’t advance any further. “You’re spying on me, ain’t ya?” He jabbed a finger at her. “You’d better keep your nose away from where it don’t belong, or I’ll break it off.”

  Rosemary stood her ground. They glared at each other a moment longer before Rob turned and stalked away. Rosemary watched him go, then let out her breath when he stepped out of sight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SAY GOODBYE

  Rosemary kicked open the door to their apartment and hauled a steaming pail of water over the threshold. Peter dropped his book and scrambled up from the bed. “Rosemary, what are you doing?” He helped her set the bucket on the floor.

  “Running a bath,” she puffed. She nodded to the tub that sat by the window. “Help me pour this in.”

  They hauled the bucket to the tub and tipped it over. The metal rattled. The water filled it to a depth of three inches. Peter frowned. “Not much of a bath.”

  “There’s another bucket on the stove downstairs,” said Rosemary. “Bring it up.” Peter left. A moment later he was back, and there were six inches of steaming water in the tub.

  “That’s all there is,” said Peter.

  She shrugged. “It’ll do. It won’t be a soak, but it’ll be nice to have hot water on my skin for once.”

  “Uh ... yeah.” He coughed, then turned for the door. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He turned back. “What do you mean ‘Where am I going’? You’re having a bath.”

  “We need to talk.” She pushed the bucket aside. “Compare notes. Did you find a second lantern?”

  He looked at her, incredulous. “Bath.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She dragged the change screen in front of the tub and stood behind it. “What did you think I was going to do?”

  Peter stood a moment, mouth open to object. Then he closed
it. He picked his book up off of the floor and lay down on the bed to read. “Go on.”

  Rosemary rolled her eyes. She gathered up her nightclothes and soap and set them on the floor beside the tub. Then she paused, staring at the steaming tub and rubbing her chin. It was too small and too round to stretch out in. She shrugged and started undoing the stays and fasteners of her dress. She draped these over one panel of the change screen.

  “I found a backup lantern,” said Peter. “In Tom’s scrap heap. It’s battered, but it’ll do. I’ll ask Tom for it. Tell him I can fix it up.”

  As she worked, the moon came out from behind clouds and shone through the window. The change screens glowed white. The tub threw a dark shadow against them. The water gleamed. Smiling, Rosemary tested the water, and then she slipped out of the last of her undergarments. She eased herself into the tub with a sigh. She knelt and ladled water over herself with a metal cup. “That’s good. I found a place where I can buy rope and some climbing gear. We can afford it, too. We’re as good as home.”

  “Home,” said Peter. He took a deep breath. “You know, I’m going to miss this place.”

  Rosemary sloshed water. “Miss this place? You like laying bricks and hauling lumber?”

  “It feels good working with your hands.” He sounded affronted. “You feel like you’re creating something.”

  “By burying a river alive?” She bent forward, dipped her hair, and splashed water over her head. Rising, she tossed her hair back, picked up the soap, and began lathering.

  “You’re right,” said Peter. “We should just concentrate.” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “Concentrate on getting back home and not think of how much that’ll leave Faith and Edmund in the lurch.”

  Rosemary grimaced. “I know. I wish there was some way we could repay them.” She stretched up an arm and lathered under it. She ran her fingers through her hair and bent down to rinse. “I will miss this place,” she said, sitting up. “It’s like our first apartment. It’ll be hard going back and being a two-hour drive apart.”