Devlin nods slowly.
“Locals come down to the ships to make their trades. I was there a few years ago. You ought to see it someday if you can. Black faces in the night. Mouths and noses covered with greasy bandanas. They come looking to swap diamonds and gold for guns. They come late at night, right up to the piers. In the north, part of the country the Xhosa are always fighting the Zulu. Hell, some group is always fighting another. No fucking clue why. But when it comes to battle, they mean business.”
“Where do they get the diamonds?”
“I don’t know. I guess some of them work in the mines. When you’re down there deep, a few of the rocks can find their way into pockets or shoes when no one is looking. Other rocks may be bought on the cheap or stolen. I don’t know. All I do know is that a man with a forty-dollar gun in his locker can trade that gun for a $400 diamond just like that. And no one is the wiser. He can trade other things too for smaller diamonds—clothes, hats, tools. I know of a man unbolted a ship’s compass and traded it not for a diamond but for a chunk of gold. Turned out to be worth over $4,000. Not worth that much to them, but certainly worth that much back here.”
Devlin nods slightly. “I’ve heard such stories too. What’s your point?”
“The point, my dear future associate, is that I have a friend whose ship was in port the same day as the Gossamer before the Gossamer headed out on its final trip. He saw a couple of the sailors near the pier who were doing business with a group of local men. What they were offering was substantial. No big gems, but hundreds of small ones. Bags of them. Who knows what they might be worth here, but I’m guessing tens of thousands of dollars. Maybe more.”
Devlin retains his skeptical face, but his interest level has obviously risen a bit. Jeb can see that.
“So what? Even if I did believe you, the rocks would be long gone by now. The ship sailed into Boston and then it left again. I’m quite sure whatever they had on board was sold when they were in port.”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But I don’t believe that’s the case, and here’s why.” Jeb slowly sits back. He’d been a fisherman once, years ago. Thus he knows how to place his hook expertly. Now it’s just a matter of reeling Devlin in, slowly and carefully. The challenge is, this particular fish is a shark, and Jeb needs to be extra careful and crafty.
Jeb waits just long enough, so he can see Devlin fidget slightly fighting the urge to ask. Jeb can tell that just asking would show a level of interest that Devlin would much rather mask.
“Do you know what business I’m in, Mr. Richards?” Jeb continues.
“You’re a labor organizer. I know that much,” Devlin sneers. “You try to unionize workers at the docks. You wear the uniform of a typical dock worker. Not sure if you’ve ever done a lick of work yourself though. Have you?”
“I have. And you’re correct about what I do. I know a lot about what the laborers at the docks are up to. And most of them come to realize, sooner or later, that I’m a man who looks out for them. That’s how I knew about the Gossamer in the first place. You see, the ship of another friend of mine left South Africa a couple days ahead of them. I knew what dock they were going to pull up to long before she ever broke over the horizon. I was waiting for what she was carrying. I was waiting for those diamonds, Mr. Richards. But unlike the gems that were being shopped around the waterfront, the diamonds I was looking for never made it to shore.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because there were police on the docks waiting for them. And men from the customs house. It was too hot to bring them out. Also, a man who was carrying them was in some sort of trouble on board. He wasn’t allowed to get off the ship, so the diamonds stayed on board.”
“Oh, come on. There’s a thousand ways to sneak them off.”
“I know the man who was waiting for them. I know the conversations that he had. His contact, the man who carried them, worked in the engine room. He had extra duties and no shore time while in port. So he didn’t meet his connection. Just made some hand signals to the buyer from the deck. The Gossamer's next run was just going over and back. Twenty-some days, tops. Using hand signals, they simply agreed to meet again. That buyer pays the best prices. He knew the sailor would wait for the deal, so they agreed to wait and ….”
“And then they sank to the bottom of the Atlantic,” Devlin finished the sentence. “End of story. End of the diamonds, assuming your story is even true.”
“So you would think. But my friend told me where those diamonds were. He told me about waterproof boxes that some of the sailors had, stashed beneath their berths. Boxes that are meant to float.” Jeb’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I confide in you? I have to tell you, Mr. Richards, there isn’t a lot of money for a man like me who works as a labor organizer. Business owners chase you away. Workers don’t always trust you. You have to live on the donations that laborers are willing to pay. I’ve been beat up more times than I can count. So why do I continue? I try to organize dockworkers because I think it’s the right thing to do. I feel good about it. But I have to be honest. It’s only my side deals that keep me going. Little deals along the way are what keep food on my table. I justify the shady exchanges by the good that I do in return. A lot of labor work to do good for a lot of men. And their families. Make sense?”
He studies Devlin and realizes that the words are lost to him. Devlin is not a man who worries about moral justification. Any deal is the right deal.
“Well, anyway, the reason I believe this story is real is that I have some experience at listening to such talk. Eventually a man like me learns who to ignore and who to listen to when visiting a port city. All I can say is that I believed this man. He waited near the ship with me. He had his reasons for sharing the information. I was going to be a sales channel. I travel all over the country. I have to deal with rich and poor.
“Another thing, he was particularly interested in talking to a different man too. That man was getting on, not off the ship. That man mostly stayed on the deck while they were in port, fiddling with some equipment he brought with him. Strangest thing I’ve seen.”
Devlin nods. “That sailor who was running his yap in here a few nights ago. He mentioned that man too. Said he was a scientist.”
“Yes. I think it’s the same one.”
“So let’s say all of this is true,” Devlin grunts, “which I doubt. The ship is still on the bottom of the sea now. What good is any of this?”
“The ship broke apart. Much of it washed ashore. I can’t help but wonder if some of those waterproof boxes could have survived.”
Devlin shrugs. “Sounds far-fetched.”
“Perhaps. But I have my reasons for thinking so. I don’t play odds blindly, and I don’t think you do either.”
Devlin sits silently for several moments, staring at the tabletop. “Okay. I will admit that I’m intrigued. But what is it you want me to do?”
“I need muscle. We need to ask some questions.”
“I’m not intrigued enough to work on speculation. You know my rates. I’ll ask around, find out what I can, and we’ll talk. I expect at least sixty dollars for my trouble, and $125 if I deliver useful information to you.”
“I think that sounds fair.”
“And when you find the diamonds, I want half of them.”
“Twenty percent.”
Devlin’s eyes narrow. “And you are a little fuck. You don’t think I can just take them all if I want? You’re lucky I’m not cutting you out of this venture right now!”
“Twenty-five percent. Best I can do. I have to use some of those diamonds for bribes. Business, you understand.”
“Thirty-five. No less.”
And just like that, they reach their agreement and shake hands.
“The first thing we should do,” says Devlin, “is to find that sailor again. I haven’t seen him in the pubs since then. But he must be around somewhere. I don’t think he was in any shape to ship out again.”
Jeb orders two whiskeys and pulls a dollar coin from his shirt pocket. Devlin still thinks that shirt looks far too clean.
“As you can see, I don’t travel with as much money as our dear departed Mr. Baines. But this dollar should buy us another couple rounds.”
Devlin smirks. The barkeep relights their candle, and they drink and plot until that candle burns low.
Chapter 19
Steam
Elmer Quincy surprises himself as he moves around inside his faded gray barn. He kicks the chocks out from beneath the wheels of his aging steam wagon and even finds enough strength in his thin body to give it a mighty shove. The cast-iron water tank is only about one-eighth full. The sloshing motion in the nearly empty cylinder actually helps him get the wagon moving, thanks to a few good rocks. With a final slosh, the contraption rolls out the barn door and down a short earthen ramp. It slows to a stop about twelve yards away, leaving behind a trail of coal dust and rust flakes.
Whistling happily, Elmer loads the vehicle’s burner with several shovels full of coal—the cheap, smoky kind with brownish flecks and glass-green veins sprinkled throughout.
In a bin behind the front seat, he slowly loads another sixty pounds of coal until his arms ache and he can’t lift another shovel.
Moving slowly now, he pours a cup of kerosene into the burner, then strikes a white-headed wooden match on the rough tank. Tossing it in, he watches the fire catch. With a few wheezing breaths he bends low and forces the fresh fire down deep into the coals. In five minutes, he hears the tink of the water tank starting to expand. This is followed by the low simmer of water heating. Satisfied, Elmer seals the valve on the top of the tank then sits down, exhausted.
Settling back into the driver’s seat, he watches the pressure gauge slowly climb. The calm of the morning is interrupted as his wife and Amanda come thundering into the barnyard. Barely dressed, they’re laughing, sitting atop the horses that are not pulling the wagon they left with. The women tug at the horses, trying to get them to stop. It takes one long loop around the yard before both of the horses halt.
“What the hell are you doing?” Elmer yells. “Where’s the wagon?”
The horses stumble toward the water trough, where they drink heartily. The women slide down, Amanda helping Agnes as she wavers and shakes. Then they laugh again, realizing what a sight they must be without their dresses.
Agnes looks to Elmer and notices he’s staring openly at Amanda, who’s showing more skin then he’s ever seen on a woman other than his wife.
“Elmer? Elmer! Dear, what are you doing with the steam wagon?”
He swallows hard and looks back to his wife. Agnes shoos Amanda toward the house to find some decent clothes.
“What? Oh … I … I don’t think we can spare a horse right now.”
“I’ve already told her she can take one of the horses, Elmer. You know that. She offered to trade her horse for it. He’ll be healed soon.”
“Yes, I know. But I want her to take this instead. We have a big farm and only two horses for our nephews to use. We really could use another horse, and I have no use for this crazy thing anymore.” He looks toward the steam wagon with a forlorn look. “I mean … you won’t have any use for it. Not me.”
She looks at Elmer and shakes her head. “Are you daft? That thing is a death trap.” She points to the set of levers near the dashboard. “Besides, she doesn’t know how to run it. Look at all the controls. Get one wrong, and there’s too much pressure. No, that thing is too dangerous.”
“Nonsense,” Elmer scoffs. “I learned how it works, didn’t I? She can learn too. She’s a smart woman.”
“Why don’t we just put her on the train?”
Before responding, he asks her several questions about what happened to the wagon, and he learns about the chase and their escape.
“Well, then, doesn’t that rule out the train?”
“Why?”
“Because her husband will be looking for her there! Maybe the police too. Where else would she go if she’s going to run? He’ll tell the ticket agent to send a boy to fetch the town constable if she shows up. They’ll all think she stole something from the home. Think about it. You know that will be his story after today. She’s from away, so people will believe him too, especially when they see the cuts she said she left on his hands. If they find her carrying anything, she’ll be arrested sure as the world.”
“It’s her own home, Elmer! You can’t be arrested for breaking into your own home, can you?”
“I know that. And maybe they do too. But I bet they’ll arrest her anyway and let the judge work it out. Add an assault charge, and she’s not in good shape at all, in the court’s eyes.”
Agnes nods and looks toward the wagon, which seems to be coming to a full boil.
“I need to get more water in there,” Elmer says.
“We really should just let her stay here,” Agnes replies.
“Well, we’ve both told her that. But she won’t stay. She wants to go back to the city, and it’s probably a good idea for her to put some distance between her and that crazy husband. Things just didn’t work out for her here, shame to say. At least one of our neighbors is already talking about the fact that we have a woman living here. Word will get out after today’s chase. He’ll find her here.”
Agnes nods again. The wagon continues to steam. “Well, I think it’s a crazy idea just to give this contraption to her. But I certainly won’t miss it. Blasted thing has always scared the daylights out of me.”
Amanda emerges from the house. Looking at the wagon, she grins, remembering their adventures during the trip to the beach. “Are you taking it out again, Elmer?”
Elmer and Agnes exchange glances.
“Actually, we’d like to give it to you,” Elmer says.
Amanda blinks, hand traveling to her mouth as she smiles. “What? This? You can’t! It’s a treasure!”
“It’s a menace,” Agnes replies. “It really should just be driven into the ocean.”
Elmer calls Amanda over. “I’d really rather give you this than a horse. My family has no use for it anymore. It’s just a toy, while we always need good horses.”
He watches her gaze travel along its length with a look of fear and fascination in her eyes. “I couldn’t.”
“It will get you out of town pretty fast, dear. Faster than anything else you could ride.”
“I don’t even know how to run it.”
“I can teach you.”
They argue. She resists, but Agnes and Elmer can see that she’s fascinated by the idea. There are only a handful of automobiles in the state and can’t be more than one or two women in Massachusetts who have ever driven one. Does this thing even qualify as an automobile? It’s old and rusty and steamy and strange.
Finally she accepts, with the understanding that she will return it to them somehow, someday. With that, they load her bags and sacks into the back. The last thing to go in is the puzzle box. Amanda smiles as she sees Elmer look it over. “Interesting little thing, isn’t it?” she says.
Elmer struggles to remember something, then smiles. “I was in Boston years ago, and I remember stopping into a curiosity shop that had several of these things for sale. They came in all shapes and styles and none of them were exactly like this one.”
“Really? There are other boxes like this?”
“I’m not sure how similar they are. But the owner of the shop, a Chinaman, seemed to have a special interest in collecting them. He showed me how some of them opened.”
Amanda quickly picks the box up and hands it to him. “Maybe you know a trick to open this one. I’m kind of stuck.”
She shows him how to open the first two levels. Elmer studies the next level for nearly a minute, then points to a corner of the panel.
“See right there? See how this area just looks like part of the grain of the wood? But there’s a tiny outline around that part. It’s a trick. It’s really a thin curved slot with the
grain painted on. You’ll need a fingernail, longer than mine. Just press right there ….”
He holds the box firmly while Amanda inserts a fingernail, a nail that’s neatly trimmed but with no polish. She presses down and hears a tiny click. Elmer puts his thumb against the panel and slides it toward him. Narrow rubber seals squeak as they part. The compartment underneath is larger than the two she’s opened so far. It’s nearly a half inch deep. There’s a small leather-bound book there. She plucks it out delicately, as if she’s lifting a piece of glass.
Agnes and Elmer gather close as she opens the book and runs a finger over the name that’s written there. Victor Marius. They flip through the first few pages and see dates and writing. It appears to be a journal.
“He must be the owner of the box,” she says. “Those initials are on the front. He must have put this journal in here to keep it safe. She turns some more pages and begins reading one of the several entries. It mentions boredom and the passage of time on the seas. She flips to the front of the book and sees that he wrote down his thoughts through a previous voyage. That trip must have been taken a few months before. After he returned to Boston, the entries became shorter and less frequent. No surprise there. He must have had other things to do while ashore. Suddenly she snaps the book shut, feeling like she’s been caught peeping into someone’s window.
“It’s okay, dear,” Agnes assures her. “He’s dead. This is a bit of history that you’ve found.”
“But still ….”
“Think about it. He wouldn’t have put it in there if he didn’t want someone to find it!”
“Take it with you,” Elmer says in a calm tone. “Read it when you’re ready. You know where it sits in the box and how to get to it.” With that, he places the small book back into the box, slides the rubber-sealed pieces back into place, and relocks all the compartments.
Wreck of the Gossamer Page 13