The Tombs

by Deborah Schaumberg

  Geeno carried Seraphine toward the far field, beaming. He’d forgotten all about my leaving.

  Katalina and I climbed down into the boat with Horatio and we puttered out into Jamaica Bay. I held my thick hooded cloak tightly at my neck. The gray sky sapped the daylight. But the snow remained light, the flakes glowing green in the light of the overhead airships. I tilted my head back, letting the snow kiss my cheeks and lips. How I wished I were up there in an airship, looking down.

  We moored at one of the few quiet docks in Manhattan. Rosalinda’s was a Gypsy-owned dress shop not far from the waterfront. Horatio waited outside for the runner who was to meet us here with a reply from Khan’s friends at the House of the Scarlet Ascot.

  Rosalinda herself ushered us in with a flurry of hugs and kisses.

  Hands on hips, Katalina said, “Rosie, we need attire for a fancy soiree.” Like a tornado, Katalina gathered gowns and accessories in her arms. On the way over she’d convinced me to try some things on as well in case, by chance, I changed my mind about the party.

  Rosalinda’s head bobbed. “If you don’t wear it, my darling, you can send it right back.”

  They hastily cinched me into a stiff canvas corset, the whalebones pressing into my ribs. Over it, I wore a dusty rose dress and a long gray velvet overcoat. It was reassuringly modest, considering Katalina intended to pass us off as courtesans. She was striking in red-and-black stripes, a black cloak, and a matching jaunty top hat.

  “The crowning touch,” Rosalinda said, as she pinned a beautiful gray felt hat on top of my head. It was wrapped with silk and had a net of black lace that veiled my face. “It’s called a birdcage veil.”

  Perfect, I thought. Khan would have a laugh at that.

  Taking our parcels on credit, we pulled up our hoods and stepped outside. It had gotten dark, and Horatio was nowhere in sight. But the Gypsy runner was waiting for us.

  Katalina gave him a coin, then broke the seal and handed the message to me.

  “‘Dear Miss Moore,’” I read. “‘We would welcome the opportunity to introduce you and your friend to our proprietress. Coincidentally, we have a large event that very evening, and she is in need of additional consorts. Come in your finest. We look forward to meeting you. Sincerely, Mercy Thoreau and Delilah Sweet.’”

  “What did I tell you, eh?” Katalina boasted.

  It worked. I couldn’t believe how assertive and clever Katalina had been. But even though I’d agreed to let her get me a dress, by no means would I go to that party.

  Katalina leaned against the brick storefront. “I am sure Horatio will be along at any moment.” She lit one of her cigars, puffing smoke into the already gray sky. “Avery, remember when you asked me if I love Khaniferre? I owe you the truth. I do. I only wish he felt the same for me.”

  “Have you told him?” I asked softly.

  “No.” She glanced sideways at me under the brim of her hat. “I know he is your friend, but please do not say anything.”

  Why did I kiss him? I thought. I betrayed Katalina in her own home. If she were to find out . . .

  As if materializing from our thoughts, Khan stepped onto the sidewalk, breathing hard. He’d clearly been running. He was with Horatio. I knew from their expressions that something was wrong.

  Khan glanced over his shoulder. “I was sent to find you, the three of you. Let’s get off the street so we can talk.” We slid into the shadows of an alley. “They raided the camp. Spector, the crows . . . two men are dead.”

  Katalina gasped. “My father! What has happened to my father?”

  “He got away.” Khan looked up at me. “As did Geeno. They took the guard with them, and they . . .” He swallowed hard, as if he could not get the words out of his throat.

  Katalina stepped forward. “What is it?” She grabbed his arm. “What else?”

  With eyes seeking forgiveness, he said, “They captured Hurricane.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sadie-Mae

  We stumbled in shocked silence through the gloomy streets of the city, twilight darkening around us. For thirteen blocks, we followed Horatio, delving deep into a part of Manhattan I’d never thought I’d see. It had many names, most popularly the Tenderloin, but it was also called Satan’s Circus and the Modern Gomorrah. As bad as Five Points was, with its gangs and its violence, it was still a neighborhood where people lived and worked. The Tenderloin was a playground of pure debauchery and filth. There were more brothels, nightclubs, gambling casinos, and saloons concentrated here than anywhere else on the island of Manhattan.

  Once in the thick of it, we wove through narrow, seedy lanes, stepping over piles of waste, a dead pig, and slumped bodies of drunken undesirables. A few detestable worms propositioned Katalina, until she drew a knife from her skirt and held it openly clenched in her fist. My stride faltered at the sight of a young girl leaning on a lamppost, the glow highlighting her heavily painted face. Her skirt was pinned up to exhibit a shameful amount of leg.

  My heart pained at the sight. “Why, she must be younger than Hurricane!” I whispered to Katalina. She nodded, huddling closer to me.

  Behind the girl was a woman in tattered garments. She addressed the men of our group. “Messieurs, my daughter can pleasure ya. She’s a virgin.”

  I sucked in my breath. The mother’s skin was covered with open sores, one of her eyes looked eaten away, and she wore a nose made of metal tied to her face.

  Khan shook his head and we hurried by. In a low voice he said one word that explained the horror of what we’d seen. “Syphilis.”

  “Mr. Moralis’s cousin runs a hotel near here,” Horatio explained. “He’ll put us up for a few nights.” There were eleven Gypsy men, plus Mr. Moralis. We were to meet them at the hotel.

  Finally, Horatio pointed across the street to a dilapidated three-story wooden structure. The roof bowed so much in the middle, the dormer windows tilted toward each other. “Is it safe?” I asked.

  “Best we got,” Horatio said.

  A tall, sturdy-looking prostitute lounged by the entrance. When I got closer, she looked me up and down and said, “You can put your eyes back in your head, girlie.” My eyes did widen; her voice was that of a man. Ducking my head, I hastened inside.

  Somehow, I managed to climb three narrow, creaky flights to a cheerless, shabby room. Geeno and I would stay together, Katalina with her father. I shook all over as I huddled with Geeno in our cold bed.

  Night slipped away, then day, then night again. Geeno brought back food that went cold on the nightstand. I could barely eat in this repulsive place. My thoughts twisted and turned. Two Gypsies murdered. In all likelihood, Hurricane was in the Tombs—a living death. Why? Does Spector mean to question her about my whereabouts? My world was ripping apart at the seams, as was the city around me. I wanted my father.

  Khan came to check on me. Nothing he said could ease the anguish I felt over Hurricane’s capture. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve spent a lot of time with her lately.” He squeezed my hand.

  “So what now?” I muttered. “Is Horatio still planning to sneak into the party?”

  “Yes. The guard would be an imbecile to admit he told us anything. They’d kill him for sure. And we need more information.”

  Later, there was another knock. “Avery, may I come in?” Katalina sat down. “I wanted to see how you are doing.”

  I looked out the grimy window. “Katalina, all around me, terrible things are happening.”

  “You must not blame yourself, Avery. We have a saying: Te praxos man le mosa opral, sorro trajo pe’l changa simas. It means, ‘Bury me standing, I have been on my knees all my life.’” She leaned in, her dark eyes on mine. “The Romany people have always faced persecution. We will no longer stand idly by.”

  “I left Geeno there. What if they had taken him as well?” The thought alone brought a wrenching to my chest. I couldn’t lose him, too.

  “My father tells me Geeno did not get caught, because he was in the field with
your falcon. You probably saved him.” She set her jaw. “The party is tomorrow night. As you know, Horatio is going, and I intend to as well. My father has gone to the camp to retrieve our things. He plans to go back again tomorrow for the rest. He will not notice I am gone until it is too late to stop me.”

  I rolled onto my back. “The crows didn’t take anything?”

  “No. They swept through, guns raised, asking where you were. When they knocked my father out, Hurricane spit out that you had gone to the city with me. It would have been better for her if she had not opened her mouth, but she was scared.” She shook her head. “The two men were killed trying to protect her. Luckily, we had hidden the mask and cloak. If they had seen that, they may have slaughtered everyone. They checked the caravans and left with Hurricane and the guard, presumably to track you down in the city.”

  “Spector must have been surprised to find the camp so empty.”

  “Yes.” She flicked a cockroach off the nightstand. “Horatio found the box with your crystal intact, and he retrieved the wigs and Geeno’s bugs as well. Geeno was worried about them.”

  She fixed me with her eyes. “I do not think you are up to coming to the party, but I wanted to see how you felt. As I said before, if you cannot do it, I will go alone.”

  I wiped my face. This pain I felt inside would never go away. Part of the bleak and desolate landscape of my mind wanted action, demanded it, no matter how frightful it was. I’d come this far—how could I stop now? If there was a chance of discovering how to put an end to this, I had to take it. Spector had to be stopped.

  I pushed myself up. “All right, Katalina. I’ll go with you.”

  Katalina grinned. “Then you need to eat.”

  The day of the party, I found myself staring out the window, studying the sky for signs as my mother used to do. But the gray clouds were thick and all-consuming; they gave nothing away. Which suited my mood. My blood felt icy in my veins, and no amount of hot tea could warm me.

  I’d convinced Khan to take Geeno to work with him—get him out of this seedy place. And luckily, Mr. Moralis was still at the camp. Katalina came to my room and we quickly dressed. I cinched her corset and buttoned up the back of her dress. “I’m scared, Kat. And everyone will fear the worst when they discover us missing.” The nickname made me feel closer to her, and right now I needed to feel close to people. As if sensing my feelings, she leaned her head against me.

  “I am scared, too, Avery.” My eyes widened. I’d never heard Katalina admit to being afraid of anything. “Leave a note on your bed saying we had to get out of this dismal flophouse for a few hours and not to worry. We will explain after we have information to share. Together we can do this, yes?”

  “I hope so.” I’d decided that Katalina had built a hard protective shell around herself. Being allowed in through the cracks felt special. It lightened my chest and would, hopefully, get me through this night.

  We adjusted the wigs and hats, then donned the long hooded cloaks to hide our clothing and quietly left with Horatio. He had the crow-guard uniform in a large sack for later. I moved as if in a dream, my mind unable to think past the next step my feet had to take, my nerves jumping, quivering under my skin.

  Horatio had secured a hansom cab to take us to Spring Street. The dress was heavy, the bustle cumbersome. Every breath was squeezed through my tightly corseted rib cage. I did like the hat, with its veil of netting hiding part of my face.

  We disembarked in a genteel, well-lit neighborhood. “This is the red-light district?” I whispered.

  Horatio nodded. “The high-end one, of course. Good luck,” he said as he headed off to the house of the masquerade.

  I’d made us calling cards. On Katalina’s I’d written Isabella Moore, and mine said Grace Hammond. I enjoyed the irony of using my ex-friend’s name in such absurd circumstances.

  Katalina knocked on a fine but unassuming entrance. A small panel in the wood slid open. Katalina presented her calling card and the door swung open to reveal a dimly lit hallway.

  The doorman extended his hand toward a staircase. “Up one flight, if you please. Second door on the left.”

  As we made our way up, I noticed the thick runner silenced our footfall. When Katalina knocked on this door, it opened to two beauties in exquisite finery. One, tall and thin, dark straight hair cut across her forehead, was all angles and lines. She wore brocade and burgundy. The other was made of softness and curves. She wore a gown of pale blue and had gossamer blond hair. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought them high-society ladies like those my mother used to entertain. When I saw their faces, though, I realized they were probably the same age as Katalina.

  The blond one visibly brightened. “Mercy! They’re here!” She spoke in a soft and whispery southern accent. Taking Katalina’s hands, she continued. “You must be Isabella. I’m Delilah Sweet. And this is Mercy—Mercy Thoreau.”

  “Pleased to meet you. May I present my friend, Grace Hammond?” Katalina turned to me.

  I smiled as Mercy nodded. “Come in. We are almost ready to leave,” Mercy said. The room beyond was ornate, the huge canopy bed at its center draped in thick damask. The flowery wallpaper, heavy drapes, and ornate rugs looked luxurious in the dim lighting of the gas lamps, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw the stains, watermarks, and threadbare corners. The room was like an elderly woman with thick powder and heavy rouge masking her aging face. “How is Mr. Soliman?” she asked. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen him around our neck of the woods.”

  Katalina visibly relaxed, exhaling quietly. For the first time, her smile seemed genuine. “Oh, Mr. Soliman is just dandy.”

  Katalina was better at pleasantry than I. She prattled on about nonsense as the others got ready. I hoped my anxiety didn’t give us away.

  Delilah mistook the meaning of my quietness. “The House of the Scarlet Ascot is just up the street. It’s a real classy joint. Sadie-Mae, the proprietress, runs a tight ship. She’ll be expecting you. And since y’all are new, she’ll expect you to be shy, so don’t get too jiggy about it.”

  Mercy pinned on her hat. “Whatever you do, do not drink the alcohol. Just pretend to sip at it. The drinks at these parties are often laced with laudanum, and I’ve seen girls get themselves into a pickle.”

  The four of us walked up Spring Street to the House of the Scarlet Ascot, Delilah chattering the whole way. Tonight, All Hallows’ Eve, the streets were anything but quiet. There were couples in masks and finery on their way to parties, and glowing jack-o’-lanterns watching us pass. A parade threaded its way through the district, led by a giant skeleton held up with poles and trailed by sudden bursts of firecrackers.

  Halloween had always been a festival of mystery and magic when I was young, but tonight I jumped at every sound, and my jaw hurt from clenching it. Tonight Halloween was the ghastly and frightful time it had set out to be, like a sorcerer, weaving a strange spell over me. I had to be careful.

  Our destination was a gracious town house, well maintained on the exterior, and although improper women sashayed up and down the street, none lingered in front of this house. A heavily made-up woman met us at the door. My first impression was not one of size, although her gaudy dress was enormous; it was of a combination of bawdiness and an underlying sense of violence. She was a fox in a henhouse. Her cheeks had round circles of rouge on them, and she eyed us through heavily caked lashes. Her perfume stung my nostrils—rotting roses and talcum powder.

  “Good. Right on time, girls.” She glanced at a locket watch on a chain around her neck. It disappeared into the cleavage of her ample bosom when she dropped it. She must have caught my gaze, because she pushed her shoulders back and smiled. “We can’t all be endowed with such plentiful womanly gifts, my dear.”

  Mercy introduced us. “Madame, these are the friends I told you about, Grace and Isabella.”

  “A pleasure. I’m Mis’ Sadie-Mae.” We nodded as she stepped aside. “Don’t stand there letting in the cold. C
ome on in, girls.”

  I rubbed my thinly gloved hands together as Katalina and I entered the foyer. I curtsied. “I’m Grace. Grace Hammond. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “How old are you, Grace?” Sadie-Mae asked, as she appraised me from head to toe.

  “Sixteen, ma’am.”

  She smiled, her eyes twinkling with delight. “That’s good, Grace, very good. They like the young ones.”

  Katalina introduced herself as Isabella Moore. Sadie-Mae walked in a circle around her, clucking her tongue in approval. “Isabella, you were born for this line of work.”

  Sadie-Mae’s house was elegant: marble floors, rich wood paneling, and ornate gas sconces emitting a warm glow. It was a place for respectable men to visit. She ushered us into the parlor, which was richly done in toile and gilt mirrors, where the other girls were gathered. Some stood talking; some lounged together on tufted velvet sofas. The colors of their dresses were so varied, the girls looked like a bouquet of exquisite flowers. They caressed and embraced one another, their movements languid and sensual. It was quite risqué. My insides shook; I hoped no one would talk to me.

  A murmur swept around the room as we entered. Delilah smiled and took my hand, walking us toward the back.

  “Fancy, isn’t it? Y’all won’t come upon a finer house. They’ve got a clientele of rich and famous gentlemen. I had a bit of a grind with Grover Cleveland himself, before he was running for governor of New York, of course.”

  “Attention, girls.” Sadie-Mae clapped her hands. “As you know, this is a very important evening. Our house was chosen out of many.” She puffed up her chest. “And it was chosen because we have never, you hear me, never given up a secret. Men know that what happens here stays here. Rumors don’t start. Wives don’t come a-knocking. Powerful men could be ruined by one slip of a sassy tongue.” She glared at each of us in turn. “Whatever you see at this party is forgotten the moment you leave.” Her glare melted away, and she smiled like a mother hen. “Be proud you are part of the House of the Scarlet Ascot. Remember, you are representing my good name, so behave properly. Line up and I will dismiss you one by one. The coaches are waiting outside.”