Shadowsea

by Peter Bunzl

  “They’re going to Ellis Island for further processing,” John explained. “They’ve come to the US to stay for ever, unlike us, and so they need to be inspected properly before they’re allowed to enter the country.”

  “But they’re wearing threadbare clothes,” Lily whispered to Robert.

  Robert had noticed that too. The folk being waved through, like the Hartmans, were richer-looking. “Seems there’s one law for the better-off and another for the rest,” he told Lily quietly, and she nodded in agreement.

  The Arrivals Hall was filled with people of all ages and races in outfits from every different kind of place. The air sang with their joyful babble, a mix of various accents, languages and dialects. Robert recognized snatches – French and what he guessed was Italian. Plus Polish, German and…Irish? Families and friends were meeting for the first time in a long time and their faces glowed happily in the warm electric light.

  Lily fidgeted excitedly with her basket. Malkin was still hidden inside it and would occasionally stick his head out to glance around, or poke out his swishing brush. And Robert, who was walking behind Lily, would have to sneak over and stuff it back in.

  They crossed the lobby and stepped through a row of swinging glass doors that led onto the sidewalk and the bustling streets of the city, where clouds the colour of roof shingles sprinkled snow on a cobbled road, busy with traffic.

  “Come on,” John said, flagging down an electric taxi carriage and winking mischievously at the three of them. “Let’s go see New York.”

  No one talked much as they set off in the brand-new electrical-wagon. They were too busy taking in the view. Robert had never seen the like of it before and neither, it seemed, had Lily. She swayed in her seat and lifted Malkin to the window so that he could see too. It wasn’t long before the fox had his snout pressed against the glass.

  “Look!” he called out excitably, staring through the falling flakes of snow.

  Robert wiped away the condensation and peered through the soot-and-dust-stained window as they chugged under an iron bridge that spanned the street.

  A train sped across above them. Robert realized this was New York’s famous elevated railway, raised on heavy columns and stanchions above the road.

  The train’s chimney puffed smoke that showered hot, hissing flecks of ash onto the roofs of the low tenements that edged up to the tracks. Behind those, taller buildings spread out in a forest of bricks, concrete, glass and electric light, which streamed from every window, making the cobbles and slush piles radiate a brilliance that twinkled like the joy in Robert’s heart.

  The city appeared to be set out on a grid, for every crossroads had four junctions. They passed alleys crisscrossed with bare frozen washing lines and a humungous, half-finished tower on the edge of a park, whose top floors, concealed in scaffolding, almost touched the clouds.

  “That’s Park Row,” Robert said, pointing it out eagerly to Malkin and Lily.

  “How do you know that?” Lily asked, her eyes shining in the light from the tower.

  “We read about it,” Robert replied, “in John’s Appleton’s Guide, remember?”

  “That’s right,” John said. “When it’s finished, it’s set to be the tallest building in New York. A skyscraper, they’re calling it.”

  “Impressive,” Lily said. And she meant it. It was a far cry from the short and dumpy houses she was used to seeing in Brackenbridge. Then, in the gap between Malkin’s ears, she glimpsed the Brooklyn Bridge.

  With its imposing metal cobwebs of suspended steel cables, it was even more breathtaking than the skyscraper.

  After ten more minutes, the cab turned off at a junction and pulled up before an eight-storey brownstone. Trees in white fluffy overcoats lined the avenue out front and the tall pyramid-roofed towers on each corner of the building’s roof looked like they were sprinkled with icing sugar. Three red words glinted on an electric sign at the front of the building:

  “We’re staying here?” Lily asked breathlessly.

  Papa nodded. “That’s right. I booked us a suite.”

  “Blimey,” Robert muttered, gaping wide-eyed at the place. It looked like a palace. “I’ve not even stayed in a regular hotel before, let alone one that’s so…”

  “Swanky?” Malkin suggested, finishing off his sentence.

  The three of them stared at the building and then at each other in amazement, as Papa rapped on the roof of the cab to signal the driver to stop.

  “To the hotel!” Papa called as the electric taxi juddered to a standstill. Then he opened the carriage door and jumped down from his seat.

  His mouth still hanging open, Robert bounded after him.

  Lily gathered a bouncing Malkin up quickly in his basket, and with a chest full of twitching excitement followed the pair out into the street.

  “It’s not really all guests welcome, if mechanimals aren’t allowed,” Malkin said, peeking out of the top of Lily’s basket to read the sign in the entrance lobby. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that’s discrimination.”

  “Hush, Malkin,” Lily said. “We can’t make a scene.” She pushed the mech-fox back down beneath his blanket and hoped the staff hadn’t noticed.

  “At least, not until we’re checked in!” Robert said, taking off his cap and stuffing it in his pocket.

  John strode purposefully across the marble floor to meet the airstation porter, who was waiting with their trunks beneath a giant gleaming crystal-studded electric chandelier. While he returned their tag to the porter, Robert and Lily looked about.

  To their left were two elevator grates. A curved row of numbers and an arrow above each indicated what floor the elevators were on. Beside these stood a pair of telephone booths with glass-panelled doors. Each booth contained a mounted transmitter to speak into and a receiver on a cord to hold to your ear. Robert and Lily had heard of telephones, of course, but had never actually seen one.

  To the right of the telephone booths was a fine Christmas tree taller than any of the pines in Brackenbridge Woods. It was festooned in glass baubles and striped candy canes and long red candles, whose flames flickered every time the entrance door swung open.

  Robert ran a hand across one of the branches and sniffed his fingers. Pine. The scent of Christmas. The best smell in the whole wide world.

  “This is quite the place!” he whispered to Lily.

  “I don’t imagine Queen Victoria stays anywhere better when she comes to visit New York,” she replied.

  “She most certainly does not!” John said with a wry smile. He’d finished paying the airstation porter and dismissed him, and now he put a hand on each of their shoulders. “But I have it on the highest authority that there’s much more to see than this! So come along, you whippersnappers, let us go and procure our key!”

  As they approached the long marble reception desk, they saw that someone was already waiting in front of them: a gaunt-faced woman with short slicked-back hair and a heavy wooden case handcuffed to her gloved wrist. On the side of her case, stamped in black ink, was a snake curled in a perfect circle, eating its own tail. The sight of it sent a shiver slithering down Robert’s spine.

  DING!…DING!…DING!

  The woman dinged the bell on the marble desktop three times. “Hello! Anyone here? Service, please. We wanna check in!” She had a loud New York accent. Beneath her coat, a silver lightning sigil was pinned to the collar of her dress. It reminded Lily of the golden cog Papa wore on the lapel of his suit to indicate his membership of the Mechanists’ Guild.

  Stood to one side of the woman was a mechanical nursemaid – a square-jawed, iron lady with a red cross painted on her chest. The nursemaid held the handles of two very large leather suitcases within one enormous fist and the thin wrist of a forlorn-looking boy tightly within the other. “I’d advise you don’t make a scene, Professor,” the nursemaid said. “Humans rarely get what they want from us that way.”

  “You’re wrong, Buckle,” the woman at the desk said. “Se
rvice mechs ain’t like you. They need some geeing up to get ’em going.”

  The boy said nothing, merely blinked sleepily as if he was half-awake.

  Lily studied the boy closely. He seemed around her and Robert’s age, maybe a year younger. He held a cage draped with a velvet cloth. His face was pale as a peeled potato, his expression melancholy as a rain cloud and his eyes were like tiny black holes into an infinite nothing. Nevertheless, something about him made Lily hold her breath. He seemed older than his years, as if he’d seen many disturbing things.

  As Lily watched, a little white mouse poked its head out of the breast pocket of the boy’s suit; it blinked at her, peeked around and sniffled its whiskers. Lily wondered if the mouse was a mechanimal. It seemed very docile for a real pet.

  The mouse ducked back down inside the pocket, but Robert had seen it too. He and Lily both gave the boy warm smiles and Malkin popped his head out of the basket and gave the boy a foxy grin to show he too was friendly.

  The boy’s eyes lit up when he saw the mech-fox, but then the dark rain cloud of sadness that he seemed to carry with him descended once again.

  Lily wondered what was troubling him and whether he had any friends he could tell his worries to. He certainly had a lonely aura about him.

  “Can I be of assistance, Ma’am?” A mechanical receptionist with a countenance like a feature door-knocker had appeared in the doorway behind the desk and was addressing the woman.

  “Yeah,” said the woman. “We just arrived. We wanna check in. Booked a quiet suite. Don’t want regular maid service.” She nodded at the nursemaid and the boy. “My nephew’s sick. Needs peace and quiet. No disturbances. No one’s to speak to him. Tell your staff. It’d be much appreciated.”

  The mechanical receptionist smiled sympathetically at the boy and gave his aunt a darker look. “Of course,” he replied. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” the woman replied. “But it’s Milksop. Professor Matilda Milksop.”

  Papa, who’d been studying his Appleton’s Guide while they waited, looked up with a cry. “Professor Milksop, can it really be you? What a wonderful surprise!”

  The woman took a moment to realize she was being addressed by someone else. She wheeled around and stared at Papa as if she couldn’t quite place him.

  “Have we met, Sir?”

  “Professor John Hartman,” Papa said cordially, taking her hand and shaking it. “We were introduced at a conference in Sweden some years ago. You were working on the prototype of an oceanic turbine to generate electricity.”

  “That’s right,” Professor Milksop said. “Delighted to see you again, Hartman. A real joy.” She smiled coldly and pulled her hand away from his. Half-hidden beneath her coat-sleeve was a circular tattoo: a black ring on the inside of her wrist. With alarm, Lily recognized the same snake symbol that was stamped on the wooden case.

  “What are you doing in New York?” Professor Milksop asked.

  “I’m here to give a speech in January,” Papa replied. “For the Annual American Conference of Mechanists and Electricians at Harvard. Meanwhile, I’m taking a holiday with my family. This is Robert Townsend, and this is my daughter Lily—”

  Professor Milksop’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah! I read about her. And her Cogheart. In the New York Daily Cog, of all places. The article said that you made the heart, Hartman. And that Lily and her friend escaped a freak-circus that kidnapped them. Interesting stuff.”

  Lily felt a flood of disappointment. She had thought she’d be safely cloaked in anonymity in New York, yet here was someone else who knew her story.

  “And this is your nephew?” Papa asked, staring at the boy and then at his mechanical nursemaid.

  “Yeah. His name’s Dane. He’s not well, I’m afraid. He don’t speak with strangers. It’s part of his condition.”

  “Oh dear! I’m sorry to hear that,” Papa said. “What condition is that?”

  “Oh it ain’t contagious,” Professor Milksop reassured him. “It’s a form of mutism. He’ll be fine…eventually.” She glanced at Dane, who seemed dazed and barely taking in the conversation. “Right now he just needs plenty of rest. Miss Buckle here looks after him. Does a real good job.”

  The mechanical nursemaid gave them a friendly but firm nod.

  “Well, at least that’s something,” Papa said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Perhaps the pair of you would like to join us for dinner? We’ll be eating right after we’ve unpacked. Even if he doesn’t speak much, your nephew might enjoy some company his own age.”

  “Unfortunately not,” Professor Milksop said. “Dane has a rather delicate constitution. Can’t stomach dinner chit-chat.” She put her fingers in her coat pockets and rocked back and forth nervously on her feet. She seemed hardly comfortable with small talk herself.

  But then, to her obvious relief, the receptionist returned with her key. “Here you go, Ma’am. Room one hundred, on the third floor. You can take the elevator. Our concierge will show you the way.”

  “No need for that,” Professor Milksop said, snatching the key. “We can make our own way. Well,” she added to Papa, “we’ve lots to do. Should be getting on. Pleasure to meet you again, Hartman.”

  “Likewise,” Papa said.

  “See you around.” Matilda Milksop put the key in her pocket. “Buckle!” she called out. “Our bags, if you please!”

  She didn’t wait for her mechanical’s response, just set out for the elevators, clutching her wooden case tightly in her gloved hand. Miss Buckle followed dutifully, dragging Dane and the suitcases along behind her.

  As he went, Dane threw a brief glance over his shoulder and mouthed something at Lily. Two small, silent words. It took her a moment to work out what they were…

  Help. Me.

  “What strange people,” Robert said when the three of them were finally gone.

  “And rather rude,” Malkin added.

  “Funny,” Papa said. “I don’t recall Professor Milksop being that way. I wonder what she’s doing in New York? The last I heard of her, she was researching the properties of diamonds for a sort of electrical machine she was building, but she got sidelined onto a submarine project at the behest of one of those banking barons – a fellow named Nathaniel Shadowsea, I think.”

  Robert thought that Matilda Milksop had seemed like a rat caught rather unexpectedly in a trap. And Dane’s expression had been even worse. There was something odd about him. Like he was not quite…all there. Just as he was thinking this, the mechanical receptionist addressed them.

  “Can I assist you, Sir?” he asked John.

  “Yes,” John said. “I’m Professor Hartman. We’re here to check in too.”

  “Of course.” The receptionist studied a book behind the desk, then fetched their key from the room next door. There was a wooden plaque attached to it, painted with a number. “Room ninety-nine. A triple suite on the third floor.”

  With a start, Lily realized it was right next to the Milksops.

  “Our concierge’ll take you up. And one more thing…” The receptionist stared hard at the basket over Lily’s arm. “No pets are allowed in the hotel, either real or mechanimal. I hope that won’t be a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Lily said brazenly.

  “Good. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask. You can call in at reception at any time and one of us will be here to help. Have a pleasant stay.”

  The receptionist waved at a mechanical concierge in green-and-gold livery, who gave a curt nod and made his way over to them.

  When they stepped into the elevator, the elevator boy tipped his peaked cap to them, revealing a head full of brown fuzzy hair, and gave them a grin. He was the first human Lily had seen working here.

  “Floor?” he asked.

  “Third,” the mechanical concierge said.

  The boy slammed the grate and pushed the control lever.

  As the elevator rose, Lily’s thoughts turned to Dane – the mo
urnful-looking nephew of Professor Milksop who kept a mouse hidden in his pocket. Had he really mouthed Help me? Or had she imagined that? Papa always said she had an overactive imagination from reading too many penny dreadfuls. She pondered the conundrum for a moment, remembering the shape of Dane’s thin downturned mouth making the words…

  No, she was sure he’d said Help me.

  But did that mean he was actually in trouble? Or was it a sarcastic and long-suffering aside, because his aunt was so awful?

  Lily couldn’t quite tell yet. Nevertheless, she’d felt such an odd affinity with Dane. It wasn’t just that they were both smuggling pets into the hotel, it was something more that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She had the feeling that Dane’s short life had been a somewhat troubled one. And that probably, in his time, he’d seen as many strange and disturbing things as she had.

  She peeped past Papa’s shoulder, over at Robert, who was standing on the far side of the elevator. If anyone would know how to assist Dane and resolve his predicament, it would be Robert. After all, he’d helped her uncover the Cogheart, saved her from the circus and unravelled the riddle of his own past. With his aid, and Malkin’s, Lily felt certain she could remedy whatever was troubling Dane. As soon as she had a moment alone with her two friends, Lily vowed to tell them the two words Dane had silently said.

  “Here we are.” The concierge unlocked the door. “Room ninety-nine. One of our premium suites.”

  Robert stepped in first, followed by Lily and John.

  It was a beautiful space. Elegantly furnished, with finely woven Persian rugs thrown across the floor and heavy brocade curtains that hung over the windows to block out the street sounds.

  As Papa spoke with the concierge, Lily and Robert hung their coats and scarves on a hatstand in the corner and walked about the lounge room, examining things.

  A comfortable-looking sofa and a pair of matching armchairs, upholstered with roses, framed a roaring fire in a grand fireplace. A sideboard, bookshelf and a table with four high-backed chairs filled the rest of the space.