The man was Augustus Tundlelittle, the Head of Immigration for the airship port. His job was to record the airships, passengers, and ports of call.
He was another government bureaucrat with little power and no influence. I, along with Ben, knew that it was probably significant, just not why.
We arrived and went directly to the Office of Immigration building. It was a modest two story with a brick front that sat off the main tarmac where the airships landed and took off. The large area was empty of airships at the moment, though a pair of steam carriages was moving one out of the hanger by pulling it along on wires, probably for a late flight across the ocean. The hangers were built from massive timbers hauled from the deep Pennsylvania forest.
Further south of our location, at the military's airship yard, a silvery craft had taken flight, the low clouds threatening to swallow it. Before following Ben inside, I looked back across the river—the gas lamps gave the city a brassy glow.
A thin shivering man wrapped in blankets and with hair that looked like a drowned rat was the first thing we saw. He had scrapes and bruises across his face. A bandage was wrapped around his head. The room smelled like wet fur. A curious rope was tied around the blankets, keeping him in a straight-backed chair.
Augustus Tundlelittle looked to us with that vacant gaze that I'd seen in Theodore Cooper. He looked like a prisoner in his own head, the tensed eyebrows serving as his fists beating against the thick iron bars of his mind.
A second man, in a dark green linen jacket, appeared from the next room. He was reasonably handsome, except for a patch of cribbage face on each cheek, giving him a rugged look.
"Temple Franklin, I assume?" he asked. "I greatly admired your grandfather, sir. He was the First American. I'm Samuel Redford, Mr. Tundlelittle's assistant."
True to his part, Ben gave a hesitant acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Your condolences are appreciated. Is this Augustus?"
"A little beat up, but yes, it's him in form, though I question if he's here in spirit," said Samuel. "He seems to know where he's at most of the time, but has tried to drown himself twice since his rescue."
Augustus' assistant had the same look that Theodore's wife had had on her face. I'd seen it on many a middle-aged child who had to watch their parent descend into the confused twilight of old age.
This thought caught in my mental nets and I tried to fish it out, but then Samuel stepped forward, giving a deep bow.
"And who might this lovely lady be?" he asked with a smile tugging on his lips.
"Katerina Carmontelle," I said, returning the bow with a curtsey.
"Is this the latest fashion in France?" he asked.
"I am dressed for business, which I believe we should return to," I replied.
His easy manner bothered me. What was a moderately charming fellow doing as an assistant to Augustus Tundlelittle? Was I just defensive because my romantic endeavors had proved thus far disastrous?
Ben was ignoring us and leaned into the vision of Mr. Tundlelittle. "Good sir, do you rightly know what the date is? Month and year will do."
Mr. Tundlelittle blinked a few times. The effort seemed to wake him from his daze, if only slightly. "I, uhm, yes. The date. It's the end of winter, March. 1799. Am I correct?"
Unlike Theodore Cooper, Mr. Tundlelittle seemed to sense his confusion, or possibly the confusion reflected in our faces.
"What if I told you that it was April of 1800?" asked Ben.
Mr. Tundlelittle glanced to his assistant. "I would say you're lying to me, except that Samuel said the very same thing." His eyes bunched up. "What's going on?"
"When you fell into the river," I began, "where did you think you were headed?"
"Yes, yes, the river," he said. "It's a Thursday, and the week's records need to go over to the hall. I usually go a little early, have a bite to eat at the Duck Foot Tavern, drop my papers off, and then return."
"How did you end up in the river?" I asked.
Trying to recall his adventure seemed to injure him. He looked like a man with severe intestinal problems. "The last thing I remember was that I went to the ferry dock. Then it felt like I was trapped in a nightmare and someone was trying to repeatedly drown me. Then the fisherman pulled me out of the water. That's it?"
That the last part was a question confirmed that he wasn't sure that it was the truth.
"What happened to him?" asked Samuel, heavy concern knitting his brow. "Why would he throw himself into the river? He can barely swim."
Ben was pacing around the room, making steps in a pattern. Two steps forward, one step to the right. The knight piece on the chessboard, it seemed. I thought better if I could stand in one place, which made us a good team in small spaces.
"Has the ferry dock moved recently?" I asked, receiving a noteworthy glance from Ben.
"Why yes," replied Samuel. "The dock used to be more to the north, but the floods last summer washed it out. The one you arrived on is quite new. Is that significant?"
Rather than answer, Ben asked another question, "Did you see anyone lurking around here today? Anyone that didn't have any business with the office? Anything strange at all?"
Mr. Tundlelittle rubbed his closed lips with his fingertips. Samuel checked to see that his boss wasn't going to answer and then, after a thoughtful pause, spoke. "It was extremely busy today. We had a double-decker airship arrive from London, three smaller craft depart for other locales in the state, and then right before Augustus had to take the papers across the Delaware, we had an unexpected airship from Constantinople."
"Unexpected? Is this unusual?" asked Ben, scratching the back of his neck.
"Depends on how you define unusual. Most flights we know about in advance. People don't usually decide to fly an airship across the ocean on a whim. A trip of that length requires planning. Fuel, passengers, cargo, those sorts of things. So we usually get flight plans on the mail ships a week or so before," said Samuel. "But this one came right out of the blue, as they say. Made for a mess of people since we'd barely cleared out the London group. If we would have known, we would have asked for additional manpower to handle it."
"When's the last time you've had a flight from Constantinople?" I asked.
"It's been a while. Maybe last fall, around October, if memory serves," he said.
Ben addressed Mr. Tundlelittle. "Sir, I have a bit of imposition to trouble you with. My humblest apologies, but in the due diligence required of this investigation, I must ask a question."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Tundlelittle in an uneasy voice.
"Do you, sir, have any unusual wounds or injuries on your person? Besides the memory loss, of course," said Ben.
"I, uhm," said Mr. Tundlelittle, appearing to not know what to say.
Samuel stepped in. "He's got more bumps and bruises than a man set upon by ruffians. He was actually clinging to a flotilla of logs, probably set loose by some farmer clearing his ditch out, miles up the river. While he held onto them, I think they must have crashed together, smashing him about his person. He's lucky they didn't knock him back into the river."
I sensed the meaning behind Ben's question. He wanted to know if the scab on Mr. Cooper's neck had been significant. There'd be no way of knowing if Mr. Tundlelittle had a similar wound now.
"Do you have a wife, Mr. Tundlelittle?" I asked.
Samuel answered for his boss again when he stared mutely at the floor.
"He's single. Lives with a bevy of shaggy and disgusting hunting dogs, can't remember the breed, though he's not a hunter. From what I understand, he reads a fair amount of books when he's not here," said Samuel, then added as if by afterthought, "I'm single as well, if that matters."
"We'll see, Mr. Redford, we'll see," I said.
"Nothing else that you can remember? Nothing sticks out?" asked Ben, frowning.
Samuel shook his head in the negative. Ben and I shared a weighty glance. Neither of us wanted to air our thoughts in front of them. Ben nodded towards the doorway
and I followed him outside to the dumbfounded looks of the two immigration officers, each one for his own reasons.
"What do you think?" asked Ben in a hushed tone, well away from the immigration building.
"An unlikely coincidence. Someone is behind this loss of memory, though I cannot fathom why," I said.
"What was with the business about his marital status? He doesn't seem like the kind of man that would have a chance at courting you," said Ben with an impish grin.
"Jealous again? I was curious to his habits and who would have access to him. It's clear that he remains unmolested at home, due to his choice of companionship," I said.
"An odd way to put it," said Ben.
I continued without comment. Sometimes Ben could be such a child. "Someone must have poisoned him. Maybe in the confusion of the two airships, the poisoner slipped in."
"Poison, eh?" he asked.
"Still trying to prove the arcane?" I asked.
Ben replied by lifting the knapsack by its straps.
"Fine, do your thing. I was hoping to see how it operated anyway," I said.
Ben scratched the back of his head. "I'd prefer if you went inside to make sure Mr. Redford or Mr. Tundlelittle don't come upon me unawares while I'm operating the device. If such a thing happened, we'd have more issues than two men with wormwood memory. And I'm sure you have further questions for Mr. Tundlelittle."
The look in Ben's eyes told me it was more than that, but he was trying not to impinge on my well-being. To tell the truth, I didn't give a damn, since I already knew the Society didn't trust me. But I appreciated that Ben cared enough to spare my feelings, so I said nothing, which was a reciprocity of its own kind.
"Yes, more questions," I said softly. "I suppose I have a few."
I went back into the building. Mr. Redford was handing Mr. Tundlelittle a steaming ceramic mug. A stove in the corner had a black kettle misting a faint breath of steam into the room.
"Mr. Redford, did anything else unusual happen during the day, before he left and went into the river? Could you describe the events, starting with when you arrived?" I asked.
Samuel cleared his throat and explained how they'd both arrived at dawn. Mr. Redford usually arrived first to light the stove—the air was rather chilly right next to the Delaware River that early in the morning—but Mr. Tundlelittle had arrived at the same time.
"Did he appear well? Was anything amiss?" I interjected with questions.
"Nothing untoward. Only that his dogs had woke him early, so he'd come in to get work done. Good thing we were able to keep the lists filled. It would have been a disaster if we hadn't been able to get most of the London airship processed before the second one arrived."
I smiled at his use of the word disaster. How like a bureaucrat to consider the confusion of more paperwork more significant than the near loss of life. Still, they had their place. A functioning machine, however boring, was better than one that didn't work.
Samuel continued, describing the comings and goings of airships at the Camden Yards. He seemed quite excited about the designs and knew the makers of each one: the Montgolfiers, Voltas, Kaisers, et cetera
It was clear to me that his interest lay not in the quill and ink of keeping tabs on travelers, but in the airships that brought them. He had a light fever in his eyes each time he mentioned an airship.
I corralled him back to the subject of interest around the time Ben stepped into the room. He gave me a subtle nod, indicating the presence of the arcane detected by his strange gauntlet.
"When the passengers of both airships were waiting to be processed," I began, "Did anything odd happen that you remember? Anything at all?"
He laughed as if recalling a funny joke. "Well, I'm not sure it's odd, but it struck me." He seemed reluctant to explain.
"Please, Mr. Redford, this is important. What happened that was odd?" I asked.
Samuel swallowed and his cheeks took on the rosy glow of embarrassment. "I think someone farted while we were in the room."
I steeled my cheeks from laughter. Ben caught my stifling of mirth and filled in for me.
"Farted? Did you smell it?" asked Ben.
Mr. Redford seemed to shrink. "My apologies, Madam Carmontelle. This is a rather uncouth subject."
"Need I remind you that Temple's grandfather, Ben, penned the essay Fart Proudly, which reminds us of the scientific importance of uncouth, but practical matters. Do not censure yourself on my account," I said.
Ben, in the guise of Temple Franklin, seemed to put Samuel at ease. "Very well, then. I did not smell the fart, but a young woman did. She was near the table, waiting for her husband to complete the proper paperwork, you see, he was having trouble finding his traveling papers. I was distracted the whole time, not just because of her uncommon beauty, but because she kept wrinkling her nose and making faces as if she'd smelled a fart."
The hazy outline of an idea filled my head. "Can you explain where you, she, and Mr. Tundlelittle were at this particular moment?"
Samuel pointed at the chair that was in front of the desk. "I was sitting in that chair, but it was behind the desk. The woman who smelled the odor, she was standing right over there, to the side of the desk."
"And Mr. Tundlelittle?" prompted Ben.
Samuel jabbed his thumb towards the door at the back of the room. "He was in back, preparing documents for the Hall."
I shared another glance with Ben. "May we visit the room?"
The room behind the front area was nothing to speak about except that it held rows of wooden cabinets. Leather tomes rested on the tops. One of the cabinets was open, and a ledger was sitting half out, almost ready to fall.
"It appears that Mr. Tundlelittle was interrupted," I said, then turned to Samuel. "You saw him leave, but you assumed he was headed for town?"
Samuel gave his agreement.
Ben added a question. "Could someone have slipped past you and entered the back room without your knowledge?"
Samuel blew out a breath. "Easily. I was busier than a woodpecker on a timber farm."
"But it seems that woman saw, or at least smelled something. Do you remember her name?" I asked.
Samuel moved back into the front room and retrieved the daily ledger. He paged through, licking his fingers in a practiced motion, before stabbing his finger into the paper.
"Mrs. Solomon. I'd find it hard to forget her." Then he looked up and smiled. "Until you arrived."
"Do you know where she went? Do you keep their destinations in that book?" I asked, ignoring his boyish smile.
"Right. Destination. Here in Philadelphia. Pine and Third. Lot number thirty-four," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Redford," said Ben. "We'll contact Mrs. Solomon about the smell."
We prepared to leave, but Samuel made a noise, stopping us.
"What about Mr. Tundlelittle? What am I going to do with him? He can't do his job like this," said Samuel, while Mr. Tundlelittle looked on, his gaze flat and distant.
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Ben, twisting his mouth into an appropriate scowl of disappointment. "If we learn something useful, I'll be sure to return and let you know. But until then, I suggest taking him to his abode and staying with him until he starts to remember enough not to drown himself."
"I'm to take care of him?" asked Samuel, exasperated. "With all those disgusting dogs?"
Ben slyly turned his head towards me and winked. "Well, you did say you were single."
"Adieu," I said upon parting.
We left poor Samuel Redford to his quiet indignation.
Chapter Five
The hour had been late by the time we took the ferry back to Philadelphia, so we agreed to visit this Mrs. Solomon on the following morn.
I slept like the dead that evening, content that my new location was unknown by the spymaster. It gave me a momentary reprieve from the constant worry. I'd barely had a breakfast of hard bread and cheese when Franklin arrived in the steam carriage.
Ben
took a leisurely pace to the Solomon's house on Pine and Third while I caressed the buttons on the dashboard.
"Those aren't the pressing matter at hand," said Ben with a disapproving twitch of his lips.
"Yes, yes," I said, enjoying the way a brass button felt on my fingertip, "but there's so many of them. And you say they each have a function? How can they all fit in one vehicle?"
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Does the term curiosity killed the cat mean nothing to you?"
"Was that a bit of word trickery or are you just cranky this morning? Humor an old woman and let me press one of them. I do love a mystery," I said.
"No wonder Empress Catherine gave you permission to travel often. You are relentless," said Ben.
"I seem to recall hearing something like that from her lips once or twice," I said, staring longingly at the pale blue sky above the city. "I do sorely miss her. She was a good woman and a better sovereign."
"Good rulers are hard to find," said Ben.
"No need to lecture me, Benjamin," I said, putting emphasis on his name. "I know the perils of an obtuse emperor firsthand. Though I have to admit this democracy thing can be quite messy."
We rode in silence, not because we differed in opinion, but because the paths that we had traveled towards the ideals of the Enlightenment had been quite different. Ben had come upon these precepts through long discussions with the great thinkers of our time and through the creation of this great nation, while I'd seen the dark and destructive nature of a capricious ruler and fled to these shores for safety.
As we neared our destination, Ben broached the subject of our investigation, asking for my opinion.
"I think someone"—I nodded towards the knapsack between us—"or something, is causing the loss of memory. For what reason, I do not know, but I suspect that the source of this loss must get its victims alone to erase their memory."
"So you acknowledge that it might be the arcane?" asked Ben.
Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content) Page 4
