Gods of New Orleans

by AJ Sikes

  Now, after a long night’s work and a bigger than usual win at the Ghost’s window, Aiden was pushing his cart down the street, heading home. The air felt thick and warm around him, and he shrugged out of his coat to let the night air tickle his arms. He enjoyed the quiet small hours, and hoped the coming day’s sunlight would be just as nice. Of course, he’d be missing the first half of it.

  He’d brought in enough dough to get him and his ma a real bed at last. It was just a mattress for now, but the rest would be coming soon. He just had to bring home tonight’s winnings. Since they got the mattress, Aiden had taken to sleeping until around lunchtime. Then he’d grab a plate of hash at the nearest sandwich counter and pick up something for his ma, too. They’d eat sitting on the steps leading up to their room, or inside at their little table when a cool breeze made the shivers race up and down Aiden’s legs.

  His ma still had worry on her face every time he looked at her, but she’d been kinder to him since his pa went missing.

  The old man did something right when he went down the neck of a bottle and then just plain vanished.

  Aiden wouldn’t let himself think about that day now. He’d figured he could keep earning dough for him and his ma and things’d turn out better than they’d had in Chicago City. His pa was gone and that was that. Nothing he could do about it.

  Mr. Brand sure seemed to think different that day he came by.

  And so what? So his old boss was some kind of ghost tramp now and could dance around the place like a breeze through the trees. The guy looked half crazy the last time Aiden’d seen him, and the way he held that letter out . . .

  He still hadn’t told his ma about it, and he had no plans to. She was down in the mouth about him working for a Negro lady as it was. Add some talk about his old boss telling him he’s a god and Ma’d blow her top.

  Better to just keep bringing in the dough. They’d already got some new dishes, a few new pieces of clothing, and a whole new sewing set for his ma. He still wasn’t bringing home enough to help her buy her own machine, and half of what she earned paid rent on the one she used now.

  But still, he’d done something to make living in New Orleans a little easier on them both. Even if he did have to work the night through, he’d made good on the Conroy name, and doing the same as his father used to do for a living. If he got lucky, he could keep on doing it.

  As he trundled his cart down the streets, Aiden wondered if Julien and the other houseboys were talking up the rumors going around.

  Mama Shandy had competition coming to town, people were saying. She’d been acting real sweet lately, not giving Aiden half the trouble she usually had. Julien joked with him that maybe she was sweet on him and wanted to make him her “little prize dove.” That had to be what Theo and the other boys were jawing about when Aiden left. The way they laughed, it couldn’t’ve been much else.

  “Damn near a dozen blocks to go,” Aiden said to himself. He shook off the urge to leave his cart where it was and just head home without having to shove the thing up every little incline along the way. He’d cut through an older neighborhood to save time and wondered if it was a good idea. After the third little hill he had to climb, he was starting to think he’d made a mistake.

  The street leveled out again and Aiden pushed his cart toward an intersection of streets with brick houses with hedges on one side and dark storefronts on the other. He stopped when he heard a whistling sound from behind him. It echoed around the intersection and he turned in circles trying to pinpoint the source.

  The whistling returned, this time from back the way he’d come. He looked back and saw nothing. The whistling continued, an almost happy tune, but the way it echoed around the empty night gave Aiden the shivers, so he set to pushing his cart along again.

  Theo Valcour stepped out from behind a hedge across the way and waved at him. The large boy was whistling a greeting, too, and then sent his tune diving to the depths of threat.

  Aiden spun his cart to the side and took off running down the main stem. He didn’t usually take this street to get home, and he knew he could end up taking a wrong turn if he wasn’t careful. But going this way put him the farthest from Theo as he could get, so he ran and he followed the street into the darkness.

  Behind him, the whistling continued, and Aiden looked back the way he’d come. Theo stood under a gas lamp a few steps down from the last corner. Aiden slowed for a second, but picked up his pace again when he saw the larger boy take off at a good clip, coming straight for him.

  Aiden put everything he had into making tracks, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He banged his shins against the back of his cart, and he nearly stumbled.

  He thought again about leaving the cart behind. Just grabbing the mop and running, so at least he’d have a weapon when Theo caught up to him. But then he’d need to buy a new cart for Mama Shandy, and he couldn’t bear to imagine the beating he’d get from the toughs who worked for her if he told her he just left the cart behind.

  And what else am I gonna tell her?

  Side streets disappeared in the corners of Aiden’s eyes as he ran. Theo’s heavy footsteps kept coming, kept pounding into the street behind him. Aiden spun his cart to the right and launched down a side street. He got about a dozen steps in when he drew up short and halted his cart from nearly running over a man lying in the street.

  At first, Aiden thought the man might be dead, but a heavy snore rumbled out of the man’s chest, and a second later Aiden caught the stink of old liquor wafting through the air. He looked around the street for somewhere to hide, all the while listening to Theo Valcour’s footsteps grow closer and closer. Aiden was about to push his cart around the sleeping bum in the street when his breath caught in his throat.

  The street looked like a flophouse turned inside out. Tramps lay all around him on the pavement, on sidewalks, up against buildings, half in and half out of doorways and alleyways. Some on their feet, sleeping standing up, others spread out like they’d been stepped on by a giant and left to lie there until the undertaker came to haul them away.

  Aiden heard a chorus of snores and sneezes, raspy breaths and wheezing coughs from throats burned raw with hooch and cigarette smoke. Aiden coughed himself when he breathed in the thick smell of unwashed skin and ratty hair mixed with a day’s worth of filth and the remains of last night’s booze.

  Was this where his pa had wound up? Every one of the bums bristled with matted, scraggly hair and a tangled beard. As Aiden stared, some of them began to moan and roll around on the street, like big hogs put over on their sides for the night. Others staggered away from the walls that held them upright. These moaned, too, and their lowing and grunting made Aiden’s gut twist. He began to back up but remembered Theo Valcour was on his tail. Aiden pushed his cart to the side, meaning to move across the open street and back out to the main stem.

  He’d waited too long, though. Theo came rushing around the corner and nearly crashed into Aiden when he pulled to a stop. Aiden looked the big boy in the eye while the tramps made their clumsy way in the two boys’ direction.

  Theo gave Aiden a shove and laughed as he stepped back a few paces to stand at the mouth of the street.

  “Go on, Dove. Go on down the way. Take your chances with the mud men. You lucky, you just get a little dark on you. But I’m thinkin’ you ain’t gonna be lucky, Dove. I’m thinkin’ you had your run of good luck today already.”

  Aiden didn’t move, and Theo came forward again, grabbing at Aiden’s pocket. Before he could stop the bigger boy, Theo had a handful of Aiden’s winnings from that night in his mitt.

  “Hey, give it back!” he shouted, but Theo wasn’t playing ball. He stepped up and shoved both hands against Aiden’s chest, nearly toppling him over his cart. “Go on,” Theo said. “Get in there, white boy. Or come out here and pay the piper with the rest of what you got in that pocket.”

  Theo Valcour backed up, away from the tramps and their street. He pocketed what he’d nabbed from Aiden
and balled his fists. He made to stand guard at the end of the street, waiting for Aiden to run past him.

  Aiden turned to see a team of three tramps standing near him, mouths hanging open and hands reaching, palms up, as if they expected Aiden to give them something. Money or hooch, either way he had nothing to offer to these filthy gutter rats, even if one of them might be his own father. So on shaky legs, and glad to be free of Theo Valcour, Aiden pivoted his cart and moved away from the trio of bums.

  He took a winding route through the others that had come staggering into the street with their beggars’ hands out to him. But the tramps were ready for him. As he moved around one pair, another swept into the space he aimed for, so he had to bump them with his cart and push his way through to a clear section of the street.

  Soon enough, though, tramps had boxed him in on three sides. They rose up from where they’d lain or peeled away from a dark patch of shadow next to a building. No matter where Aiden aimed his cart, they got into his path somehow.

  Aiden shivered with fear and cold, and then did the only thing he could think of. He ran, using his cart as both a shield and battering ram. He dodged the tramps when he could and pushed past them when he had to. Finally, he slammed into one and knocked the man out of the way with a shove of his arm.

  The street didn’t empty before him, though. A pair came up from his left, almost rising straight from the ground it seemed, and then two more on his right. One of the pairs got hands onto Aiden’s coat. For a second he felt trapped in their strong grip. But he wrenched free and felt both tramps fall to the ground in a tangle behind him. The street was clear for a few feet and Aiden darted forward. Then, just as fast as he could move, a trio rose up from the street and blocked his path. Aiden’s heart beat a mad dance and he aimed his cart at the rightmost one.

  He struck the man with his cart and reeled away from the blow, using the momentum to shift his path toward the edge of the street. If he could get onto the sidewalk, he might have an easier time escaping.

  But they swarmed all around him now, and still moaning, begging him for who knew what, but Aiden knew it was something he didn’t have. He checked to see if the one he’d hit had gone down. He saw that one and two other men fighting with one another, rolling in the street. As they struggled, the street itself turned to mud beneath them. The thick sloppy muck spread out in a halo around the wrestling tangle of grimy coats and greasy hair. In a flash, the edges of the mud pool raced to either side of the street, capturing all the tramps it touched.

  They all fought now, with each other and to free themselves from the growing pool. Aiden pushed his cart, aiming himself at the sidewalk because he could see it was still solid.

  Theo Valcour’s deep laughter echoed across the night to Aiden’s ears, and at that moment, Aiden felt the wheels of his cart dip forward into the slime. He overbalanced, tumbling headfirst into the mud. His bucket tipped and a cold, greasy spray splashed over his hands and arms as they sank into the mud.

  Aiden screamed. He fought with the mud and he screamed and cried, thrashing out with one hand just as the other arm sank into the black ooze up to his elbow. The tramps came to him then. They came across the mud somehow, moving in it, like they were a part of it.

  Forgetting his cart and looking only for a clear path to the sidewalk, Aiden ripped his arm free of the muck and fought against the clutching and grasping hands. He swatted them away, kicked out with a leg and got his feet under him. The mud beneath him felt firm, but went soft the longer he stayed put.

  Four tramps circled him now, mouths open, eyes hidden by bushy brows and floppy hat brims. And their hands were all reaching for him. Aiden flung a hand out to swipe at a tramp that came too close. His fingers caught on something and pulled. At first he thought it was the tramp’s coat, but then he saw the night air of the street fluttering like a curtain. And he saw the space behind the city, the mix of night sky and half remembered dreams. The tramps closed in, all of them groaning angry and violent in his ears. Aiden stepped into the hole he’d opened.

  With that first step, Aiden learned he probably was supposed to take that letter from Mr. Brand, but he couldn’t figure how knowing that was supposed to help him now. All around him the tramps came through the curtain, flowing like water through a sieve until they filled his vision like an ocean. Aiden spun around and saw an open tunnel ahead. He ran as more tramps filtered through from the street and into the world behind the city.

  Whatever Mr. Brand had wanted to show him, Aiden knew it couldn’t have been this. No way his old boss would do him this way. The tramps kept coming, and Aiden kept running. His feet didn’t stick like they had on the street outside, but he worried they would if he stopped for even a second.

  So Aiden ran, and he thought about Mr. Brand. And when he got enough wind in him to do it, he yelled the man’s name and begged him for help.

  Chapter 27

  Even though Eddie was playing more shows than ever, Emma still hadn’t made it into a gala house since going to work for Bacchus. Tonight’s run was a full load of the girls and their chaperone. And Emma’s worry over where she was taking them had grown with each passing day. She’d tried talking to Eddie about it, but he denied or dismissed or just got angry as she’d ever seen him. The conversation never got beyond her telling him something smelled wrong.

  “Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry about, girl. Mr. Bacchus pay us right. Set us up in this fine home. What you wanna ask trouble in for? What’s trouble gonna bring but more trouble?”

  Tonight she thought about bringing trouble of her own and just waltzing into the gala house and checking things out herself. But Eddie’d warned her off that idea, too.

  “Won’t let you in if’n I’m not playin’. Doorman got a list.”

  Promising herself to find a way in somehow, Emma brought the Vigilance in slow above the gala house’s mooring deck. This one stood right beside the house itself, and calling this building a house was almost an insult. Lawns spread out around it on three sides, and the fourth backed up against a copse of oak trees. Wrought iron railings bordered the yard with lamps hanging from posts every so often, glowing bright and warm.

  Emma had to force herself to stop staring at the mansion with its warm windows and the parade of guests in their finery and lace down at the front steps. The scene looked bright and cheerful, but Emma knew better. And she couldn’t deny the dread she was feeling as the gearboxes locked the mooring lines in place. After a short whirring and clicking, the airship bobbed against its tethers.

  This deck was the nicest Emma had seen around New Orleans, nicer even than the mayor’s deck back in Chicago City. Just like the railing around the manor yard, gas lamps lit up the whole length of the deck, sending halos of warmth around the late evening. The planking looked polished and smooth, and a glimmering gangway swung out as the gearboxes maneuvered it into place with a set of levers.

  Emma went to the door and worked the lever to fix the gangway to the outside of the cabin, waiting for the gentle bump that told her it was in place. She popped the door open to reveal brass handrails illuminating a golden path from the cabin to the deck below.

  Along the deck itself, stanchions of brass and steel and velvet ropes made for waiting areas. As Emma stared in awe, the radio popped with the familiar cadence of tones that meant the Vigilance had the “all clear.” She could unload her passengers.

  Emma went to the cockpit and confirmed. She fiddled with the radio headset for a bit, unsure if she should keep hush or try to help. The first chaperone she’d worked with, Miss Roche, hadn’t accepted her help.

  This one answered Emma’s unspoken questions with a note of command in her voice.

  “You just wait on me to come back, Miss Emma,” the woman said, standing up from Brand’s desk and motioning to the girls who were huddled against the rear of the cabin. “I won’t be but a minute getting these girls to the dancing hall.”

  “Sure thing,” Emma said to the woman’s back, watching h
er parade the six girls out of the cabin and onto the gangway. It was the same group as she’d flown the first time, and Emma didn’t miss the signs of fear and worry they still wore under their thickened eyelashes and rubied lips. One of the white girls even lagged behind, leaning against the wall by Brand’s desk. She caught a cuffing around the ear from the chaperone.

  “You get on now,” the woman said. “And don’t give me none of that sass like you did back at the boarding house.”

  The girl moved to the cabin door. Before she put a foot outside, she turned worried fearful eyes to Emma. Before Emma could say anything, the chaperone came between them and took the girl firmly by the arm. With a look of warning in Emma’s direction, the chaperone pushed the girl before her and marched down the gangway.

  Emma sat tight for a second, then jumped up and went to the cabin door. With its brass rails glowing golden in the gaslight, the gangway looked for all the world like a path to the heavens. Emma didn’t miss a beat thinking it was aimed in the wrong direction.

  The chaperone stayed true to her word, coming back up the deck only a few short minutes after leaving with the girls. The chaperone’s eyes rounded with intent as she stepped along the planks toward the gangway. Emma backed into the cabin, fleeing that accusing gaze just as she felt guilty for letting the younger woman intimidate her.

  What did Emma have to fear? She’d done as she was told, and Bacchus had already paid her for the flying, even fueled up the airship for her on top of the pay.

  Emma’s hand found her coat pocket and she felt the roll of bills she’d tucked in there, money the krewe boss himself had given her, from his hand to hers. Not through Eddie like the times before.

  The chaperone stepped into the cabin and held Emma’s eyes. The other woman’s lips pressed tight together and then flared open as she spoke.