by S. L. Hawke
“Weapons Consignment.” Sweeney ambled down the aisle to another door with clear glass windows half way up the walls. A young man with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes greeted us with a pair of large goggles atop his forehead.
“This is our Quartermaster of Arms, Deputy Seth Markham.” Sweeney introduced us. I shook his young hand. He seemed to cringe a bit when I did so. “Well, Markham, show us what’s on today’s menu.” Sweeney then looked at his pocket watch. “Andrew, you can handle this. I’m going to see about getting us some grub.”
“This way, gentlemen.” Markham brought us to a long, wide table filled with an assortment of tools, some quite unique and intriguing. Andrew quickly grabbed a black box with a metal optical lens embedded in its center.
“Ahh ahh! That is delicate, Deputy.” Markham gently took it out of Andrew’s hands and replaced it on the table. “What kind of mission is this?”
“Hunting the wild turkey!” Andrew answered. I frowned, not understanding a phrase that obviously served as a cypher between the two men.
“Hmm. Trap and shoot. I know just the thing. If you gentlemen will step this way I can offer you the latest in repeating pistol—”
“Don’t bother. He’s a rifleman,” Andrew answered for me, looking sideways. For a moment I felt exposed. Nothing got past this young man. Markham, however, was unimpressed.
“This is good.” Markham picked up the latest in rifles, but upon further inspection I saw that it was custom and had a pistol barrel that popped out and rotated. I didn’t like it. A pistol with a long nose was what it was. “Not one of my favorites either, try this one.” Markham offered me an elegant rifle made of a strange exotic hardwood.
“I’ve seen one of these once, in Japan, in the care of a wealthy German businessman who was not ashamed to tell me it was made by an American named Henry but this has a W in its signature.” I took the rifle and held it towards the wall. It was smooth, well balanced and a work of art. “High grade hardwood of some kind,” I added as I studied the cartridges, as clean and smooth as some of the swords I had held in Japan. In fact, the quality of the steel was near such. And you could load and fire 28 rounds in succession. A life saver in war.
“Oh Kaay.” Markham seemed pleased. He was using that new abbreviated term the papers were so fond of these days. Oll Korrect or Old Kinderhook. “The man knows his weapons. We just hired a new guy who used to work for Henry. His name is Winchester.“
I was given a large saddlebag filled with ammunition, which Andrew loaded onto a cart with wheels. I looked at him confused that there might be more to carry than I had arms, not exactly the quiet hunter approach.
“You’re gonna need some other stuff too,” Andrew added. The table held matches, a large hunting knife, which I quickly placed on my belt. Suddenly a square satchel caught my eye.
The young men seemed to look impressed so I continued with my exploration and opened it to find a set of small optical glasses. I held them to my eyes but couldn’t see anything. Markham came to my rescue by pointing out a small wheel atop the bridge that rested over the nose. He then wordlessly pointed to the array of windows on the high ceiling. I moved the tiny gearwheel back and forth until, as my gasp relayed, I saw close up the farthest window, replete with dirt and bird guano.
“Bifocal optical lenses,” I commented. The boys grinned.
“We call them BI-Noculars!” he iterated. I nodded, impressed.
The next item on the table was a small tube containing a white cream. Markham was delighted that I had selected this item.
“This is a special cream that prevents septic infection.” Markham showed me a microscope that was mounted over a dish of some fluid. I looked through the remarkable eye piece and saw living creatures the size of rice moving around. I pulled back for a moment horrified and confused. Markham grinned. “Those are the creatures that cause you to lose your extremities when you get hurt. This cream will help you survive a wound if you have the presence of mind to apply it right away. It stings though, since it contains mostly salt.” He proceeded to demonstrate, sending the cream into the dish below the microscope lens. Sure enough the creatures stopped moving. But my vision of these things covering every available object in the universe had me nervous. At least I could feel better about being clean. Soap, used in conjunction with boiling or even hot water, also killed these things, Markham told me.
The next item I handled, Markham excitedly removed from my hands. It was a metal cylinder with glass on one end. Using a rubber tube that had copper wire inside it, he attached the excess wires from one end to the bottom of the tube and the other end to a small box with a handle on it. He began to turn the handle and suddenly the end of the tube lit up with a very bright light.
“This is for those times when you need light but your job requires you to be in darkness.” Markham had a mischievous look about him when he said this. I wondered if one could use this all the time, say inside a home without using up precious oil or wood. I touched the wires’ ends and got a strong vibration, which made my eyes, and ears and teeth rattle.
“Don’t!” Markham hastily separated me from the object since I seemed paralyzed for a moment and unable to. My very bones seemed to rattle! “DON’T DO THAT AGAIN! It can kill you.” Andrew took the “torch” as the boys referred to it, and placed it back on the table. He shook his head at me then made a shooing gesture for me to move on to the next item.
I grabbed a pair of goggles and supplies of paper, ink, and pencils, and then a quick examination by a doctor revealed that I needed spectacles, so he fitted me with a variety of lenses until he found ones I could use. The speed at which the spectacles were produced amazed me. He also gave me a pair of spectacles with dark lenses, for use in bright sunlight. My smile was very wide. My headaches from long periods outside in bright light would end.
There was also another strange device made of a new substance I had read about but never seen. Rubber. It was a small cup with two tubes coming out of it that could be held in any direction or more ingeniously, fitted with another cup. These cups turned out to be ‘masks’. Markham showed me that the cup would fit over my nose and mouth. It was a tool for staying submerged in water without being seen. I pocketed it.
Next I was given a small book of Psalms that I was assured was just a book. But as I studied its pages, I noted dots over some of the letters. Some of the dots were colored. This intrigued me so much I was able to ignore the boys as they proceeded to play a word game with each other about how folks in the future would talk in abbreviations because everything around them would be moving so quickly, there would be no time for normal conversation.
“We need to G-A-L-S with the program,” Andrew drawled.
“No, that’s M-A-S-S in order to POH on a BWOFE,” returned Markham.
“And I suggest that you DWYRD and come have tea. Or do I need to spell that out in Cypher?” The female voice was upper class British, and accustomed to authority. I turned to face Art and saw with him a very tiny middle-aged woman dressed in deep blue satin with dark curls and a familiar countenance. This, I realized, was Andrew’s mother. But what was a woman doing here? I suddenly felt the urge to button my coat and straighten my collar. She smiled at me with a sharpness that surprised and delighted me so much that I could not help but return with one. “Honestly Arthur, you painted him as such a dour man.” She held out her hand. I took it and brought my lips to her wrist but did not touch it, as she was a married woman. Her skin was clean and smelled seductively of rose. I envied Arthur Sweeney. “And well mannered. The young ladies of Santa Cruz had best be on their guard. I predict that many hearts will be broken when our newest Marshal cuts a swath through the local population of eligible females.”
“A.J., this is Dorcas, my wife of too many years,” Sweeney said wearily, but I could tell she was the love of his life and that he was the love of hers. Dorcas was lively and bright like a faerie pixie sent to make mischief in the world. “Now, Mr. Sloan, you must eat an
d tell us a bit about your experience in Japan. Oh how I do miss it so! Especially the baths. They are my one—”
“Forgive my wife A.J., she sometimes forgets what a proper woman should speak about.” Sweeney took his wife’s delicate hand into his large one. Dorcas gave me a bewitching smile.
“What IS proper for a woman to speak about? I have often wondered upon such a thing, especially when it comes to the subject of cyphers and telegrams. I do hope, Mr. Sloan, that you are amply prepared to learn a variety of cyphers so that we may receive your news accurately and in a timely fashion and that you may receive ours and contemplate their meaning as you search your book of psalms.” Dorcas raised an eyebrow quite fetchingly at me when she saw that I grasped the meaning of the dots within the psalms book. “You see, if anything we women are quite skilled at subtle methods of expression. The more important the message, the more subtle the means to acquire it. I find this to be quite successful in keeping those very important matters of the heart private. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Sloan?”
“Oh Mother.” Andrew broke her spell, but not over me. To say I was excited was a dull descriptor. Dorcas nodded and closed her eyes once to acknowledge that my hunch was indeed correct. The book of psalms was a key.
Dorcas was obviously the head of her family. Her intellect was disarming. In fact I was convinced that most of this operation may have been her idea. Intelligence in abundance within the female form can intimidate men. We only want our basest needs seen to, but for me, I found myself wondering what on God’s earth she saw in Art Sweeney. The ache of yearning for this kind of life partner destroyed the buoyancy I had felt earlier. Tomiko’s death was the blade in my belly, as if I had committed the hari kiri of her people.
We gathered around a generously laid table inside another room with windows. The lace tablecloth, flowers, and elegant furniture seemed out of place in this austere warehouse.
“My dad met Mother in a carriage accident outside of Hong Kong. I was born a year later,” Andrew murmured to me. But Dorcas heard him.
“No doubt you are wondering how Arthur and I managed to produce such a slew of progeny.”
“Mother, please, I don’t think Mr. Sloan wants to hear—” Andrew started but Dorcas’ rapier tongue knocked his words from him.
“You see, we had three other children that we lost to disease and war. Both of us were determined that no one else should suffer loss on that scale. Arthur works for the Marshal Service and I provide, well, how would you say it properly, education on the delicate and cryptic business of communication.” Dorcas poured my tea. When all the men were seen to, she sat down with her cup and said: “Now then, what on earth are you going to tell your cousins?”
The men around me were stricken dumb.
“The truth I suspect” was my answer.
“Then the truth it shall be, Mr. Sloan.” Dorcas raised her cup, then put it down and cut a large slice of elaborately frosted cake.
“More cake anyone?” Everyone on command handed her his plate.
4
After a complete tour of the classrooms and supplies warehouse that completed the “Belly of the Whale”, I was taken to what I could only describe as a cock fighting ring. It was a boxing ring and after several gesticulations by Sweeney to remove my jacket, tie, and vest (as well as empty myself of some of the trinkets given to me at the Belly of the Whale), a bare chested man rippling with muscles and scars ambled into the ring and gestured for me to move forward.
I hesitated. The past intruded.
“Your enemy must not know your intent until you can no longer hide your skill. Never brag, never boast, and above all, embrace your opponent’s challenge as knowledge to be acquired.” Master Aimen addressed all of us out on the dirt training ground. It was stiflingly hot and the sweat leaked from me like piss. “Most of all,” Master Aimen continued in his quiet gentle manner, “Do not fear the ground, do not fear the dirt, do not fear your opponent’s blood. If you must fear, then fear for the life of your opponent.”
He came straight at me, like a boxer, top heavy and pulling his fists back as he jabbed outward. I simply stepped behind him, took my left foot and pressed behind his knee pushing him downward while making sure my left hand trapped his shoulder and pressed him to the ground. But he wriggled away and tried to flip over. My knee instead found the point just below the shoulder blade that spasms the lung. His air left him and he tapped out.
I released him. Expecting the boxer to lunge at me in anger and renew the fight, I held myself loose, at an angle and waited. But the boxer nodded and saluted Sweeney who dismissed him.
The room went white for moment and I felt faint. The smell of smoke came over me and I saw my house in flames, my wife beaten and bloodied, with a gunshot to her head.
“A.J.!” Sweeney shook me. “Let’s get you home.”
I did not press this.
Moving into the wing of Art and Dorcas’ large home, I watched Sweeney point out the single window pane the size of a large bed sheet. I could look out onto the ocean and yet stand within the warmth of my room. The view was breathtaking. The sunset was a bright coal amidst the ash of fog.
Dorcas proved to be a woman literally of her word. The library at the Sweeney Home rivaled any library I had ever seen. There were two stories of shelves and a spiral staircase to navigate them. Moveable ladders reached every leather or cloth bound delicacy amidst its stacks. Dorcas was devoted to the written form.
Dorcas Sweeney was also a master of my son’s behavior. Often when he cried or got angry, I found myself giving in and usually spoiling him. Not so with Dorcas. I, too, fell under her maternal lash and ate meals when I was given them, which after a week, I found caused my middle to challenge the waistband of my trousers. I increased my exercise at the Belly of the Whale, but found the yard at the Sweeney Home much more private for the use of my sword.
For two weeks I did nothing but read briefs, arrest warrant drafts, the newspapers of Monterey and Santa Cruz, and maps of Santa Clara, San Jose, and Santa Cruz. I also took in Monterey, San Juan Bautista, Hollister, and Watsonville. Wells Fargo published many schedules for passengers, but recently had begun to involve the Marshals in their gold transports. Many Marshals took on employment with the bank, as they paid the widow a full pension if the transporting ‘agent’ took a bullet.
I also spent some time looking at the Rancho land grants. It would appear that a man of interest to local Santa Cruz law was Faustino Lorenzana. He was wanted for theft mostly. The thefts seemed small, a horse, often. But then the horse was returned, complete with livery. The amounts Faustino stole were paltry as well. And yet, the local county supervisors and judges in Santa Cruz issued warrants for his arrest as far as Sacramento.
Why? Lorenzana intrigued me with this odd behavior. He had spent some time in representing his family at the local court, but always, it seemed, a little too late to safeguard vital ownership. From what I could read of the court records he spoke well and presented his case with evidence and proof, but the decision that came down from the local court made no sense. Something was amiss and I made a note for a later investigation into this problem. Right now, I concentrated on the man.
Lorenzana kept company with a man named Tiburcio Vasquez who delighted in robbery and romance, but it seemed he was only successful in both when Lorenzana was nearby. Vasquez’s other attempts at thievery often ended up in passionate brawls, fights, or death of the challenger. He was quick to draw on the slightest insult, especially during poker games where he routinely lost money while participating. Often he shot the player just for teasing him.
But the Rancho problem was becoming more than just a local tussle. Ranchos were being sold off to pay the costs of legal fees challenging the validity of the orginal Spanish land grant. . After the Mexican War, the United States did rule in court that SOME of the rancho deeds WERE binding land ownership. It would seem Lorenzana’s father, Sebastian, had one of those binding agreements, but then the local court didn’t s
eem to recognize the legality of a court held in Monterey. This stunk of corruption, just what Sweeney was sending me to navigate and investigate.
This life of reading, helping my son with his studies, having a lively family dinner with the Sweeneys could become a habit. Not once in this time did I see my two cousins. Edward kept his distance, saying that I needed my ‘rest’, and that there would be plenty of time to ‘catch up’.
After tea one afternoon, I was taken by the arm and led to a small room with large windows that overlooked the sea and, to my shock and everlasting delight, a view beneath the ocean water. “I have assigned a very special teacher for you, A.J. I suggest you pay the utmost attention to every word Professor Miles Lane tells you.”
I nodded. Dorcas seemed agitated as if she wanted to discuss something very important with me, but was waiting for the correct moment. “After your instruction, I will have a valet escort you to our clothiers where you will be made to impress even the most dour of dowagers.”
I smiled and shook my head. “As you wish, Mrs. Sweeney.” She left me with a rustle of silk and a feeling of sadness and longing for female company that seemed almost unbearable. I found it hard to think of much else, let alone the perils of the journey ahead. I wondered how Hiru was faring, as this was the first time we had been without each other’s company since we boarded ship in Hawai’i over a month ago. Tomiko’s face was strong in his, as was, for some reason, the face of my father.
Needing to clear my head of this melancholia, I studied the marvelous feat of engineering in front of me.
The glass was thick like a milk bottle, but polished and clear enough for me to see the murky depths of the bay, complete with seaweed amidst the remains of what looked like an old dinghy. Sea creatures stuck to the outside, but I could see beneath them, hundreds of tiny pink nubs sticking to the glass like noses pressed up close upon it. In the star shaped creature’s center was a maw that retreated to a tiny black hole. There was something almost obscene in this vulnerability, like looking under a woman’s ruffled skirt.
