Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1)

by Cassandra Leuthold

  Katya balked, her mouth falling open. She turned to face Mr. Warden head on, propping the fist of her good arm on her hip. “I’ll have a job at this carnival when Mr. Kelly takes it over, thank you very much.”

  A line of policemen broke through the crowd, using night sticks to part the people to either side of them. Brady kept his gun lowered as he turned to meet them.

  The band leader pointed him out. “He’s armed. He’s crazy.”

  Several policemen hung back to keep the crowd at a distance. The others approached Brady, one of them breaking away to walk toward Katya.

  “Your face, miss,” he said, reaching out to it.

  “Please don’t touch it,” Katya pleaded, cringing at the intent.

  “Is this man holding you hostage?”

  “No. He’s not dangerous, and he’s not crazy. He has evidence he created the carnival. Mr. Warden stole it from him.”

  “Has a doctor tended you?”

  “No.” Katya tried not to sound as aggravated as she felt. “I will not see a doctor until Mr. Kelly is properly heard.”

  The next sound that reached Katya’s ears was not Brady’s voice. It was a searing, ripping sound, the increasingly high pitch of rending fabric. Her eyes, along with hundreds of others, flew to the sky. Mr. Warden dangled lower than he had before, drooping like a pendant pinned to the wheel. He was not moving now, just swaying, his bulging eyes locked on the platform below.

  “Will you admit it now?” Brady shouted up at him.

  Mr. Warden remained silent. His clothing ripped again, plunging him several inches toward the wooden platform. He cried out in terror, and the crowd jumped, sucking in rushes of breath and raising their hands to their mouths. Many women turned their heads, squeezing their eyes shut while clutching their husbands closer.

  “Yes,” Mr. Warden hissed, his hands reaching vainly for any beams or spokes around him. The snug fit of his jacket around his shoulders kept him from extending his arms all the way. “Yes, I stole it. I stole it. Let me down, you fools.”

  Two of the police opened the gate and motioned to the ride operator. “Let this man down,” they ordered.

  Katya felt a hand cover her elbow – gratefully, her strong right one. Maddox filled her vision, her heart overflowing at his presence. Katya took his hand. They looked up together as the wheel stuttered and turned, slowly rotating to the left. Mr. Warden hung very still, his clothing lurching him downward a few inches more as he rounded the wheel. The passengers in the cars held their eyes almost as wide as his, all staring, all praying. Mr. Warden’s shoes reached the platform, and the wheel stopped. He pulled and strained against the wheel’s hold until, with a splitting rip, he lunged forward, free.

  “That could’ve been murder,” someone muttered from the crowd.

  The two policemen flanked Mr. Warden, one of them producing glinting metal handcuffs from his pocket.

  “Why are you looking at me with those things?” Mr. Warden asked, his tone a blend of offense and humor. He pointed a rigid finger at Brady. “This man openly admitted to sending me death threats, all of which I have in safekeeping in my office. If you’re going to be matching handwriting, match that.”

  The policemen gave little reaction. The one with the handcuffs stepped behind Mr. Warden. “We’ll be taking both of you in. You can plead your cases at the station.”

  “I don’t have a case.” Mr. Warden’s eyes burned at Brady. “I have the truth.”

  The second officer reached for Brady’s journal. Brady handed it over with the slightest hesitation, a split second of questioning trust that Katya and Magdalene might have been the only two to know the significance of. The officer pulled out another pair of shining cuffs, using them to pin Brady’s wrists to his lower back.

  The officers barring the crowd began to shift the onlookers, making way for the men in custody.

  Katya studied Mr. Warden with renewed curiosity. She knew Brady would be all right. She believed in the strength of the evidence to prove him the carnival’s rightful owner. It was Mr. Warden she had favored and disliked over the past year, Mr. Warden who had pulled her close on first meeting and thrown her to his wolves tonight. Of everyone who had ever loved or hated Mr. William Warden, Katya felt certain she had loved him harder and hated him more. If she thought he was worth it, she would have spat right at him. It was a story big and dramatic enough for all the papers, but she kept it quiet. She would not be known for this. Let her go down as the pictured beating victim, one of the women who supported Brady Kelly’s good cause. But do not ever let them know the roller coaster her heart had taken once Mr. Warden started it. She would never hear the end of it, and she certainly wanted to.

  Fuzzy in her vision, the other policeman guided Brady through the gate and toward the crowd. Mr. Warden’s expression was hard to read as the second officer steered him across the fenced area and out the same gate. Katya squinted to make out the complex emotions hidden in Mr. Warden’s face. Handsome, yes, but telling. Fear mixed with knowing, pride, and certainty. It was strange to see him worry, he so rarely showed it.

  Mr. Warden turned his head and met Katya’s gaze for several steps. His eyes neither accused her nor validated her. He simply watched as if he knew what she was thinking, that in all probability, if justice were served, this would be the last time they ever saw each other. He did not wink or purse his lips in hubris. He did not scowl or stare to intimidate her. He displayed the quiet air of someone realizing that an era had come to an end, no matter what happened afterward. There was no going back.

  Mr. Warden peered ahead of him at the break in the crowd although Katya’s eyes continued to follow him. The back of his finely tailored jacket gaped in tatters from the collar down between his shoulders to the middle.

  Maddox squeezed Katya’s hand. “Monster,” he muttered. “I hope he gets what he deserves.”

  The officer guided Mr. Warden past the first row of onlookers, and Katya lost him in the sea of hats and heads.

  Magdalene arrived at Katya’s other side. “Who’s going to run the carnival the rest of the night?” Magdalene asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think about that.” Katya shifted her focus to the crowd itself, standing listless and confused in the quiet lights.

  The policeman who had spoken to Katya lingered nearby. Katya addressed him as politely as possible. “Sir, you’ll also want to look for the security guards Mr. Warden hired.” She gestured to her face.

  The policeman nodded sharply. “Yes, miss.”

  “Unless they ran out already.” Katya glanced around for Mr. Weis and his crew.

  Maddox tugged her hand as the policeman strode away toward his colleagues. “You shouldn’t be worrying about this. Let’s get you home and fetch a doctor.”

  Katya looked across the empty circle of grass at the food stall. In the elevated interior, she could clearly make out Irina and the Englishman, for the second time that summer completely still. The line of ravenous customers had turned to watch the proceedings, and there was no one clamoring to be served at the moment. Katya could smell the acid char of sausages and popcorn burning.

  Maddox patted her hand. “Please, Katya. We need to get some ice on your face.”

  Katya gave in and nodded. She could find nothing else to double-check, nothing else to oversee. Tucked behind the Warden wheel and the food stall hunched Mr. Warden’s office, which with any luck, Brady would soon take over. Katya sighed, her dwindling adrenaline leaving her mind drained and her body sore.

  “Do I have to take the streetcar home?” Katya asked, dreading the thought. “I don’t want everybody to see me like this.”

  Magdalene placed a steadying hand on Katya’s back. “It’s too late to worry about that now. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow.”

  Magdalene and Maddox led Katya toward the crowd, where a space still cut a clear path through it. The journalists rushed at them, the photographers thrusting their cameras forward.

  “Please, no more pic
tures,” Magdalene said, holding up her other hand to shield her face.

  “Please, miss,” a reporter interjected. He held a pencil and notebook ready in his hands. “Can we have a statement for the News?”

  Magdalene arrested her steps. “Mr. Brady Kelly has been working for months to expose Mr. Warden for the thief he is.”

  The reporter scratched this onto paper. “May we have your name, miss?”

  “Oh, no. Mr. Kelly deserves the spotlight, not us.”

  Magdalene guided Katya and Maddox forward. Katya felt almost claustrophobic in the tunnel of people. Their eyes pried and pawed at her even as they held their hands back. She was glad to reach the end of it and move toward the gates of the carnival.

  “Who will lock up?” Katya asked.

  “The police will get it,” Magdalene assured her.

  “Will the carnival be open while Mr. Warden and Mr. Kelly are in jail? It could take days to question them and get it straightened out.”

  Maddox shook his head. His lips curved in disbelieving sympathy. “Don’t worry about the carnival. It’ll be fine. It’s your face that’s bleeding.”

  “My elbow hurts a lot. It feels like it’s split in half.” Katya secured her upper arm in place against her side, but nothing stopped the constant ache. “I can’t help worrying about the carnival. Besides the two of you, it’s the most important thing I have, no matter who’s in charge of it.”

  Magdalene focused on the gate up ahead, half the carnival away. “The only thing Mr. Warden has going for him are the death threats.”

  Katya stopped walking. For an instant, she considered running back to the office and finding them. Mr. Warden had indicated he threw the last one out, but if he had kept any of them, Katya could destroy them before the police reached them.

  “No,” Magdalene said to whatever plan Katya was hatching. “Mr. Kelly will explain they were harmless threats meant to rile Mr. Warden up, which they did.”

  “What about our parts in all this?” Katya began to walk again.

  “I think we should stay out of it as much as possible. I know the press wants the whole story, but I won’t give it to them. This is Mr. Kelly’s victory. Everything we did – all the late mornings we stayed out – was to get him here.”

  “They’re not stupid,” Katya said. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t talk now. You went to their offices and told them to be here. They’ll figure out what roles we played. Someone will talk, and we’ll be in the papers before you know it.”

  Magdalene raised a blonde eyebrow. “You don’t mind that?”

  Katya shrugged her good shoulder. “I’ve always been on the front lines here. The papers already have their pictures of me. I can’t take back my involvement now.”

  Maddox spoke up on Katya’s other side. “You’re not giving them a statement this week. You’re staying in bed. You’re doing whatever the doctor tells you to.”

  “Is that what you came all the way from the east coast for? To battle dangers and ride the rails for free to keep me confined in my bed? That’ll be the day.”

  “He’s right,” Magdalene agreed.

  Katya exhaled, too tired and outnumbered to fight any longer. “Can I at least go down to the dinner table and hear the daily news updates about the carnival from Mrs. Weeks?”

  “Yes. Of course you can.”

  Maddox patted Katya’s shoulder. “I’ll come over as much as I can to keep you company. Every day if you like.”

  Katya smiled through the tingling and pain of her arm. “I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Maddox and Mrs. Weeks seemed to have little better to do than to fret over Katya’s every move. Mrs. Weeks snatched up pillows to support Katya’s back or mending arm. Maddox dove to pour tall glasses of sweet iced tea before Katya could interject or Mrs. Weeks could do it herself.

  Wherever Katya rested, they offered suggestions of where she might recline more comfortably.

  “The sunlight’s lovely in the parlor this time of day,” Mrs. Weeks chirped in the dining room.

  “You’re fond of the living room, aren’t you?” Maddox chimed in once Katya climbed into bed.

  Frustrated heat rose in Katya’s cheeks by dinnertime. “I love you both, but please don’t henpeck me anymore. I’ll go where I want, and I’ll be all right. I have a dislocated elbow and some bruises, not a disease or a disability.” Katya tugged at the beige fabric of her sling. She appreciated that it cradled her healing elbow against her side but despised its ugly color every moment she had to wear it.

  Maddox settled into a chair at Katya’s bedside, and Mrs. Weeks disappeared into the garden to pick tomatoes for her dinner salad. Katya chose to eat in her room, hunched over a tray with Maddox for company, enjoying a private conversation.

  When Mrs. Weeks reappeared in Katya’s doorway, she held up a copy of the News.

  Katya pushed herself up straight in bed, wincing as she tried to use her aching left arm. Her eyes widened at the headline: Police Shut Down Carnival! “What’s it say?” she insisted.

  Mrs. Weeks strolled in. “It says I’m glad I found out what you were up to when you came home so early last night. I had no idea what you girls were involved in.”

  “And now you do,” Katya replied pointedly.

  Mrs. Weeks afforded her a patient upturn of her lips before reading from the front page. “Last night, police closed the popular Steampunk Carnival pending an investigation into allegations brought forth by Mr. William Warden, owner, and Mr. Brady Kelly, employee. Police arrived to find Mr. Kelly using a revolver to hold several carnival employees hostage, including its creator, William Warden. Mr. Warden hung by his clothing at the top of the Warden wheel.”

  “Yes, I know,” Katya interrupted in a hush. “What about the investigation?”

  Maddox said nothing, his eyes intense as they focused on the newspaper.

  Mrs. Weeks held the paper higher to read further into the article. “Mr. Kelly has accused Mr. Warden of stealing his ideas to build the carnival. He offers as evidence a journal of drawings and plans in his own handwriting. Police anticipate hiring an expert to evaluate these claims.” Mrs. Weeks lifted the newspaper another inch. “Mr. Warden is charging Mr. Kelly with mailing him several death threats earlier in the summer. These letters will also be evaluated by an expert in handwriting analysis.”

  Katya leaned toward Mrs. Weeks, trying to read the paper for herself. “Is there anything else?”

  Mrs. Weeks handed the paper to Katya.

  Katya scanned the page quickly. “Although no formal charges have been filed, a woman later identified as Miss Katya Romanova–” Katya flashed a grin at Maddox. “–alerted police that she had been recently brutalized by men Mr. Warden hired to provide security. Bruises and blood were evident on her young face. Police located and took into custody Mr. Frederik Weis, Mr. Alberto Labue, Mr. Falk Huber, and Mr. Ilya Dyakov. At least two of the men showed bruises and cuts on their hands, possible evidence of their involvement. They are being held awaiting further information.”

  Maddox shook his head, a serious tension maturing his features. “You should press charges,” he prompted Katya.

  “I am. I think they deserve to rot in jail.”

  “No, I mean a lawsuit. You should get some kind of compensation for what they did to you.”

  Katya wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want their money. My arm’s not broken. I’m not dying.”

  “I heard you scream when the doctor put your elbow back in place. Not to mention how tender your face must feel.” Maddox tilted his head to look over Katya’s bruises. His eyebrows loosened from the tilt of anger to the gathering of concern. He brushed his fingers across her cheek.

  “I’ll heal,” Katya assured him, passing the newspaper to Mrs. Weeks. “I’m surprised no one came by to see me today.”

  Mrs. Weeks folded the newspaper loosely in half. “They did, several men. Lawyers, doctors, policemen. You were asleep. I kept their bus
iness cards for you. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “But I’ve been up for hours. You could’ve given them to me.”

  A twinkle glimmered in Mrs. Weeks’ eyes. “I didn’t want to disturb your visit with your gentleman friend.” Mrs. Weeks swept into the hallway, taking the newspaper with her.

  Maddox leaned over and kissed Katya. “I should take the streetcar home. I’ll have to find some temporary work in the morning.”

  Katya felt sorry to see him go but understood not everyone had savings and a generous landlady to fall back on.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Maddox promised. “Can you get by without me ‘til then?”

  Katya put on a gracious demeanor. “I’m sure I can.”

  In the morning, Katya discovered the house quiet and almost empty. She walked the halls and wandered in and out of rooms in a random pattern. Even giving herself the widest berth possible at the boarding house, its three stories could not compare to the size and spectacle of the carnival. She was used to walking, and walking she did. But the closest sound to the band was the tap of her shoes on the wooden boards like tiny drums. The only laughter came from Mrs. Weeks enjoying the jokes in the previous night’s News, and the only screams issued forth from Lizzie’s throat when a spider dropped on her hand during lunch.

  Katya soon grew tired of trying to duplicate her evenings roaming the carnival. She split the afternoon between the parlor and the living room, staving off boredom by reading books and magazines Mary brought for her.

  Maddox stopped by after dinner, and Katya welcomed the distraction. She guided him back to the living room to sit down.

  “What did you find for work?” she asked.

  Maddox ran his fingers through his chaotic hair. “Sweeping a factory floor.”

  Katya pressed her lips together, imagining a dimly lit, dusty room in place of the carnival’s open air. “How common,” she sighed.

  “I swept it in circles,” Maddox admitted, a sly tilt lifting his features. “The man paid me an honest day’s salary for a very dishonest day of work. But as I left, a small but ferocious stray dog chased me for blocks. I learned my lesson, I suppose.”