The Long Past & Other Stories

by Ginn Hale

  Which was probably why folks tended to grow nervous about mages and why theurgic professors were supposed to always be in charge of them.

  “They worse than Reverend Dodd?” Grover asked.

  “Oh, they’re just as abrasive in spirit,” Lawrence replied. “But far more dangerous in scope.”

  “How do you mean?” Grover asked. “They got it in for you?”

  “Not just me.” Lawrence leaned back against the trunk of the apple tree, beside Grover. “They’re brewing up something particularly nasty, and I suspect that they intend to catch me or Honora acting against their orders so that they can charge one or both of us with sedition or even treason.”

  Grover stared at Lawrence in disbelief. That sounded like the lowest, petty kind of purpose a man could have. Particularly when, as far as Grover understood it, Lawrence and Lady Astor were trying to close the rift and save the rest of them.

  “Why?” he asked at last.

  “Because we are in the way of what they want and because we’re the last two who were in Beijing when the rifts opened and all this happened.” Lawrence gestured offhandedly at Betty.

  “You were there but so what? Everyone knows it was the work of the Imperial Consort Cixi.”

  Lawrence’s troubled expression gave Grover an uneasy pause. He leaned a little nearer to Lawrence, watching his face intently.

  “It was her doing, wasn’t it?” Grover whispered.

  Lawrence dropped his gaze, and the muscle in his jaw flexed like he was fighting to hold his mouth shut.

  “Lawrence!” Mayor Wilder’s call from the kitchen door startled the blazes out of Grover. He managed not to jump back guiltily as he would have done as a youth, but his pulse still quickened like he’d been caught with his arms around Lawrence. Lawrence straightened but didn’t draw away from Grover’s side. He squinted into the light pouring out through the open kitchen door.

  “I’m catching up with Grover,” Lawrence called back to his father.

  Mayor Wilder appeared only briefly puzzled by that and then he waved.

  “Well, bring him inside, son. It’s hardly sociable to make the man chat with you out in the dark.”

  “Oh no, Mayor Wilder.” Grover stepped closer to the stairs leading up to the kitchen porch. He touched the brim of his hat in respect. “I was just passing by, sir. I shouldn’t intrude—”

  “It’s no imposition at all, Grover. Fact is I was bragging about you to the Professors Tucker and Lady Astor. They’re all roaring to meet you. They hope you can help guide them right to the rift.” Mayor Wilder smiled at Grover with such easy warmth that he likely could have told Grover his invitation had been lost in the post and Grover would have believed him—at least for a minute.

  “I’d need to stable Betty,” Grover pointed out.

  “Well, sure.” Mayor Wilder didn’t miss a beat. “You settle that ridingbird of yours in one of my stalls then come join us in the house, straightaway. I won’t hear otherwise, young man.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grover responded out of ingrained reflex more than desire.

  “Now, Lawrence”—Mayor Wilder’s slick, professional charm softened and a little worry crept into his wide smile—“son, come inside. It’s cold out there and our guests are asking after you.”

  Lawrence sighed and cast Grover a look that he didn’t quite understand—conspiratorial but also tired.

  “Alright, I’m on my way,” Lawrence replied to his father. Then he marched up the stairs to the kitchen door. As Mayor Wilder fell back, Lawrence glanced over his shoulder to Grover.

  “Don’t leave me waiting too long, Grove,” he said.

  That seemed rich coming from a man who’d been gone eight years. Still the sentiment touched Grover. He offered Lawrence a lazy salute and went to settle Betty.

  Chapter Two

  Much as he would have liked to take this opportunity to enter the house by the front door, Grover couldn’t make himself do it. It would be too much of a spectacle, he decided, and he wasn’t here for that.

  Truth be told he no longer knew why he’d come, exactly. But he now had a reason to stay—a job that paid gold dollars.

  He came in through the back door. The warm, fragrant atmosphere of the large kitchen felt familiar. He stopped to greet the new cook (a Creole lady named Camille) and then to allow the plump whirlwind of a housekeeper, Mrs. Citlali, to hug him and chastise him for wearing a hat indoors like “some kind of ruffian, raised in a barn”. Grover removed his hat and thanked Mrs. Citlali when she hung it and his coat up with the aprons. Seized by memories of the last time he’d entered the ballroom, Grover tried to linger in the familiar surroundings of the kitchen, offering to haul in firewood as he’d done as a boy, but Mrs. Citlali wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Don’t you steal my work, Grover. You mosey out and let those rich folks hire you to guide them through the rift lands.” Mrs. Citlali playfully pushed Grover towards the hall door. “I expect you to do your mama proud and demand twice what they first offer. Or three times, even. They can afford to pay, believe me.”

  “I’ll do my best, ma’am.” Grover strode through the hall and slowly pushed open the door to the big ballroom. The light blazing from chandeliers powered by ignited alchemic crystals seemed to gild the dancing couples. It limned the multitude of single men who lingered at the sideboard tables and warmed the complexions of elderly ladies who sat around the grand fireplace chatting.

  Far over by the bay windows, the musicians from the Variety Music Hall rolled out the sweeping notes of a waltz. Grover recognized one of the fiddlers—a handsome Black man—as the fellow he’d spent a few pleasant hours with naked in the attic of the music hall last summer. That hadn’t lasted long past Grover noticing his wedding ring.

  Still, Grover’s gaze lingered on the man as he reflexively searched for an ally in this big room brimming with white folk. The treacherous sensation that he didn’t belong and wasn’t safe in such company crawled up his spine like a chill. Grover straightened his back, resisting the reflex to hunch low. It wasn’t that wariness wasn’t warranted, but he prided himself on his dignity and courage—he’d earned a reputation for living fearlessly alongside mountain lions and making game of dinosaurs.

  Yet none of those wild creatures made him so uneasy as this room of near strangers. Sure, Grover knew the names of half the better-dressed folks, but he certainly wasn’t in a position to use those names in any but the most formal terms. The few uniformed men who hadn’t just arrived with the airship worked for Sheriff Lee and weren’t any of them keen on Grover, not the least because he did business with Arapaho and Ute out beyond the scope of their authority.

  Grover craned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Lawrence or even Mayor Wilder. Instead Cora Cody gave him a very bright, pretty smile, and all at once drew her tall dance partner away from the other couples. Even before the man turned, Grover knew he was Lawrence. He made himself smile, though it hurt seeing how handsome a couple the two of them made. He had no right to feel jealous. Bottom truth was Cora had been Lawrence’s childhood friend even before Grover had come along. And a long time before George Cody arrived in town too.

  Grover glanced through the crowd and picked out George’s big frame beside the ornate punch bowl. He stood, laughing with the Tucker brothers. If Cora dancing in the arms of her one-time fiancée troubled him at all, it didn’t show in his cheery expression. Grover guessed the Tuckers must have been discussing natural sciences. There wasn’t much else—aside from Cora—that lit George’s ruddy face up to such a pleased glow.

  “Grove,” Cora called as she drew Lawrence along to his side.

  “Mrs. Cody.” Grover bobbed his head and kept a good step clear of her. Men like Sheriff Lee all too readily took offense at even a hint of intimacy between any man of color and a white woman. It suited Grover to stand beside Lawrence in any case.

&nbs
p; “Isn’t it wonderful!” Cora declared. Before Grover could ask exactly what she meant, Cora turned her gaze on Lawrence. “It broke our hearts thinking you were dead, Lawry.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Lawrence replied.

  “To me.” Cora released Lawrence’s left arm. “But I’d bet my back teeth that you haven’t said a thing to Grover.”

  “Grover and I were speaking just a while ago, in fact,” Lawrence replied and then grinned. “Which of your teeth would you like to hand over?”

  Cora laughed at that but cocked her head slightly. The blond curls bordering her face bounced, as if still dancing to the happy melody filling the air.

  “So you two…” She raised a brow as she looked intently at Grover. “You’re loving friends as ever?”

  Grover wasn’t certain whether his own incoherent choking noise or Lawrence’s look of tongue-tied alarm was more awkward, but one or both inspired Cora to shake her head and set her curls swinging again.

  “It astounds me how articulate you men can be at times,” she commented.

  “Not every fellow is as eloquent as your husband, Mrs. Cody,” Grover responded.

  “True.” Cora’s fond gaze went at once to George, though a moment later she sighed. “He will never remember to bring me my punch with those two chatting him up.” Cora pointed to the sideboard where George stood looking delighted as one of the Tuckers puffed up his chest like a prairie grouse and the other held out something in the palm of his gloved hand. Lawrence frowned, but whether it was at the reminder that Cora had wed another man or at the sight of the Tucker twins, Grover didn’t know.

  No reason it couldn’t be both, he supposed.

  The punch looked good though. So did all the platters of fried fish, clams and giant red crawdads. Silver dishes brimmed with chips of butter and little braided rolls of wheat bread. Grover didn’t think he’d tasted real bread or butter in four years—maybe five.

  “Have you eaten anything?” Lawrence asked. After a moment of quiet he prompted, “Grove?”

  “Sorry. I thought you were asking Mrs. Cody,” Grover replied. “I ate this morning. Nothing like that spread, though.”

  “Let’s avail ourselves of the refreshments, then,” Lawrence suggested.

  “We’ll have to,” Cora agreed. “Especially as my husband has forsaken us for the wiles of those doe-eyed professors.”

  “He’ll come to his senses the moment he notices that you’ve claimed two dashing dandies as escorts,” Lawrence responded.

  Cora laughed and Grover smiled. Dashing dandies had fallen on hard times if Grover was being admitted to their company. The three of them crossed the room and folks watched. Most the locals, Grover guessed, gawked and gossiped about Lawrence, only hours back from the dead and already dancing with Cora. Some of the newcomers from the east, however, appeared wary of Grover. Eyeing him like dogs hankering to get their hackles up.

  Grover felt too hungry and too pleased with Lawrence’s company to let himself be cowed by newcomers going red-faced at the sight of a Black man eating from the same sideboard table as them. Of the few men in fresh blue uniforms who cast him evil glances, none had the grit to meet Grover’s gaze when he looked them in the eyes.

  If they planned to stay in Fort Arvada for any time, they’d just have to get used to mixing with folk who weren’t white, because outside of this quaint little party, thousands of people of every color and creed filled the businesses, boarding houses, music hall and saloons of the city. By Grover’s reckoning they made up more then half of the population, and they weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Just pondering the matter, Grover felt irritated with himself for allowing a few sneering bigots to get under his skin and rattle him so bad.

  Lawrence asked him about a fern dish and two platters of fish. Grover quickly forced himself to put the men surrounding them out of his mind. He’d been invited in here by the mayor, and he had as much right to stand in this ballroom as any one of them did.

  “You’ll like them big crawdads,” Grover assured Lawrence. “I saw the Liu brothers net them just this morning. The meat’s real sweet. Them ferns are good too, they taste like green beans.”

  Lawrence helped himself to an assortment of small fish, crawdads and spring fronds. Grover claimed a thick cut of shark, a fried pterosaur leg and warm bread roll, which he slathered with butter. Cora packed four rolls and several cuts of turtle on her small plate as well as a heap of butter chips.

  Grover tried not to stare at Lawrence’s right hand as he held his plate. Lawrence moved it so smoothly that it took Grover a moment to recognize that the jointed fingers and smooth palm were carved from polished ivory. Tiny gold grommets glinted along the joints.

  For an instant, sorrow for the pain and loss Lawrence must have endured swept over Grover, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. Instead he admired how masterfully Lawrence manipulated his artificial fingers. Then, knowing Lawrence wouldn’t thank him for gawking, he applied himself to his serving of shark flesh. Cora too darted glances at Lawrence’s hand, but when she spoke it was only to say, “Lord, have I missed butter!”

  None of them took long to finish off their food. By the time they approached the punch bowl, they’d all three turned their empty dishes over to the parlor maid, who’d whisked the plates out of sight like she was smuggling alchemic stones out of the country.

  At the punch bowl, Cora cleared her throat loudly. At once George looked from the Tucker brothers to Cora and grinned.

  “Darling!” He gestured her nearer, and when she reached his side he took her extended hand and kissed her fingers like they were still newlyweds. “You must see this preserved bone that the Tucker professors discovered in China. It bears a remarkable resemblance to the fossil Grover brought us from the rift.”

  “Really?” Unsurprisingly Cora’s concerns over punch evaporated at once. She beckoned both Grover and Lawrence nearer as well.

  Grover followed, taking his time to look the Tucker brothers over. Since all he knew about either of them was that they meant trouble for Lawrence, he was strongly inclined to interpret their narrow faces and large dark eyes as weasel-like. But if he gave them a fair shake, he’d admit they were good-looking in that flaxen-haired, wan manner of the sensitive but brooding heroes in Cora’s favorite novels (chapters of which she read aloud at the boarding house once a week). Their slim builds lent them the illusion of youth from a distance but, standing closer, Grover noted the gray at their temples and the lines worn into their faces. Both were certainly past forty.

  Aside from their thick, perfectly coifed sideburns, the thing that struck Grover as most remarkable about them was the effort they’d put into perfecting their resemblance to one another, not merely in the cut of their hair and tailored suits, but to the extent of displaying the same thin white scar across both their chins.

  Grover wondered which of them had cut himself to match his brother.

  “Professor Tucker and Professor Tucker,” George said. “May I present my lovely wife, Mrs. Cora Cody. This fine fellow is Mr. Grover Ahigbe, the famed Fort Arvada hunter you’ve been asking about.”

  The twins turned their heads in perfect unison and appraised Grover like a strange but costly curiosity.

  “A pleasure,” the Tuckers responded as one. The one on the right added, “I’m Nathaniel, this is my brother David.” Both of them looked smug about the introduction but neither offered his hand to Grover. Something about their expressions made him wondered if the twins weren’t having a joke on everyone, maybe switching their names just to amuse themselves. It didn’t escape Grover that Lawrence hung back from them.

  “So, let us have a look at the fossil that Grover found.” George stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, and after withdrawing a few odd rocks and a very battered pocket watch, he fished out a small tin and opened it to reveal the opal snail shell that Grover had found at the edge of
the rift. Lawrence cast George an uncertain look, but Grover wasn’t surprised in the least that George had brought a variety of his geological wonders to share with the professors.

  “Now watch this.” George lifted the shell up and angled it out towards the overhanging chandelier. All at once it lit up, glowing as brilliantly as the alchemic stones that illuminated the ballroom.

  “It’s resonating with the illumination spells in the chandelier!” Cora all but beamed at George in her delight. Then she raised her delicate brows. “Does that mean that it’s an alchemic stone, as well?”

  “One could be forgiven for assuming as much,” David Tucker replied. “However my brother and I have tested samples from the rifts and discovered that these new reactive minerals are chemically different from true alchemic stones. It seems that they have absorbed and retained alchemic qualities. This rodent’s jawbone, for example.”

  Nathaniel Tucker drew a white kerchief from his pocket as his brother spoke and opened it to expose a small toothy bone. The luster of opal suffused it and, like George’s shell, when it was held up the jawbone threw off thin beams of light.

  “It is our theory,” David Tucker continued, “that the alchemic energy released by opening the rifts was so explosive that it radiated into the surrounding minerals, impregnating them with alchemic properties.”

  Grover glanced back to Lawrence and noted how his mouth tightened into a hard line. But he couldn’t figure out why. As he understood it, alchemic stone was rare and hard to process into the dust that powered most spells. The Wilders could display these shining chandeliers, because their family fortune had been built upon the discovery of a vein of alchemic stone in the hills surrounding Fort Arvada. But even that had nearly played out, and now the city’s fortifications needed alchemic stone more than ever.

  This ought to be good news. So why did Lawrence look so unhappy?

  “The rifts could be a treasure house of alchemic power.” Cora gazed warmly at the shell in her husband’s hand then smiled at Grover. “Grove, you could have started a bigger boom here than the one in ’39 when the Wilders started panning for magic dust.”