The White City

by John Claude Bemis

  “Tell you what?” Si asked.

  Conker shrugged. “I punched him then, so I don’t know what else he was aiming to say. But now I think I do. I think Stacker was trying to say the hammer in the hall was a fake and that he had expected Buck to tell me something.”

  “Probably to have figured out his message about liberty’s feet,” Jolie said.

  Si scowled. “Why would Stacker want to help us? Why would he tell us where he’s hid the hammer?”

  “Buck thought Stacker wanted to redeem himself,” Ray answered.

  Si held up her hand. “The same Stacker who did this to me?” she snarled.

  “I don’t trust him either,” Conker said. “And if I see him again, he’ll be sorry for what he did to you. But if he did it, if he hid the hammer beneath that statue, then who cares why. Tonight, this is our last chance. We have to go there and hope Stacker hasn’t changed his mind.”

  There was a cough, and everyone turned. “How do I look?” Big Jimmie asked.

  Ray watched as Conker strode slowly over to stand before the enormous pirate. Jimmie’s face had been darkened with a stick of greasepaint Gilley had brought from the show’s makeup room. Ray had seen plenty of blackface performers on vaudeville stages, but never anyone as large and ugly as Big Jimmie.

  Conker had his hand cocked under his chin as he inspected the disguise. Fortunately Jimmie had thick, curly hair, which after being cut passed for Conker’s. Conker continued stroking his chin as everyone waited. Then he erupted into a bellowing laugh. “You look preposterous!”

  Big Jimmie chuckled uncertainly as the others slapped their knees and pointed.

  “You’re still about a foot too short,” Conker said. “But you’re big enough. Besides, this is what the Gog’s men will look for.” He handed Jimmie the hammer he had taken from the Hall of Progress. “Your Nine Pound Hammer.”

  “Good enough, given it will be dark,” the Pirate Queen said. “Get out here, Piglet.”

  Two pirates had been holding up a curtain for Piglet to put on her outfit. She stepped out slowly, her hands crossed over her chest. Mister Lamprey had fashioned a green gown from some of the fabric in the storage room. Piglet was barefoot and seemed clearly uncomfortable. Her arms and feet were as pale as an egg, but her hands, neck, and face were sun-browned with abrupt edges at her wrists and neckline.

  “I feel half naked,” Piglet said, rubbing her hands over her bare arms. “Where’s there to hide a gun?”

  Ray looked at Jolie, who was blushing at the strange vision of herself.

  “At your back,” the Pirate Queen said, coming forward to brush Piglet’s dark hair forward across her face. “We’ll need powder to cover your tan.”

  “I’ll get some,” Gilley said.

  “We’ll get to it later,” the Pirate Queen said, waving a hand before the freckle-faced cowboy could leave. “She’ll just manage to smear it.”

  “What about me?” Big Jimmie asked. “It’s itchy.”

  “Wipe it off if you want,” Mister Lamprey said. “We’ll touch you up tonight.”

  “Leaves just Si and Ray,” the Pirate Queen said.

  Si sat on a trunk with her back to the wall, watching the proceedings with raised eyebrows. “There’s only one I know small enough to pass for me.”

  Mister Lamprey nodded. “Aye, you’re thinking of Peter Hobnob?”

  Si smiled. “We can paint his hand, but what about that nest of hair?”

  The Pirate Queen turned to Gilley. “Have you got wigs?”

  The boy nodded, tipping back his cowboy hat. “Yeah, we’ll have something that’ll work.”

  “Which leaves us Ray …,” the Pirate Queen murmured. Her eyes scanned the room full of pirates.

  Ray looked around as well. They were all a gnarled, ugly bunch, not one of them besides Piglet younger than thirty.

  The Pirate Queen was frowning. “Even with makeup and in the dark, I don’t see one among you fair enough to be young Ray.”

  Gilley cleared his throat before saying, “I could do it, ma’am.”

  All eyes turned to the young man, and the room grew quiet.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Ray said. “There’s no telling what will happen, Gilley.”

  Gilley clenched his jaw and his freckled cheeks grew red. “I’ve been in fights aplenty.”

  “This ain’t fighting,” Conker said. “This’ll be killing.”

  Gilley looked around at the crowd. “I grew up reading dime novels about Mister Cody. How he killed Chief Yellow Hand and all. Why I joined up. Not to be an errand boy and not to be a performer. I can do this. And besides, you need me, right?”

  The Pirate Queen asked, “You know how to shoot a gun?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She clapped a hand to Gilley’s back. “You’re in. We’ll be watching over you.”

  As the attention returned to the planning, Ray could not shake the fear—fear upon fear. This boy might lose his life tonight.

  Jolie’s hand slipped into Ray’s and she whispered, “We all have to make sacrifices.”

  After a moment, Ray went back to the window to look for Hobnob, an unsettling feeling in his chest.

  Evening came, and noise rose as the coliseum filled with the evening’s audience.

  “You bunch had better just stay up in here for the show,” Gilley said as he came through the door. “Special guests tonight. President Cleveland’s here, along with some governors and diplomats and whatnot.”

  As they listened to Cody’s voice filling the stadium and the cheers and mock gunfights and laughter, Ray tried to stomach a meal but could not force himself to have an appetite. He gave his hat and coat to Gilley, along with a Solomon’s seal root from his toby, hoping the charm would offer a small measure of protection as well as a bit of hoodoo in case Grevol was looking for it. Si had laid out her tunic and loose pants for Hobnob and dressed in a simple set of dark clothes she had found in one of the trunks. No other clothes would have fit Conker, and Big Jimmie seemed convincing enough with the greasepaint and the hammer. Jolie wore a black silk frock belonging to one of the smaller performers to cover her luminous arms.

  Conker began prying apart the boards of the ceiling to open a hole to the coliseum’s roof for their escape later. Si and Ray and Jolie passed around a whetting stone to sharpen their knives. Mister Lamprey had urged them to take guns, but all refused. They did not know how to use them, and as Si said, they would hopefully have no need for one. Fighting was not part of their plan.

  The door opened, ushering in the laughter and voices from the audience. Nel entered, followed by Hobnob and Marisol. Redfeather shut the door behind them.

  As Hobnob slumped into a chair, Si tossed her tunic, pants, and the wig into his lap. “These are for you.”

  The little thief lifted the wig with a horrified look.

  “Were you spotted?” Conker asked.

  “How could we not be,” Nel said, removing his fez and coat. “There must be a hundred agents surrounding this stadium.”

  “There’s something going on,” Marisol said. “The crowd is huge. Lots of talk about somebody at the show.”

  “It’s President Cleveland,” Ray said. “He’s in the audience tonight.”

  Nel’s eyebrows leaped. “I was afraid of something like this. By any sort of logic, Grevol should have captured you all this morning. He’s waited until night for a reason, and I fear it has to do with our special guests out there.” He sighed grimly. “Even though I can feel that Grevol has not yet finished his Machine, it might be ready enough.”

  “Enough for what?” Si asked.

  “For what he’s conspired for these luminaries visiting the Expo.” Nel nodded to Redfeather. “Unfortunately I doubt we’ll be able to convince President Cleveland’s party to take any of my handiwork.”

  “Your handiwork?” Conker asked.

  “These,” Redfeather said, opening his satchel. “We were fortunate to find the right plants.”

 
“We need to pass them out to everyone,” Marisol said.

  Ray looked curiously at the hundreds of tiny pouches Redfeather was spilling onto the floor. “What are they?”

  “Protection,” Nel said. “Protection for when the Gog unleashes his Darkness.”

  As the performance roared below, Nel made his way around the room, speaking quietly to each of the children of the medicine show. The pirates were loading pistols, polishing and sharpening blades, sipping rum, and inspecting the tiny pouches Nel had instructed them to wear around their necks. Ray had seen them face battles before, and they did it with glee. But not tonight. He sensed in their overly loud voices and sidelong glances that tonight was different.

  “Ray,” Nel said, as he sat down beside him on a trunk in the corner. The old pitchman clapped his large hand over Ray’s knee. “Are you ready?”

  “Is that possible?” Ray asked.

  Nel shook his head. “My choice in words has become trite in the face of all that’s before us. Forgive me.”

  Ray peered up at Nel. “You never have to ask that, Nel.”

  “But I fear I must,” Nel said. He sighed heavily. “You know that I have spent my later days trying to shelter you all from the dangers of the Gog. And now, what I’m allowing you to do …” Nel leaned forward, his face in his hands. “Were I able to go in your place, I would,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  “But the Gog would know where I was, and our plan would be ruined,” Nel continued. “Go to the statue and retrieve the Nine Pound Hammer. Get into the hall. Reach the Gloaming—”

  “I know,” Ray repeated gently.

  Nel’s expression softened. He clasped Ray’s arm.

  “Nel?” Ray struggled to ask the question that was gnawing at him. “How will you defeat the Gog?”

  Nel stood as he forced a smile. “Don’t worry about this clever old fox, Ray. I’ll create the necessary diversion for you four to stealthily make your getaway. Then I’ll attend to how to defeat Grevol. Focus on your own task. We each have our part to play.”

  Ray could hear from the long applause that the Wild West performance was ending. “That’s our cue, lads and lasses,” the Pirate Queen said. One by one the pirates stood, holstered weapons, and headed for the door. Many of them stopped to shake hands with Ray, as well as with Conker and Jolie and Si, offering well wishes and encouragement.

  Nel opened the door, and the pirates filed out onto the balcony. As the group crowded the doorway, Redfeather and Marisol came to say their goodbyes. Redfeather took the copper from around his neck and slipped it over Ray’s head. “You might need it,” he said, and then embraced Ray. “We are Ramblers,” he whispered into Ray’s ear before releasing him. Marisol approached Ray. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then she turned back to Redfeather, taking his hand before leaving.

  The door closed. Ray was alone with Jolie, Si, and Conker.

  As the next hour passed, Conker pried away the final boards to open a hole in the coliseum’s roof. The four climbed through and stood on the flat, circular rooftop with the stars hovering above them. Si carried a coil of rope and set off across the roof, away from the others. Ray followed Conker and Jolie to the edge, where the raw plank siding of the exterior continued another few feet higher to make a low wall.

  Below, the fence had been knocked down, and surrounding the encampment was now a wall of agents in black suits and bowler hats, each holding rifles and pistols. More were filing in from the Midway.

  “How many do you reckon that is?” Conker asked. “A hundred fifty?”

  Ray exhaled slowly. “Maybe more.”

  “Too many,” Jolie said.

  Between the Gog’s army and the coliseum, the scant band of pirates stood in a cluster. The Snapdragon’s crew looked hopelessly few compared to the looming army of agents. Ray spotted the Pirate Queen’s flowing red hair at the front of the group. She drew back her coat to place her hands on the arsenal belted around her waist. Nel stood beside her, tall and jaunty. Redfeather had his tomahawk against his leg, and Marisol held his bow at her side, an arrow already notched. Toward the middle of the group, Big Jimmie, disguised as Conker, towered over the other pirates, and Ray spied Gilley and Hobnob and Piglet beside him. From where Ray watched, the costumes were convincing.

  Buffalo Bill emerged from the coliseum, followed by a contingent of a dozen men—cowboys, including Jasper and some of the elder Sioux, although Ray noticed Iron Tail wasn’t among them.

  Across the yard, a few of the agents toward the center of the formation stepped aside. A tall figure strode forward. He wore a silk stovepipe hat and a suit of black and green. With each step of his gleaming black boots, he brought an ebony walking stick to the ground. The Gog stopped when he was a few yards in front of his men, nearly a hundred yards separating him from Nel and the pirates. Nel had his toby in his hands, untying its string.

  “I thought you said no harm would come to my Wild West show!” Cody bellowed.

  “And none will, Mister Cody, if you hand over the Ramblers as you agreed,” Mister Grevol said, touching a hand politely to his coal-black hat.

  Cody waved at the wall of agents. “You’ve brought a gun to a knife fight, as they say, Grevol.”

  “I mean to dissuade you and your men from interfering, Mister Cody,” the Gog said.

  “Can’t speak for my men,” Cody said. “But I’ve been known to stir up trouble in my time.”

  Ray felt that for all of Buffalo Bill’s tough talk, he hadn’t gathered nearly as many to join him as Ray had hoped. Conker whispered, “We ought to go.”

  “Almost,” Ray said.

  He watched as Mister Grevol waved a gloved hand. “I see, old Joe Nelson, that you’ve decided to join us. You’ve eluded me for some time.”

  “I plan on eluding you a bit longer,” Nel said. The old Rambler drew out a handful of powder. “My powers are returned, as you well know. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  Nel scattered the powder into the air. A faint blue light glowed and then dissipated as it rose.

  The moonlight snuffed out. A heavy sheet of clouds moved over the Expo grounds. Many of the agents turned their gazes up to the sky. A fierce wind rose, tossing bowler hats into the air. A few scampered to grab them, but most lifted their rifles, readying themselves.

  Grevol began laughing. “Oh, is it parlor tricks, then, old Joe? I’m not one of your bumpkins watching your medicine show.”

  Conker clasped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” He turned and stayed low until he was far enough from the edge to stand without notice. Ray and Jolie followed him until they reached Si. She had just finished tying off the rope to a brace of stout wood at the roof’s edge.

  Rain began to fall. A few heavy drops, and then all at once a torrent unleashed, like the lake itself had been dropped onto Buffalo Bill’s coliseum. Nel had urged them to not leave until they were certain the Gog’s men would have their full attention turned to the confrontation. The storm was the first distraction. Nel was buying them time, toying with the Gog so they could escape.

  “After you,” Si said to Ray as she handed him the rope.

  Ray felt the rain streaking through his hair and running in cold rivulets down his back. He could fly. He could take crow form. But it would exhaust him. Tonight he needed all his strength.

  Grevol’s voice, along with Nel’s and Cody’s, carried through the whipping wind.

  Ray looked cautiously over the edge. The elevated tracks bordered the coliseum. Through the ironwork of the tracks, Ray could see three of the Gog’s agents on the sidewalk below. Lightning erupted, and the men flipped up their collars as they continued their patrol.

  Ray grabbed the rope, looped it once around his wrist, and leaned back over the edge. He eased down, feet against the wet wood of the coliseum’s exterior, and fed the rope through his hands. He stopped when he was level with the elevated track. Casting a glance down, he found the three agents hunched forward and cursing the foul stor
m to one another.

  From around the side of the coliseum, Grevol’s voice carried. “… this is the last time I’ll ask. Give over the Nine Pound Hammer! Give over the Rambler’s charm! The pirates can rot, Mister Nelson. I only need you and your Rambler urchins.”

  Ray kicked off the wall and swung out on the rope. When he was over the elevated track, he let go. He landed on the wooden crossties and crouched motionless, watching the agents for any sign that he had been heard. The three continued walking.

  Ray pointed up to Si, and she handed the rope next to Jolie.

  Ray dashed down the elevated track until the encampment came into view. Nel stood before the small cluster of pirates and Ramblers. Buffalo Bill was poised with his contingent at the back gates to the coliseum. The winds lashed, and rain beat against the earth of the yard.

  The Gog cupped a hand to catch the falling rain. He laughed. “Who are you trying to frighten with your hoodoo chicanery, Mister Nelson? The earthworms?”

  Nel drew out a twisted root from his toby. With a swipe, he directed the root at the Gog, and lightning flashed. The bolt drew down on Grevol, encompassing him in blinding light. The wall of agents shrank back as the thunderclap roared over the encampment. Even the pirates and Buffalo Bill’s men backed away at the explosion.

  Grevol had fallen to one knee, his pristine suit smoking in the pouring rain. He stood. The glowing knob at the end of his walking stick crackled as it drew the last of the lightning within.

  “Not bad.” The Gog took a step forward. “I would love to watch more, but it seems it is time to demonstrate what I have been working so hard to bring to fruition.”

  Jolie reached Ray’s side and clutched his arm. Conker was helping Si to the elevated tracks. The three agents below were peering at the encampment, oblivious to what was happening above them.

  Nel backed away as Grevol held up his walking stick.

  “For years now, I have been gathering workers,” the Gog said. “Constructing the greatest achievement civilization has ever known. A creation that will shape mankind, will better it, will bring humanity beyond its primitive ways and into a modern era. Once my Machine fills the people of Chicago, and eventually all the citizens of this great nation, with their new purpose, we will see an end to poverty, an end to suffering and conflict. They will have collective purpose. They will fill this land with towering cities and technology that our forebearers could never have dreamed.”