“Nothing.” Boots said, then changed the direction of the conversation. “Junior Conductor, Moonshadow,”
The young man suddenly beamed at hearing his title.
“Was there a package, perhaps one that received special attention, perhaps one the Senior Mailroom clerk fretted over, or locked in the safe?”
Moonshadow considered, then smiled. “Well, there was the ball.”
“The ball?” Boots asked.
“Well, that’s what I called it. It was about this big.” He held up his hands to indicate a ten-inch circle. “And it was made of pottery, you know, like a flower pot.”
“Red, terracotta?”
“Yes, with a wide flat foot on the bottom so it wouldn’t roll around, and it had several metal studs set into it. Mr. Hopkins, the Mailroom Clerk, he was all jittery about it. It was initially packed in a wooden crate but he decided to unpack it and move it to the safe. Good thing, huh. Maybe he should get a promotion too,” Moonshadow smiled.
“Yes, perhaps, did he say who it came from or who it was going to?”
“The Duke.”
“The Duke?” Boots asked.
“Yes, sir. It was ‘the Duke’ this and ‘the Duke’ that. He was real nervous until he got it in the safe, then he settled down a bit.”
“How was it logged into the manifest?”
“Funny, I did look, only because he was so nervous it made me curious.”
“Yes?” Boots asked.
The boy shook his head. “There wasn’t an entry. ‘Least nothing that described the ball.”
“Interesting,” Boots said, then stood offering his hand again, “Well, Master Moonshadow, I wish you a long and illustrious career.”
John Moonshadow stood and took it this time. “Thank you, sir, but I might decide to be a Pinkerton. The man last night offered me a job, gave me his card and everything. Told me they needed men like me.”
“And, with some training, perhaps you would do well. Do you by chance have the gentleman’s card with you? I may want to apply to that illustrious organization one day myself.”
“Pff, I think you probably belong to an organization like that already if what I saw last night means anything.” The young man reached inside his conductor’s hat, produced a card and handed it to Boots.
“Robert Pinkerton, the Vice President himself,” Boots said. “Any idea what he was doing on the train?”
The boy shook his head. “No sir, maybe if I had been a conductor for longer ...”
“Don’t worry about it, Lad.” He handed the card back. “Again, congratulations and I wish you well.”
Outside the Mail car, Boots looked at his watch. It read 11:35. Time enough to head back the berth and freshen up, then pop up to the dining car and secure a table and drink for Persi, He thought. Poor thing has probably had no luck loosening that robber’s tongue.
****
Persi sat straddled atop the robber, the man’s arms cuffed awkwardly to a vertical length of bar attached to the wall of the small cell. His nose bled as did the reopened cut on his forehead, given to him the night before from her partner.
“I have plenty left,” she told the man, cocking her arm back.
She had gained access to the cell by telling the guard she was one of the women frightened by his attack and wanted to face her fears before she began having nightmares. They had secured the man, Gerald Haskins, to the wall of his cell before supplying an extra chair and ushering Persi in. She tried to get the guard to leave by telling him that she had read the cure would not be as effective if she weren’t alone with her attacker. When he stood firm, she offered him a Double Eagle. He smiled and told her he would be right outside, bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
The questioning began civil enough but when Mr. Haskins had referred to her as a female dog and spat at her she decided on a different tactic. Undoubtedly, Boots would take her to task for her lack of restraint and ‘discretion,’ but honestly, she had tried it the other way.
“Mr. Haskins, let me ask you again, what is the real reason you attacked this train?” Persi demanded.
“I told you, you crazy bitch, I ...”
Persi’s punch drove his head back. It bounced off the metal cell wall with a hollow thud.
“All right in there, Miss?” asked the guard from the other side of the door.
“Yes sir, just dealing with my fears as I said.” Persi said.
“Yes, ma’am, but please don’t deal with your fear so well that it creates a mess for me to clean, or a challenge for me to explain.”
“Will do sir, will do.”
Haskins shook his head clear. “I ...”
Another punch and another thunk.
“Hold on,” Haskins whined. “I’m trying to tell you something you crazy ...”
Persi pulled her arm back again.
“Wait, wait, okay ...” She felt his body relax and he sighed. “Get off me and I’ll talk.”
Persi stood. “Well, I’m glad we have finally come to an understanding.” She waited while the man pulled himself to his bed and sat.
“I met these three men back in Missouri. They ...”
“Hold on,” Persi said. “I deplore untidiness.” She pulled a towel from hook over the cell’s washbasin, dipped the edge in water and gently wiped the blood from his face. “There,” she said when she was finished, “now please continue.”
The man’s attitude had shifted substantially, not knowing how to process the absurdity of a woman of obvious means, by the look of her clothes and speech, beating him senseless and then cleaning him up.
When he failed to speak Persi folded her arms across her chest. “Mr. Haskins, please don’t take this simple act of kindness as weakness. I will switch back to my previous mode of interrogation if you give me cause.”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand. As I was saying, I was in a saloon in Missouri, drinking away the last of a stage robbery, when these three men approached me. They was dressed like cattle drovers but something weren’t right. The way they walked, the way they talked, but right then I was too drunk to care. Anyways, they says, ‘Gerald Haskins, we heard you was the best highway man in all the territories, and we would like to sign on with you to rob a landliner.’”
“And why did they think they could rob a landliner?” Persi asked.
Haskins smiled, “I asked the same question and the one named Mel says that he gots this plan, that he’s gots train schedules and it would be easy to do a simple snatch and grab. He says that since I been robbing trains since before there were landliners, I would know how to pull it off. I was still a little on edge when he says, ‘... and we got a Burlington Repeater.’ Then I thinks, Gerald, you ain’t gonna come any closer to a sure thing, and the peoples on them landliners has all got money, so I told them I’d do it.”
“And you did.” Persi said.
“Yeah, well, yeah we did, but at some point I realized that I weren’t in charge, not really. And that there was this other plan going on, a plan I didn’t know nuth’n about. So when they tells me that I should be the first to get into the cars and grab the loot from the passengers, I know they’s leading me down a twisty road, but what else could I do? They put themselves on the track with the gun, the train stops, they go to the mail car, and I climb into the passenger car, then I ‘spects you knows the rest.”
“I do indeed, Mr. Haskins, I do indeed,” she said, standing. “And you have no idea what their real plan was?”
“No ma’am. They was all secretive ... ‘cept one thing I just remembered.”
“Yes, Mr. Haskins?”
“They was talking one night about after the ‘Florida test was complete,’ one of them, Sam I think, says, ‘It’ll be much cooler in the Rockies.’ Then Mel gives him the death stare and changes the subject. You think that’s where they was gonna hold up? Seems a long way to go to hold up.”
“Very interesting, Mr. Haskins. You have been very helpful, in the end.” Persi opened the door a
nd turned. “Good bye, Mr. Haskins, I hope you get out of this without being hanged.”
After he had shut the door, she thanked the guard.
“Get all that fear out of you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I believe I did,” she winked, brushed out skirts with her hands and strode away to her berth to freshen up before meeting Boots in the dining car.
Chapter 5 – Pinkertons’ are Discussed, Moonshadow is Lost
Boots seated Persi and asked the server for menus. Once they had ordered, he turned to look her over. “I suspect, by your change of gloves, you may have used your usual methods of discretion.”
“Why I have no idea to what you may be speaking, Mr. Beacon.” Persi said.
“Hmm, yes, more importantly, will our dinner be interrupted because of your method of discretion?”
“My love, when I left, Mr. Haskins, his bleeding had stopped and he had been spiritually purified through the confession of his sins.”
“Ahh, well, far be it for me to interfere with your religious endeavors.” Boots said.
“And Master Moonshadow, what did he have to say?” she said, redirecting his focus.
Boots began to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of their soup course, potato with kale. When the waiter had gone, he spoke, “There was a package, a ten-inch ceramic ball. The mailroom clerk was nervous about it, and locked it in the safe. It was either coming from or going to someone the clerk referred to as, The Duke.”
“Interesting.” Persi said, then placed a spoonful of cream of mushroom soup into her mouth. “This soup really is divine. Did you see the ball?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t think of asking. I assumed it was still in the safe since the robbers failed to open it.”
“I think we should verify it is still secured.”
“Yes, dear, quite correct.” Boots said. “Oh, and Robert Pinkerton is onboard with several of his men.” he said smoothly before spooning some soup himself. “You are right this soup is very ...” He stopped speaking when he saw the expression on Persi’s face.
“Oh, dear, have you decided the soup is not up to par?” he asked coyly.
“You know very well I am not thinking of the soup, Mr. Beacon,” she said.
He tilted his head and offered an insincere smile. “More crackers perhaps? Or are you ready for the salad course?”
“Robert Pinkerton is on this train? Not just Pinkerton agents but Robert Pinkerton himself, the son of the founder?”
“Well,” he looked back at his soup, “I have not confirmed it but Master Moon ...”
She slapped her spoon to the table, causing several faces to swivel. “You know I mustn’t see him. I don’t know what I might do should we cross paths.”
“Well, my dear, I believe the answer is nothing. You will do nothing.”
“Nothing?” Persi’s voice rose suddenly, startling an old man seated at the next table and causing him to drop his spoon into his own soup bowl.
“Persi, calm down before we are asked to leave. I have a stuffed quail coming that I have heard is ...”
“Horace Randolph Bosworth Beacon the Third.” Persi said in a failed attempt at a whisper.
Boots grimaced, both at the use of his full name, and that its use meant his wife was on the verge of an explosion of volcanic proportions. He needed to deescalate her quickly which was unlikely given her present momentum.
“That, that, poor excuse for a man,” she continued, “attempted to ruin my father three years ago, the pressure of which caused my mother to leave him, leave us, and move back to Vermont with her family.”
“Persi, he was accused of selling meat to the South during the war.” Boots said, then regretted it.
“Allegedly, Boots, allegedly. After their investigation was completed, they had found no hard evidence my father had done anything illegal. Not a receipt, not an invoice, nothing, but did they recant their accusations? No sir, they -- did -- not.
“It has taken three hard years for my father to regain his reputation, and even now, Mother still will not correspond with him. And, unless you have been living in a cave, you know the war is over. No sir, I have no feelings for Mr. Pinkerton other than hate.”
After meeting and developing feelings for Persi, Boots looked into the accusation and knew there was indeed reason to believe Mr. Shuttleworth had sold train carloads of beef and pork to the Confederacy in Missouri. However, he was just as sure no politics were involved. Having met her father, he was confident the man was only considering the profit.
He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. It was hot and vibrating and she jerked it away. “My Heart,” Boots said in a soothing tone, “I understand, and will not try to talk you out of these emotions, except to say that we are on a case and should we ‘cross paths’ we must be professional, only as far as is needed for our mission’s success.” He took her hand again and when she tried to pull it away, he held tight. “Persi, I must insist.”
Persi looked up and saw he was not only speaking to her as her husband, but also as her partner agent. She relaxed. “I ... I understand, please forgive me for my outburst and harsh words.”
Boots smiled and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. “You are forgiven your volume, and your words, but there is no need to forgive the love and loyalty you show for your father. He is a blessed man.”
A tear rolled from her eye and she smiled softly. “As I am a blessed woman, husband.”
His smile broadened and he dipped his head in thanks.
The salad arrived minutes later, followed by the main course, a quail stuffed Turkish style, with rice and herbs. The wait staff delivered an aromatic chicken dish to Persi, the recipe reported to have come from India. The fragrance was so overwhelming the other guests were now looking at their table with acute culinary interest. These dishes were a consequence of the recently established relationship with India and Arabia, and Morgan Landliner’s decision to hire chefs from those nations.
After their meal, Persi retired to their sleeper, while Boots sought out their young conductor-in-training. He met a conductor along the way and asked for direction to Junior Conductor Moonshadow’s location.
“I believe he is asleep sir, since he has the night shift in a couple of hours. I could wake him if you feel it’s important.”
“No, it is nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Thank you.” Boots said.
Since he was close to the mailroom, he decided to ask questions of the mailroom clerk. When he arrived, the clerk was just locking the door.
“Excuse me sir,” Boots said.
“Yes, sir, what might I do for you?” the clerk answered.
“My wife heard there was a rather handsome object d'art you had locked in your safe, and she is interested in seeing it if possible,” he said in his most formal and pompous Bostonian accent. “We have a manner on Nob Hill, and she thinks this would be just the thing for her parlor.” She held out his hands in a circle while indicating size. “It is a round ceramic knickknack with a foot to keep it from rolling. I’m sure you know the one of which I speak. Might I see it, just so I can describe it to her, and perhaps you could tell me what merchant sells them?”
The clerk looked nervous. “We have nothing like what you are describing, not that I know of.”
“Really?” Boots asked. “I have it from young Master Moonshadow you placed it in the safe yourself.”
“Well, sir, I don’t like being called a liar. If you’ll step in, I can confirm to you that I have no such, ‘knickknack.”
He unlocked the door and ushered Boots back into the mailroom. With a smooth twist of the tumblers and a turn of the wheel, the door opened. There were many bags, boxes and envelopes, but no ceramic ball.
“Interesting, I owe you an apology my good man, and something for your extra trouble,” he said flipping a coin at the man who caught it and pocketed it without looking.
Persi was asleep by the time he arrived back at their ca
bin, the wear of emotions he suspected, so he dressed, slipped into bed, and was asleep within minutes.
****
After breakfast the next morning, Persi and Boots went for a stroll on the outside observation deck. He saw the young conductor he had spoken to the night before. He had a dark demeanor and looked tired.
“Excuse me, young man. Do you know if Master Moonshadow is up and about at this time?” Boots asked.
“Oh, sir. I am sorry if he was a friend of yours. Conductor Moonshadow could not be found last night after his shift was finished. We believe he must have fallen off the train. We have aethergraphed the closest towns and asked them to send out search parties but as you can see, the fall is substantial, and at these speeds there is small chance he would have survived.”
Chapter 6 – Aboriginals Attack the Journey
The attack on their landliner came early afternoon as the Journey wound its way south and east. The Journey slowed as they left the southern Dakotas, allowing a large herd of bison to thunder across the rails. The observation cars were packed with passengers watching the hundreds of great beasts, many weighing a ton or more.
Only a couple of years after the war, and before the success of the landliners, the smaller trains speeding across this same route would have been packed with men who had paid to shoot the huge animals for sport. This stopped when the Joint Aboriginal American Tribal Counsel petitioned congress, sighting the “Acknowledgement of Tribal Lands Act of 1790,” when the rights of the native peoples were formerly acknowledged by the newly formed United States government. George Washington himself had pushed this piece of legislation, having made many connections with the indigenous American people during his early days of surveying.
Though the “ATLA law,” as most people referred to it, allowed for cultural differences, made room for hunting lands, and accounted for a tribe’s nomadic movements, there were still some small aboriginal factions that did not want to share any land, nor make any concessions. Occasionally, a sub-chief convinced a few hundred tribe members they could ‘be the people they were destined to be’ and they began attacking settlements ... or landliners.
The Lightning Lord Page 4
