Not that she was not upset about Mike, far from it, she had liked the big fellow, but, “If you go putting your neck in a noose without me again, nephew, I swear I’ll let Little Ruckus pepper your backside!”
“Yes, auntie,” I said. Spike and I met Mini just as she came out of Hammerstein’s Opera House at Thirty Fourth Street. We had gone to our hotel at Fifth Avenue Hotel and Twenty Third Street across from the Dewy Arch to change (with me borrowing clothes for the large Angus from hotel staff) and then come to meet Mini.
“I heard tell of a good place near here to get victuals from a gent at the opera; a new restaurant over on West 36th Street,” Mini said.
“We can eat at the hotel, Auntie,” I said. “We have a lot to tell you-“
“You mean Keens?” Spike said. “It’s five years old. But Mike brought me here a couple of years ago when he got back from Egypt. The food is good.”
“Aye, “ Angus agreed. “You can have your porterhouse steaks, and such at other places; but nothing compares to Keens mutton chop.” He smacked his lips as he envisioned the feast to come, “ It is a saddle of lamb, nearly 2 inches thick!”
“Well, there you go,” Mini said. “I have all the votes we need, nephew.”
So we walked as a group across town to the Herald Square Theatre district. It was a brisk night, but not cold and there were others from the opera that also chose to walk so the streets were full of other strollers. We talked as we walked though I was glad that Angus still had his coach gun beneath his coat.
I knew that Aunt Mini didn’t care about the conditions, but apparently the New Yorkers were inured to the rough conditions of the streets as well.
As we walked Min and Spike chatted and my aunt embraced the girl
as a long lost daughter with the two of them were soon conversing as if they had known each other for a lifetime.
It made me all the more heart sore that Mike was gone. And Nenetl. Especially Nenetl.
At the restaurant we were escorted to a private table where we took Angus’ suggestion and ordered mutton chops all around. The room was thick with pipe smoke but somehow it added to the ambiance of the place, the rich, aroma enhancing the food.
Aunt Minerva ate, as usual, like someone twice her size but Spike was not far behind in consuming the meal. Angus and myself ate with gusto but were no competition to the ladys’ appetites. I had a young red Bordeaux with Lamb, but Mini, as usual opted for whiskey. The Scotsman followed her lead while Spike opted for soda water.
Conversation was casual for a time but eventually we told Mini the full story of what had happened with the Djinn. Such was my aunt’s personality that I had no trouble assuring the other two that she was the soul of discretion.
“Land’o Goshen, Bathsheba, pumpkin,” Mini said to Spike when our tale was concluded. “That sure is a powerful lot of decisions you are responsible for, girl.”
“I know, Lady Camden,” Spike said. “It makes me reluctant to use this new found power at all; yet I feel that it is somehow a gift from Mike. I can’t waste it.”
“I understand, pumpkin,” Mini said. “A girl needs to value gifts in this world and hold her own.”
After dinner Mini produced her corncob pipe and lit up, and Angus took advantage of Keen’s offer of a clay pipe that was brought all the way from the Netherlands and then offered to register the pipe for Angus to use in further visits. All around pipe boys wandered from table to table to keep guests pipes clean.
Spike and I both abstained from smoking as it was a vice I never acquired despite Mini’s ‘evil’ influence on me.
After desert Mini convinced the pair to join us at our hotel for a time and, like old chums, we took a hansom to Twenty Third Street.
Mini would not let the other two leave until we four sat down to first a game of whist with Mini and Spike against Angus and I and then a number of hands of poker at which Spike proved to be something of a card sharp. We played till well past the midnight.
Spike told stories about Mike and I kept telling tales of Nenetl. Mini regaled us with stories of my Uncle Tolliver and her adventures touring with the wild west show.
When the two had finally left it was with a promise to join us the next afternoon at the Mexhican Embassy for the ceremony for Nenetl.
When they were gone Mini turned to me. “Well, nephew,” she said. “Ain’t life a hoot? You just never know what it will bring. I like that little Spike gal.”
“Yes, Mini, “ I said. “She is Mike’s sister, all right; but I am not so sure about life being a hoot—It seemed that just when I had found a reason to be—a purpose—“
“Now don’t go on about that jaguar again, nephew. I miss her too, though I am sure no where near at much as you do.” Mini, who had traded her plumed hat for a dealer’s eyeshade while we played cards adjusted it and took another puff on her corncob. “But you have to keep on; I wanted to die when Tolly was taken from me, but I knew then and I know now that he would want me to keep on being the person he fell in love with. You owe that to her.”
She let her words sink in before she added, “I ain’t met a man anywhere on this planet near half to match my Tolly, Athelstan. Trust me, nephew, if I could have brought him back, or if I could have changed places with him I would have. But that just ain’t; the way of the world. Honour Nenetl by being the man she fell in love with.”
“Thanks Mini,” I said.
After she went back to her room I sat for along time in deep thought pondering her words but the phrase that kept coming back to me was “if I could have brought him back, or if I could have changed places with him I would have.”
“Is it really the way of the world, Mini?” I said aloud after a time. “Is it?” Then I went to sleep and dreamed of Nenetl.
Chapter Forty-Three
Ceremony and Acrimony
Centre Street’s Embassy Row in lower Manhattan was two blocks west of City Hall. There were embassies from half a dozen European countries, including Albion, along with one from The Mexhican Empire and several that housed smaller countries or confederations, such as The Iroquois Confederacy sharing a building.
The Aztec homeland was represented with an elegantly carved edifice on Broadway. The front of the three-story building had images of Aztec deities and legends carved on it and was painted in bright colours that made it stand out from the stone of the buildings around it.
Spike and Angus, both dressed in their finest, she in a corseted purple gown and he in full Mackintosh kilts, met us at our hotel at midday. Mini was in a blue and gold, the Camden family colours, with another large, multi-plumed hat. I wore my full Horseguard’s Uniform with my Victory Cross and various ribbons of accomplishment with the beaded necklace I had been given by The Council of The Iroquois for my actions in the Crimea. I wore it all to honour Nenetl, as I felt a bit that such boasting was gauche and a bit of an insult to the fellows who did not make it back from the fray who I considered a sight more brave than myself.
The four of us went by open carriage to the Embassy ceremony for Nenetl. And, in truth for my induction into the ranks of the jaguar society to follow.
As we debarked the carriage in front of the Aztec hall I saw a delegation of Iroquois approaching and recognized one of them. It was the Mohawk named Orenda that had been the guard outside Juice Martin’s saloon. I did not like the expression on the man’s face.
“You three go inside,” I said. “I will follow in a moment.”
The others nodded and proceeded into the embassy, greeted by two jaguar guards. I turned my attention to the approaching group of ten.
Orenda was in the lead. He looked heroic in his full dress regalia, a straight, muscular figure of a man. But I was concerned with I realized his attitude was as serious as if he were decorated for war with face paint.
“Greetings, Orenda,” I said in his language. I knew that the Djinn had taken the memory from him of what had actually happened in Juice Martin’s office, but he did remember I had asked for entranc
e to the club and I had a sudden concern that would be enough for him to be angry. I was right.
“Akweks,” he said. “Word has reached us of the honour to be bestowed on you from the People of the Jaguar.”
“You do me honour to attend.”
“No, Akweks,” he said with genuine regret I his tone. “I have come to challenge.”
I nodded. “I suspected as much; I regret that my involvement with you lead to the death of the woman you were charged to protect; there was no intent to cause you distress and when I entered I had no idea she would die. This I tell you true.”
“You have brought me shame.”
“And I am shamed for doing so; but it was necessary for the sake of my charge; Bathsheba Ellenbogen.”
We stood, a few feet apart with the rest of his party standing back a good five feet and forming a semi-circle around us.
“My honour must be satisfied,” the Mohawk said.
“I know.”
We stood for a long moment.
“I know you are here to honour the jaguar,” he said. “That which is ours can wait until that honour has been given.”
“You honour her memory,” I said. “But know that Lord Chichua plans to induct me into the ranks of the Jaguar Clan after her honouring ceremony is complete. If that happens before we meet in challenge it will be the clan you fight; so I will absent myself from that honour that we may settle our challenge personally for your sake; they have had no part in what I had to do.”
“You are honourable. This is good to know. It shall be as you say.”
With that the Mohawk stepped back into his group and I turned to walk into the embassy. There were several jaguar guards posted inside the door in full ceremonial regalia, their perfect bodies and colourful garb made them seem like statues of pagan wargods come to life. I felt a deep pang of loss that I would never get to see Nenetl so dressed.
Mini met me just inside the door while Angus and Spike were standing nearby chatting with some other guests.
“What is wrong, nephew?”
“Nothing, Mini.”
“Road apples, boy, I know you.” She put a hand on my arm. “It is more than this ceremony.”
No getting anything past my aunt. I told her what Orenda said.
“Tarnation,’ she exclaimed and I saw her reach for Little Ruckus that I knew she had hidden under her gown.
“No,” I said, staying her hand. “He has the right; I abused his faith in me by lying to him.”
“But you had to get into that Juice lady’s place.”
“I know; but it was still a lie,” I said. “Such a thing means a lot to a man of honour.”
“You can’t fight him.”
“I have to, Mini.” I smiled to try and dissuade her wrath. “Didn’t you say that no Grey ever runs from a fight?”
“But we don’t stick our head in a hornet’s nest either, nephew.”
We were in the entrance hall of the embassy now where a number of gaudily dressed guests, gathered. The air was heavy with incense and the sounds of flutes and drums came from deeper in the building.
Lord Chichua and Lady Tozi approached. Both were dressed in multi coloured finest with long feathered capes and high, dark headdresses.
“Lady Camden, Baronet Grey,” the Mexhican said. “It is our honour to greet you to this sacred soil of our homeland.”
I introduced Spike and Angus to the pair and we were led into the centre of the crowd. I spotted Orenda and his group entering the foyer and join the gathering throng of what seemed to be near a hundred. I spotted Eagle as well as Jaguar warriors, dignitaries from other tribes and Ambassador Smythe-Jones from Albion whom I had met briefly once, years ago. It made me proud that so many were there to bid Nenetl farewell.
“Friends of Baronet Grey are welcome here,” Lord Chichua said. “Come, we are prepared to begin the ceremony of commemoration.”
We followed him through into a large ballroom or meeting hall that had been decorated with many bright jaguar symbols, banners, flowers and icons of the skeletal Mictlantecuhtli, the Aztec God of the Underworld and ‘patron’ of the Jaguar Clan.
In the centre of the room was a stone sarcophagus where-in lie Nenetl.
I stopped in the doorway, my heart caught in my throat and I fought back tears.
“She looks so tiny,” I whispered.
Mini grabbed my arm.
Nenetl was dressed in barbaric splendour; a translucent gown in pale yellow that was embroidered with many symbols of her clan status and family. There were flowers arranged around her within the stone sarcophagus and around it. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she looked as if she were just sleeping. I half expected to she her take in a deep breath and sit up.
“Athelstan,” Mini whispered with pain in her voice as well. “You okay, nephew?”
“Yes, Mini,” I said. “I—I just-”
“I know, Athelstan. Stay strong.”
We moved to the side of the hall where chairs had been arranged for the guests. We were escorted to a place of honour in the front row.
Orenda’s delegation took up a place at the back of the viewing area, his face an unreadable mask.
“My friends, family, guests and my people,” Lord Chichua began, “ We have come to honour she who is the best of all the Aztec peoples have to offer. This warrior of the Clan Jaguar who died defending my own person and the integrity of our empire, Nenetl of Coyoacan made a willing sacrifice, freely given. She embraced Mictlantecuhtli with no thought to her own well-being.”
There was chanting now and pipes playing a haunting tune that seemed to intertwine with the flower incense that was all about us in the room. Lord Chichua walked to the head of sarcophagus and laid his hands on the stone above her head.
“She did only what a warrior sworn to the Clan Jaguar was expected to do,” he continued, “yet to say ‘only’ is not to make it less.” Then he did something I did not expect, he looked up directly at me. “But while I saw her on more than one occasion unleash the fury of Mictlantecuhtli against the enemies of the Empire I also saw one who is not of the Clan Jaguar who was also prepared to give his all with Nenetl.”
I felt Mini sit up a bit next to me and I looked over at Orenda who looked at me with an intense stare.
“This is not supposed to happen now,” I whispered. Mini elbowed me.
“The Baronet Athelstan Grey of the Albion Empire,” Lord Chichua continued, “ was as prepared as Nenetl to sacrifice for myself and my wife with no less a commitment than our jaguar.”
The ambassador walked over to stand before me. “So here, before the warrior who has passed on, whom he fought beside and in an action I know would be her wish and will honour her, for this man who was willing to die with I, Chichua of Coyoacan, with the powers invested in me –“
I had to stop the investiture or I was sure that Orenda would think I had lied to him again so held up a hand and I started to rise to speak but a voice from behind me interrupted Lord Chichua.
Chapter Forty-Four
Questions to be Asked
Orenda’s voice was powerful, yet calm as he said, “Lord Chichua, please forgive this interruption but I must speak at this time on the man that is called Akweks by my people whom you know as Baronet Grey.”
I stood.
“Who speaks to interrupt this ceremony?” Lord Chichua said, formally.
“I am Orenda of the Heron Clan of the Kanien’keha’ka.”
I started to turn toward the Mohawk.
“I know Akweks,” Orenda said. “I speak for I fear he would decline this honour; it is known he a humble man and--” He looked directly at me-- “And an honourable man.” He let his sever features soften into a smile. “I would add the voice of the Heron Clan to his praise and tell him of our joy that, through him, who is a brother in combat, we will now be brothers to the Clan of the Jaguar.” He stepped directly to me and held out a tomahawk.
“You do me great honour,” I said with both shoc
k and amazement as I accepted the gifted blade.
“It is clear to me now, as I am sure to many that are a man of honour, Akweks,” he said. “I give this to you in token that we of the Heron Clan of the Kanien’keha’ka know you would never do intentionally anything to bring dishonour; now you are our brother and brothers never have need to quarrel.”
“I am touched beyond words, Orenda.” I held the shaft of the tomahawk to my forehead. “Such honours are almost more than one man can comprehend. I thank you, brother.”
I held out my hand and Orenda grasped it.
Somehow my actions had convinced the Mohawk I had been truthful with him and his sense of propriety would not allow him to proceed with his challenge. Somehow I felt the hand of Nenetl in the providential outcome of it all.
I glanced over and saw that Mini had her hand down by her skirt and I was sure she had her hand on Little Ruckus. When she saw me looking she smiled.
Lord Chichua, who had watched the exchange with the Mohawk now spoke (and I am sure with some understanding of the dynamics of what had just occurred), “There is joy in my heart that Baronet Grey is also honoured by the people of Kanien’keha’ka.”
He stepped backward toward the sarcophagus and waved to sycophants who brought out a jaguar skin cloak with an elaborate feathered collar. “Come forward Baronet Athelstan Grey.”
I handed the tomahawk to Mini and stepped forward.
The flute music and the drums both increased in tempo. I was motioned by the noble to kneel. He produced a crystal baton and inscribed symbols in the air over my head.
“Before all here and all who are,” Chichua intoned, “Here I invest Athelstan Grey as Yaotl of the Clan Jaguar.”
The jaguar cloak was placed over my shoulders and the crystal baton was touched to my forehead.
“Rise, Yaotl of the Clan Jaguar, brother warrior to all and defender of the Aztec Empire.”
The room erupted into cheers from the spectators and war cries from the Jaguar and Eagle warriors who were present in the room. Loudest of all was the “Wahoops!” from Aunt Mini.
Gaslight Magick Page 19
