Addleton Heights

by George Wright Padgett

  I was certain that the commotion was beginning to draw unwanted attention from neighboring windows.

  Finally, it seemed that she’d tamed it, and the carriage sputtered fitfully down the street. The sound of engine strain was constant. There was a suspicious noise of unseen metal gear teeth gnawing away some sprocket or rod.

  She proclaimed in a loud voice over her shoulder, “See, I told you I could do it! The system of dials and activators are not the way I would’ve designed it, obviously, but I’ve got it figured out now.”

  “Obviously!” I yelled back, trying to remember if the gurgling had always been that loud.

  I had to admit that taking Montague’s carriage did give us two advantages: first, we’d reach the compound a lot sooner than by riding connecting bassel routes, and more importantly, we’d enjoy free passage through the municipal district. Even if Hennemann hadn’t told his boss I’d abandoned him, there was the real possibility that he’d posted an alert for me in the few sectors that required identification for admittance.

  I did my best to get comfortable against the wall of the carriage for what I decided would be my absolute final ride in a deathbox on wheels.

  Twenty-Five

  By the time we’d turned onto the half-mile access road to Montague’s compound, my nerves were in shambles. I did my best to block from my mind the many unfamiliar knocks and gear-stripping noises that rang out in the back of the carriage. I remembered my early debate with Hennemann about the water tanks exploding from too much pressure. I thought it was a very possible end to our outing.

  Even without the imminent threat of being scalded to death, Janae’s driving was as haphazard as the tail of a kite on a windy day. I shouted protests when the carriage swerved or jerked so sharply, it felt as if it would topple over. After a mile or so of constant veering, I resigned to not speak at all, hoping my silence would help her concentrate.

  I promised myself I’d ride a bassel back home should we survive our little scheme.

  We approached the compound. “Look at it, Kip!” she shouted over the noise while pointing at the front pane of glass. “It’s huge! I mean, Jimmy described it to me, but . . . words don’t come close.”

  I couldn’t see it from the back, but I knew that she was referring to Montague’s massive floating home. I hollered from the back of the carriage, “Remember to head for the sentry tower when we get close! It’ll be a narrow, two-story brick tower next to a big stable. Once we get there, I’ll get out and talk to the guard, but you stay inside. He’ll know something’s not right if you get out and Hennemann doesn’t.”

  She agreed, but her attention had drifted to the gleaming airship on the left side of the road. Since its hangar was docked at street level, I could see the mammoth dirigible swaying softly in the breeze. It was no surprise that the fabric outer membrane of the craft was the traditional green, yellow, and blue of the Addleton Heights flag. The passenger gondola attached beneath looked spacious enough to host a game of croquet.

  My stomach did flips as we slowed to the guard booth. Whether it was luck or that Janae’s operating skills had improved, the carriage came to a smoother stop than I’d expected.

  “Remember, if anything goes wrong, meet at the Scuff & Bib pub in the south sector,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I popped out of the back and hurried around to block the view of Hennemann’s window. Trudeau approached with a clipboard under his arm.

  “Trudy, am I glad to see you.” Which was the honest truth.

  “Hello again, Detective Kipsey.”

  Eager to leave the area before being found out, I snatched the clipboard from him.

  In the distance, the sky bassel to Montague’s reflected the early afternoon sunlight. If Trudeau did what we said, there’d be no waiting. We’d climb aboard the sky lift and be in and out of the study in no time. I offered my best poker-faced smile as I signed in.

  “Who’s that with Mr. Hennemann?” he asked, attempting to see past me into the driver’s side window.

  I tensed but tried not to show it as I moved to block his view of Hennemann propped up in the cab.

  “Oh, let me introduce you,” I said. Firmly steering him around the front of the carriage to Janae’s side, I opened the door.

  “Trudy, this is . . . uh . . .” My mind went blank. “You see, this is Mr. Montague’s niece. Her name is—”

  “Mary Elizabeth,” she offered in the nick of time. “Mary Elizabeth Rachel Montague.”

  I exhaled and moved behind the guard so he couldn’t see me. Motioning for Janae to offer her hand to him, I kissed the back of my own in example.

  She caught the gesture and did so gracefully. At least she seemed to have a cool head about her.

  “You’re Mr. Montague’s niece? Are you helping Detective Kipsey on a case?”

  I watched her tense up and felt the breakfast in my belly turn somersaults. This was it. Everything hinged on what happened in the next few seconds. Could Janae sustain the bluff or would she fold and toss her cards to the center of the table?

  “Oh, heavens no,” she said. “I’m sure that whatever the detective is working on, he can handle all by himself. These two gentlemen were nice enough to pick me up from the airship depot this morning.”

  “Well, I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Montague. I wasn’t aware that Mr. Montague had any living relatives.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m very much alive,” she said in a breathy voice.

  “Why, yes, miss. Very true.”

  “New Pennsylvania!” I blurted out, causing him to turn my direction. “She’s from New Pennsylvania.”

  When he turned back to face her, I motioned for her to slide over. She caught on and shifted to block his view of Hennemann. Janae spoke in an exaggerated, extended drawl that I feared he would instantly see through.

  This Mary Elizabeth character thing was getting more and more out of hand, but it did distract him from the corpse in the front seat. “Why, yes, sir, I’ve lived there all my life. And now I’m coming up to visit my dear Uncle Alton to ask him if he will allow me to hold my wedding in his courtyard in the sky. Don’t you think that will be the most beautiful thing ever, a wedding in the clouds? That’s what we’ll have the engraver print on the invitations.”

  Where did the wedding idea come from?

  She repeated the phrase “wedding in the clouds” at the same moment she adjusted the top of her corset. She had him like a canary in a cage.

  He awkwardly asked, “So are the two of you—”

  “What, Kip here? No, silly,” Janae said, laughing as she playfully swatted his shoulder. “My man is a land baron named William Theodore Gillespie IV.” The accent grew heavier and the syllables stretched out until they were nearly indiscernible. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  I jumped in. “Trudy, doesn’t she need to sign in?”

  Janae grimaced, confirmation that she was enjoying her performance much more than she should be. I knew that the longer we spoke without Hennemann saying anything, the more likely the ruse would collapse.

  “Trudy, Miss Montague would like you to do a favor for her.”

  “If it’s in my power, miss,” he said, his eyes glued on her as she scribbled the ridiculously long name on the sheet.

  “Miss Montague wants to surprise her Uncle Alton. Mr. Hennemann and I thought it’d be nice if you didn’t telegraph up to him that we were coming.”

  He thought on this for a second and tried to lean into the cab to address the dead man. “Mr. Hennemann, you know Mr. Bailey’s got rules.”

  “I want to ask you a question, Trudy,” I said, slinging my arm around his shoulder like an old chum. “Do you know who can wake a king at 2:30 in the morning for a glass of water?”

  The question landed my intended effect. He was dumbfounded. But I let him off the hook quickly. “The king’s child, of course. And though Mr. Montague isn’t royalty, it works the same way here. The rules
for you and I are different than for Montague family members. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said without hesitation. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Good man. Then telegraph Bailey, but convince him that he must keep it a secret. No one else can know.”

  “Surely it won’t hurt just this once,” Janae added in a sultry voice that captured even my attention.

  I quickly shook it off. “Right, so go ahead and tell Mr. Bailey. When we get up to the top, I’ll have Miss Montague wait in the bassel, and Marcus and I will tell Mr. Montague’s manservant what’s going on.”

  Trudeau rubbed his forehead in contemplation.

  “I’ll take full responsibility,” Janae said. She lifted her hand as if swearing in a courtroom.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt, since you’re related and all.”

  “That’s a good man!” I exclaimed, patting him on the back. “Hey, I have a favor you can do for me.” I was already maneuvering him back to the guard station, careful to block his view of the carriage driver’s seat.

  “Oh yeah?” Trudeau asked. “What’s that, Mr. Kipsey?”

  I was nearly pushing him along now. “Remember those cigarillos from the other night? I’d like to get another one of those from you if you got it to spare.”

  As we stepped to the porch of the sentry booth, I motioned for Janae to drive to the bassel.

  At the sound of the carriage stripping gears to get into drive, Trudeau turned to get a better look. “Where are they going?” he asked.

  I spun him back around. “Oh, Miss Montague plans to be here until Founder’s Day, so she brought a lot of luggage—two trunks of lady things, dresses, parasols, and the like. You know how upper-class ladies are. Anyway, Mr. Hennemann wants to drive up as close to the bassel launch as he can so he doesn’t have to drag the trunks through the snow.”

  “I should help him,” he said with a furrowed brow. “It’s my job to load luggage for guests.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Trudy. I can help Marcus.” My mind raced to find words that would ease Trudy’s anxiety about neglecting his duty. “Hey, do you remember the other evening when you offered to give me a tour?”

  “Of course. Do you want that now?” His countenance was already softening, allowing me to breathe a little easier too. It was working.

  “Not at the moment, but in an hour or so, I’d like to bring Mr. Montague’s niece back down here and have you show us everything.” It was a lie so evenly delivered, a politician would display it on the fireplace mantel.

  Trudeau’s face lit up at the prospect. “Yes, sir. I’d enjoy doing that. I think Mary Elizabeth Rachel is one beautiful woman.”

  I hadn’t expected that, and it made me laugh. “Trudy, are you sweet on her?”

  He averted his eyes, and I suspected his face was flushed. “It’s just that I ain’t never seen a society woman from New Pennsylvania.” He handed me a cigarillo from the box on the small table. “Are they all like that? You know . . . like how she is?”

  I ran the tobacco under my nose and inhaled its sweet aroma. A wave of relief rushed over me—the ruse had worked despite Janae hamming it up.

  “Trudy, I can assure you that there is no one quite like the woman you just met—no one, not anywhere.” Turning for the door, I added, “I’ll bring her back down for the tour.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.”

  Twenty-Six

  I briskly walked out of the sentry booth, feeling Trudeau’s eyes on me. I restrained myself from bursting into a full-out run.

  In the distance, Janae had parked the steam carriage in the spot the crates had occupied during my first visit. She motioned to me to hurry as she ascended the bassel platform.

  I was dumbfounded to see the steam carriage empty. Moving closer to the vehicle, I saw that Hennemann had been pushed over onto his side in the front seat. I was hopeful that my dead-body-touching days were over.

  I tucked the cigarillo in my pocket, and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what would befall Trudeau. I’d been so preoccupied with duping him that I hadn’t realized that our scheme put him in harm’s way. He would be punished and possibly killed for letting us through.

  I decided to let him in on what was going on when I came back down with Nelson’s ledgers. Once he saw the proof, he’d understand why we’d tricked him, and more importantly, he’d agree that he should flee the city to avoid Montague’s wrath. Had I brought the two airship tickets, I would’ve given him one, but they were in the file cabinet in my office.

  I met Janae inside the bassel. “That was good thinking, putting Hennemann on his side. You have to be close to the carriage to even notice the body.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks, but he kinda slumped over that way on his own.” She reached past me to slide the door shut. “What took you so long in there anyway?”

  “I had to make sure he bought our little act. All we need is for him to get a little nibby and sound some kind of Charon alarm.”

  She tensed up. “Charon . . . up here?”

  “Technically, they’re not called Charon, but I saw a patrol skiff hovering around a couple of nights ago. Don’t worry, though. Trudy swallowed it whole. In fact, I think he’s got schoolboy eyes for you. Although we’re going to have to—”

  I was about to activate the lift handle to begin our trip up to the compound when Janae jumped up from her seat. “Wait, do you hear that?”

  She stared through the windows at the guard station. “It’s him. He’s coming after us.”

  Trudeau was running toward us, shouting something.

  “He’s waving a gun at us,” Janae said. “Start it up! Start the carrier up and put some distance between us!”

  “How did he figure it out?” I mumbled to myself. “How did he know we were up to something?”

  “Kip, give me one of those guns!” Janae ordered as she slid the door open. “I’m a really good shot. I can get him from here.”

  I ignored her. Something wasn’t right. I exited the bassel in a daze. There was something off about his gun, the way it didn’t reflect the sunlight. And why was he waving it over his head? He certainly wasn’t aiming at us.

  Finally, what he was shouting became clear: Mis-ter-Hen-ne-mann!

  “That’s no gun,” I said, running to the snow-covered ramp of the ferry. “He’s got a cigarillo.”

  “A what?” Janae asked from behind me.

  I could kick myself for not asking Trudy for two of them.

  I shouted back to her, “He’s bringing tobacco to his boss! He thinks Marcus is in here with us.”

  I wasn’t going to make it in time.

  It was all over—he’d seen the body peeking up over the dashboard in the carriage.

  “Aw, shit, Trudy,” I said, crunching through the snow beneath my boots.

  I tried the worst bluff I’ve ever attempted. “Trudy, don’t wake him! He wanted to take a nap.”

  He looked at me as if in a dream and slowly reached for the handle of the door. We were only thirty feet apart. “Trudy, no! Don’t . . . he’s only sleeping.”

  The door swung open.

  The sounds of Janae coughing and the dress swishing as she ran behind me told me she was close.

  Trudeau closed the door softly and stared at me with a confused look of hurt and betrayal. I stopped five feet or so from him in case I needed room to draw on him. As I caught my breath, I prayed he’d listen to reason and just leave this place.

  He shook his head slowly. “You lied to me, Mr. Kipsey.”

  Hennemann’s pistol was as heavy as an anvil in my hand. “Yes, Trudy, I did lie. There are things that have happened within the last couple of days . . . things that have made the situation extremely complicated.”

  Janae, short of breath, took her place beside me. Between coughs, she said, “I really, really hate wearing this dress.”

  “Trudy, I believe you to be a good man, and I don’t want to shoot you, so let’s take it easy here and talk
through some things.”

  He thrust the cigarillo intended for his boss at me and then toward the corpse in the carriage. “You lied and said he was sleeping, but you knew he was dead. You killed him. Why should I believe anything from you?”

  “I know, just hear me out. Yesterday, Marcus tried to molest—”

  Janae stepped up. “We don’t have time for this shit.”

  There was the all-too-familiar click of Rodger. I cringed.

  “Whoa whoa whoa!” I said, holding my hand up. “Let’s just wait a minute here.” I placed myself in front of Trudeau. “Janae, he hasn’t done anything.”

  “Yes, and I want to keep it that way.”

  I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the sparks crackling at the end of Rodger. “Janae, put it away. This man had nothing to do with Jimmy.”

  “Mr. Kipsey, I think that Mr. Bailey needs to know about—”

  “Shut up, Trudy!” I shouted over my shoulder, eyes still locked on the device clenched in Janae’s hand. “I’m trying to save you here.”

  Janae took a step forward. The cumbersome dress restricted her movement. Otherwise, I’m certain she would’ve tried to get past me to him. “We can’t just let him go,” she snarled.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I said.

  She let out a guffaw. “You’ve got to be out of your mind. He’ll alert the whole sector that we’re here.” She took another step toward us. “I am going up to Mr. Montague’s, and not even you can stop me.”

  “You’re right, I can’t stop you from going up there, and I don’t want to, but I can’t let you shock him. Don’t you see what we’ve done? When Montague finds out he let us in, he’ll have his neck in a noose.”

  I studied her face but saw no indication that I was getting through. “Janae, he’s in the same fix I’m in—there is no failing Montague.”