Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  Gideon nodded as he chewed. “You ready for this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Cassidy replied without hesitation.

  “You're quite confident,” Gideon said.

  “It's not confidence, it's knowing that this is my only choice. I could never allow myself to simply forget about George and Anna. I will not stop. Since this is my only choice, being afraid or hesitant just... I just don't do it.” Cassidy paused for a moment, chewing quietly. “Honestly, it's probably just stupidity. An intelligent person would be terrified.”

  “No,” replied Gideon quickly. “I think you were more right the first time. An intelligent person is only afraid when they don't believe. I'm fighting for something good, here. I'm afraid of failure, but not what I face.”

  Cassidy looked away in thought in the dark car. “If that hadn't made me feel so good about myself, I'm sure I'd find a way to refute it.”

  “Are you kidding,” replied Gideon. “There's no way to refute me. I'm right about everything.”

  “Like Roger?” asked Cassidy, half-joking.

  Gideon sighed. “He fooled everyone. Everyone. Even the department needs to be open to some degree. I'm sure that Harker will cause doors to lock that shouldn't be locked as everyone goes through panicked convulsions, convinced that more betrayers are in their midst.”

  Cassidy finished her bar and picked up another out of Gideon's bag. “I don't care that they taste like a cow pie. I'm eating another.”

  “To tell you the truth, the Department has been changing regardless of Harker. I suspect that mechanisms that had already been churning will simply turn faster now.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Cassidy.

  “Oh, the magnitude of the distrust. I made friends with some old souls and they talked about the days before the war and the diplomacy of the age. Back then, people lied, but you knew what they were lying about it. There weren't agencies dedicated to spying. It's almost like there were rules for communication and engagement, where gentlemen would talk to other gentlemen in a room and everyone knew where everyone else stood. That's changing. Motivations are less clear. No more rooms full of gentlemen.”

  Cassidy was thinking as Gideon spoke. She shook her head. “That's a good thing.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Gideon.

  “Because,” replied Cassidy. “Yes, gentlemen in rooms followed rules and drank brandy and smoked cigars and all that good stuff, but the little people are the ones who lost loved ones, land, and money. The rules only applied to the gentlemen. Do you think some cotton farmer in Virginia cares about the finaglings of some bureaucrats? No. He doesn't. But he's the one who gets fucked after all is said and done. If the world is changing where the bureaucrats get fucked now and then, I think that's a good thing.”

  Gideon gave Cassidy's words some thought. He blinked rapidly and looked out the window, gazing at the moon. “Maybe,” he said. “It's scary, though. Those rules kept people acting in... I don't know... in ways that were somewhat predictable. In a chaotic world, it was nice that at least something was predictable.”

  “That was undoubtedly the motivation behind their rules: giving the illusion of control over a world that is fundamentally chaotic.”

  “Funny thought, coming from she who would conquer all.”

  “Oh, the world can be conquered, just not with rules. Rules are an illusion. You conquer the world by reaching out and grabbing it and forcing it to do your bidding.”

  Gideon just nodded as he unwrapped his second food bar. “What's your plan for Houston?”

  “I... don't know,” replied Cassidy. “The journal's measurements will only really be useful once we get to the city. I think we just play it by ear and shoot anyone who gets in the way.”

  “Business as usual, then.”

  “Yes. Oh yes. Especially Harker. I am going to put so many goddamned bullets in him. I'm going to shoot his cock off, slit is throat, and shove it down into his stomach.”

  “There's an image.”

  “That arrogant son of a bitch. Sitting there, in my office, stealing information. I want to see him die.”

  “I think that you will have to fight Jebediah for the opportunity.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Jebediah may be able to kill for a mission, he may be able to kill in defense, or for some sense of righteousness, but I don't think he can do it for revenge. I can see it in his eyes. I think that's why he missed back in El Paso. He was five feet away from the guy, but he missed. At the last moment, he flinched. No. Jeb's not a killer. He has secrets, but he's not a killer. He's... too much of a good man.” Cassidy nibbled her food bar. “That's why I'm going to do it for him. So he doesn't have to.”

  “A good man? I'm surprised to hear you say that.”

  “He's stupid. He's naïve. He infuriates me with half of the shit he says. But at his core, I think he's a good man... he's a good man.”

  “Am I a good man?” asked Gideon.

  “No. You're horrible. I mean, in all honesty, kill yourself.” Gideon pretended to cry quietly. “Oh yeah. Cry you little baby,” said Cassidy with a smile.

  Jebediah lay on the bench facing away from them, his coat under his head as an impromptu pillow, his eyes open, listening to their conversation.

  ---

  The morning sun was glowing over the horizon as bird calls filled the still air. The expanse of southwestern Texas extended out around the train as it rumbled over the bridge crossing the twinkling San Jacinto River. Cassidy's head bobbed back and forth as flickers of golden light fell upon her eyes. She slowly, sleepily, opened them to see Jebediah standing in the cabin, adjusting his coat and shirt, his hair still wet from a quick face bath in the car's washroom. She opened her eyes and lifted her self up from her resting position against Gideon. Jebediah looked at her and smiled. “I was about to wake you two,” he said quietly.

  “We're in Houston?” she asked, groggy.

  “No,” he replied. “Just outside of it. There is a risk that the train stations in Houston being monitored. We will stop outside of the city. I have transit waiting for us.”

  Cassidy yawned. “Why didn't you mention this earlier?”

  “Honestly? I simply forgot. I arranged for it when I sent the telegram back in Houma. We're likely still a day ahead of our reinforcements, but we will have friends, make no mistake.”

  The train jostled, causing Gideon to tip over slightly. Before his body completely went down, he awoke and lifted himself up, his eyes wide. “What's going on?” he asked.

  “Assassins in the hallway. Be quiet,” said Cassidy.

  “What?!” Gideon hissed, unsteadily awake.

  Cassidy smiled. “I'm kidding. We're about to leave.”

  Gideon came down from the shock, sighing in annoyance. “You... urgh.” Cassidy smiled and patted him on the shoulder as he pressed his face into his hands.

  ---

  The train steamed and hissed as the trio disembarked from the car and onto the simple platform. No one was there to get on and only a single, sleepy porter stood by the ticket counter, talking with the attendant. At the bottom of a ramp was a black carriage drawn by two horses with a well-dressed, portly, middle-aged man with ruddy white skin standing by it.

  “Secretary Ames?” the man asked.

  “The same,” replied Jebediah, walking toward the man with his hand extended. The two shook hands. “It is very good to see you,” said Jebediah. He put his hand on the portly mans shoulder then turned to motion toward Cassidy and Gideon. “And these two are the ones you've undoubtedly heard about. This is Cassidy St. Claire of St. Claire Industries.” The portly man nodded and shook Cassidy's hand. “And this is Gideon Atwater, our senior man on the West coast.” Gideon smiled, confused, looking at Jebediah as he likewise shook the portly man's hand.

  “It's a pleasure to meet all of you. My name is Peter Nichols. We best be away since we will be taking a roundabout path to get into the city. Precautions and all.” Everyone nodded in agreement and entered t
he carriage.

  ---

  Cassidy and Gideon sat on one side and Jebediah and Peter sat on the other. They jostled with the carriage as the clip-clop of the horse punctuated the dust and rising sun. “It's a true pleasure to meet you, Miss Saint Claire,” said Peter. “It's hard not to hear of your exploits in our business.”

  “Well, I will take that as a compliment,” she said.

  “As you absolutely should,” replied Peter. “Many men get into this sort of work thinking they will spend their days on harrowing adventures, but the reality of the world is much more mundane. Perhaps more important and significant, but still mundane. May I ask why you've never had someone write about you?”

  “You mean follow me around to chronicle my life?”

  “Yes. Indeed.”

  “That's a funny story,” said Cassidy as she chuckled. “I was angry after some publishers told me no one wanted to hear about the violent antics of some whore. But another publisher convinced me otherwise. I was only twenty... seven, at the time, so I loved having my self worth inflated. On our first trip out, it was to this big mine in the mountains where they were using water to dig up gold. My company had helped work on a water pump and it kept failing. Combined with some rather violent bandits coming out of the mountains, the situation was difficult. So, the usual assortment of gunfights ensued, the writer who was tagging along got shot three times, then he got blown up, then he got set on fire, then he nearly died in a landslide, then we found out that the pump was failing because some locals were sabotaging it because they didn't like the damage it was causing.” Cassidy trailed off in thought.

  “Did the writer die?” Peter asked.

  “Huh? Oh!” replied Cassidy. “No, that's the funny part. He took some punishment. Didn't die though. Made out of metal, that one was. No, he fell in love with one of the women who had been sabotaging the pumps and ran off into the woods with her. Now he thinks I'm evil and belongs to some group of farmers in Los Angeles who makes trouble for me.”

  “You seem in good spirits about it,” said Peter.

  “Of course. They're just people who fight progress. There will always be people who fight progress. But you can't stop it. It comes.”

  “Yes, but they did stop water mining, didn't they?” asked Gideon.

  “Yes, at least there they did,” grumbled Cassidy. “Against my recommendations. We were digging California itself out of those mountains. Anyway that we get it, we should get it. I don't understand anyone who gets in the way.”

  “Not everyone hates the way things are,” said Jebediah.

  “They're not looking hard enough,” said Cassidy.

  “Or maybe you don't know what they see,” replied Jebediah.

  Cassidy glared back at Jebediah, moving her tongue around inside her cheek as she thought.

  ---

  The Carriage rattled up in front of the brick building. The foursome looked out through the small windows. “Alright, Cassidy, we have a dress and bonnet under your seat,” said Jebediah.

  “What? Wait, why am I getting into costume?”

  “Unfortunately, Cassidy, you're not doing us any favors when we try to be discrete. These guys are like ghosts. You, on the other hand, are a giant fiery titan charging about in a craze. You can be spotted a mile away. Dressing like a traditional lady will keep you hidden as we walk into the building. I promise that you can take it off as soon as we get inside.”

  Cassidy grumbled. “Good idea,” she said as she looked up and down her body, still grumbling. “Er, oh for... will I have to get out of all this?”

  “I don't... think... so,” replied Peter. “You'll look a little bit lumpy, but it should all fit.”

  “Alright,” Cassidy said. “Help me out, here.”

  The carriage shook back and forth as the sound of struggling emanated out. After a few minutes, the four, followed by a lumpy-looking Cassidy in a plain, gray dress stumbled out of the carriage.

  “I change my mind. This was a terrible idea. I look like an idiot.”

  Jebediah inspected her. “Actually, it's not bad. You look like you have... tumors?”

  “Oh for shit's sake, get inside,” she ordered, pointing across the wide, wooden walkway into the building. She held onto Gideon's arm for balance as they walked in.

  Inside the building was an office that bustled with activity. “The Secretary is here!” yelled out someone as everyone came over to greet Jebediah. He shook hands and said hello as Cassidy immediately started to take her dress off. Everyone stopped to stare at her. She also stopped and stared back.

  “What?” she asked. “You ain't never seen a woman taking off a costume before? Jeez.” The men all looked on, surprised and puzzled as Cassidy's rugged leather and suede clothing emerged from the demure, gray dress. Cassidy hopped around on one leg as she tried to free herself from the dress as Jebediah tried talking. Gideon started helping her.

  “How many men?” asked Jebediah.

  “About thirty,” replied the office manager.

  “Excellent,” said Jebediah with a smile, as Cassidy and Gideon continued to make a racket behind him. “You should be commended for getting so many men here so quickly. Hopefully we will have that number doubled by tomorrow or the next day. What other news?”

  “Nothing yet. Based on your telegram...” he continued speaking.

  “Maybe rip the dress?” asked Gideon as Cassidy was propped up on a wall with Gideon pulling the dress down.

  “No. I need to keep it intact. We may need to go around the streets and I'd rather stay discrete.”

  “Good lord, how did we get this on in the carriage?” asked Gideon as he tugged on fabric.

  “Why didn't we come here the first time?” asked Cassidy.

  “What?”

  “Our first time through,” she continued. “Why did we go to that weird club house instead of coming here?”

  “I... I don't know. Would you like to ask?”

  “OW!” yelled Cassidy. “You pinched... something! A kidney, I think.”

  “Well what the hell do you want me to do? Cover you in butter?”

  Jebediah walked over. “Do you want help?” he asked.

  “No... no,” Cassidy replied. “I'm good. What news?”

  “They have nothing,” Jebediah replied with a sigh. “They have been investigating the city for the past 30 hours. Nothing. Not a man, not a building, not a machine. Nothing.” Cassidy finally extricated herself from the oppression of the dress and straightened herself. “Our best bet now is you and that book. We have a dark room ready.”

  ---

  The group stood in the darkened room, dim light coming in from the partially open door. “Here we go,” said Cassidy. She opened the book and brushed her hand over the pages, causing words and diagrams to dimly glow. She then held the book near Peter Nichols. “Can you give us a location based on this set of measurements?” she asked.

  Peter nodded as he looked. “Very easily. And you won't like my answer.”

  Cassidy's face fell with annoyance. “Why?”

  “Well, his street names are a bit old, but if that's the intersection of the two bayous there,” he said, pointing to a crude map glowing on the page. “Then that's southwest and pretty much straight down main street. As far as this map is concerned, the fountain should be just down the road from us. And we inspected all of the buildings. We found nothing.” Cassidy sighed and grumbled as she leaned on the table, frustrated.

  “Are you sure?” asked Jebediah. “Please, look again. Cassidy, do you mind?” Cassidy nodded, picked up the book and rubbed her hand over a number of the pages. Peter than looked over them all.

  After a few minutes of inspection, and the glow subsiding, he placed the book on the table. “I'm even more sure of it, now. This would place it right next to the Opera house.”

  “Perhaps it's underground,” said Gideon.

  “I doubt that,” said Peter. “You don't have to dig too far to hit bedrock around here. If the water
of life had been percolating out of the ground, half of Houston would be immortal.”

  They all stood there in silence. “So,” Cassidy finally said. “A dead end.”

  “No,” replied Jebediah. “Not entirely. We have the entire journal to analyze. And we must assume that he found the fountain. He was able to write the journal with ink made from its water.”

  “Or he just pulled water from the goddamned bayou,” replied Cassidy.

  “Regardless, I don't think this is time for despondence. It is time to redouble efforts.”

  “That is very easy to say,” said Cassidy. She sighed before walking over to the wall, grabbing a chair, dragging it over to the table, and sitting down. She then took the journal, rubbed it with her hands, again illuminating the pages, and handed it to Peter. “Let's get to work.”

  ---

  The sun hung low in the late-afternoon sky as clouds gathered on the horizon. Houston bustled with activity as carriages and people wandered up and down the various streets.

  Cassidy had her head in her arms on the table, her explosion of red hair flowing out over her forearms. Peter and another man stood by a chalkboard with various diagrams and maps drawn on it. Cassidy was snoring lightly. Gideon walked in with a mug in his hand and made eye contact with the two men, then looked down at Cassidy. He pointed at her.

  “She's been asleep for the past two hours,” said Peter. “After everyone cleared out to canvass the area, it got rather quiet and out she went.”

  Gideon stood by her and patted her lightly on the shoulder. She lifted her head quickly. He handed her the mug. “Coffee,” he said. She nodded and took the mug, sniffing and then sipping it. “We should get something to eat,” said Gideon. Cassidy nodded and sipped her coffee. “I asked someone about that water mining that you mentioned in the carriage. He says that they're actually expanding the operations. What happened to you was localized. Just thought you'd like to know.”