“Have you heard anything from Haven Street?” Clay asked Hark.
She shook her head. “We received some very important refugees from that neighborhood, but they didn’t tell us anything about Rabbi Holtz.” She pointed to a small door in the corner, the same pale color as the wall. It could have been a servant’s entrance. “They’re downstairs. I think they need to talk with you. But no, we haven’t heard anything from Haven Street.” She stared at her boots, suddenly showing some fear. “I’m worried too.”
“Why would the Dagger Men attempt to assault Haven Street?” Dr. Cutte asked, in genuine confusion. “They are all of the Hebraic persuasion, are they not? Why should there be dissension among the Hebrew set?”
“The Dagger Men are a very peculiar breed of Jew, doctor,” Silver explained. “They’re absolute nuts, and they say any Jew who doesn’t subscribe to their particular brand of Judaic insanity is a heretic. They probably see Rabbi Holtz as a horrendous traitor indeed, for his, ah, extralegal activities, and the questionable nature of his rabbinic status.” She glanced apologetically at Harvey. “No offense meant to your father, Harvey.”
“No, I understand,” Harvey said. “I’m just worried about him.” He glanced at Hark. “What about Miss Sarfati? She was supposed to meet us here?”
“I’ve got some good news there.” Hark slung the repeating crossbow over her shoulder and moved to the door in the corner. “Zipporah made it here a few minutes ago. Some Tong hatchetmen spotted her taking on a Roman patrol on the edge of Chinatown. She handled those skeletons in her usual style, then they brought her here.” She gave the door a set of rapid knocks, and called in Chinese. Clay and his friends assembled behind her. “She’s downstairs, and I bet she’ll be eager to see that you’ve safely arrived.”
“Hospitality from the Tongs,” Dr. Cutte mused. “Seems like something out of a pulp magazine.”
A Tong hatchetman opened the door and nodded to Hark. He wore a traditional Chinese robe and his fedora shaded a face covered in straight, pale scars of a bladed origin. An assortment of sharp weapons and pistols rested on his belt, ready to be used. He stepped aside, allowing entry to a few stairs winding into a basement. This had to be the underground casino that Zipporah had helped guard for Sapphire. Hark led them down the shadowed steps.
The stairs seemed to lead into another world. The Ghost Brothers Tong—the most powerful Tong in the city—knew that American gamblers wanted the mystery and romance of the Orient, and they had gone out of their way to create an appropriate setting. Potted cherry blossom trees rested in the corner, while silken screens created a maze of booths for private games. Everything seemed red and gold, from the ornaments dangling down from the ceiling to the statues of Chinese gods and warriors overlooking the games. A set of roulette wheels occupied one part of the room, a bar occupied another corner, and the rest belonged to card tables topped with red felt. The place looked very large—a cathedral of gambling—but seemed mostly empty.
A dozen Tong goons reclined around the bar, smoking and talking in quiet Chinese as they prepared knives, pistols, and rifles. But the more important guests occupied a mammoth, round card table at the center of the room. The De Brothers—the triplets who controlled the Ghost Brothers Tong—sat at one end of the table. All three portly brothers wore matching white suits and scarlet bowties. They had varying degrees of hair, and the same calm, intent look in their dark eyes. Sid Sapphire stood across from them. In his dark tuxedo, he looked like some kind of shadowy opposite of the De Brothers. Sapphire puffed smoke from his cigarette holder, and looked even more unhappy than usual.
They weren’t alone. Kid Twist Deutsch leaned against a table near his boss, idly spinning the roulette wheels and listening to them whir. He had shed his suit coat, revealing twin automatics in crossed shoulder-holsters. A bandage covered his nose—perhaps an injury he had received in protecting his boss after the Dagger Men took over. But Clay’s attention turned away from Kid Twist, and moved to Zipporah. She had been examining the Ghost Brothers Tong’s arsenal of weapons, laid out on a long table near the back, but turned away from the various guns and blades and hurried to join Clay, Harvey, and the others.
She embraced Clay, and then did the same to Harvey. “Clay! Grand to see you.” She beamed at Harvey. “You’re okay, child? I had the devil of a time getting here. The Dagger Men patrols are everywhere in the city, and I had to fight my way in. Was it the same for you?”
“We had a little difficulty getting Dr. Cutte,” Clay said. “But not too much.”
Dr. Cutte swept off his hat in another dramatic bow. “Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Clay. You were the very picture of heroism.” He beamed up at Zipporah, as if expecting her hand to extend so he could kiss it. “And how are you, my charming Miss Sarfati? Still a fiery fighter, I take it?”
“Stand up, Dr. Cutte. You look like more of an idiot than usual.” She pointed to the table. “You can join our discussion. Sapphire and the De Brothers are deciding what to do.” She glanced at Harvey. “We haven’t heard from your pop, child. I suppose you can represent him at the meeting.”
“Maybe represent Haven Street as well,” Hark agreed.
“Me?” Harvey asked. “Represent my father?”
“Who could do a better job?” Sophie asked. “Come on, I’ll sit next to you.”
“You better join them too, Clay,” Zipporah added. “You’ve got a rather unique perspective on golems, after all.”
They walked to the large round table and sat down. Clay and Zipporah joined them. Dr. Cutte sat across from Clay’s friends, and tried not to look uncomfortable at Sapphire and the De Brothers’ curious stares. Silver and Hark stood a bit back, overlooking the meeting, and ready to help—but they didn’t truly represent a portion of Sickle City. Clay supposed that he didn’t either, but he was a golem. Sickle City was a golem city now, and his expertise would doubtlessly be needed.
Sapphire looked them over. “Mr. Clay. Miss Sarfati.” He gave them polite nods. The De Brothers did the same. “I want to welcome you to the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association. I’ve talked with the De Brothers and they agreed to offer sanctuary. We can use this place as a kind of headquarters. Put together a force.” He paused. “And take back the city from these Dagger Men buffoons.” He gripped his cigarette holder tightly, almost snapping the thin tube. “They’re worse than goo-goo reformers. Worse than the Prohibition Agents. Worse than the goddamn temperance marchers. Their golems and legionaries have taken down all but a few of my speakeasies and trashed my liquor warehouses. They regard me as a threat, and they’re acting accordingly. We’ve got to take this city back.”
The De brothers nodded in unison. “They will come here soon,” the brother on the left explained. “To try and stop us. We must stop them first.”
“We’ve met some of their skeletons and forced them back,” the De Brothers on the right added.
Dr. Cutte nodded. “I’m sure Madam Gracie and all the residents of Hogshead Street feel the same way, and I hereby dedicate my services to—”
“Clay.” Sapphire’s voice went low. “What’s a schwartze doing here?”
Silence filled the table. Clay rested his hands on the red felt surface. “Mr. Sapphire, Dr. Cutte helped us escape from Hogshead Street. He is an expert on magic. We’re going to need help to repel the Dagger Men.” He pushed back his chair and came to his feet. “They captured me, sir, and I saw how they took over the city. They carved holy words into the Founding Stone, and turned all of Sickle City into their golem. They can summon more golems at will, and use untold power to bring about more destructive spells. All of Sickle City is endangered by the Dagger Men. All of Sickle City must rise against them. Dr. Cutte is here because we need him. It’s as simple as that.”
Zipporah cut in. “That means reaching out to everybody, and letting them send someone here, so we can plan some kin
d of attack on the Dagger Men.” She tapped the table. “When I was in the Levant, during the War, the Turks had modern weapons and vehicles, vast armies, and command of all of Mesopotamia. T.E. Lawrence fought them with carefully coordinated attacks from hundreds of desert tribes, all working in concert. That’s what we need to do here.” She counted on her fingers. “The Italians in Campion Street. The Irish. The policemen, striking or not. Maybe even the US Military, if they wise up and send some men to help. We’re gonna need them all.”
The middle De brother finally spoke. “The swordswoman is right. We will need them all.” He faced Sapphire. “We have traded in contraband, but now we must become something more. We must be allies, and the same to every gang in Sickle City. Do you understand?”
“I suppose I do,” Sapphire muttered.
Kid Twist walked over from his place by the roulette wheels. “So we all join together. One big happy family. What then? You said it yourself, Clay—the Dagger Men control the city. How the hell are you gonna win against an outfit that has the town itself fighting on their side?”
“We can stop them,” Harvey said. “We can erase the letters on the Founding Stone. That’s what stops a golem, and that’ll stop the golem that the Dagger Men made.”
“But won’t it just destroy Sickle City, then?” Sophie asked. “Won’t everything just collapse?”
Silence followed her words. Harvey shuffled in his seat. “Not if we do it correctly. But I need some of the books in Haven Street to help. Also, a rabbi has to do it—and I’m not a rabbi. My father could be the one to stop the spell, though. I know he could.” He smiled. “So we need to go to Haven Street and get him.”
“Might be difficult,” Sapphire said. “The Dagger Men have taken it over completely. Haven Street and the park are their main strongholds.”
“So go at dark,” the De brother in the center said. “And during the day, rest and send out more messages to our allies and gather our strength.”
“I’ll see if I can get word to Madam Gracie,” Dr. Cutte suggested. “I know she’ll do anything to protect Hogshead Street.”
“Very well.” The De brother came to his feet. “The meeting is over. We will go and tell our men of the plans. We wait until sunset.” His brothers left the table as well, and headed to the assembled Tong hatchetmen by the bar.
Silver stood next to Harvey and her daughter. “A good plan?”
“The best one we got,” Zipporah explained. “Do you have any places we could stay, Miss Hark?”
Hark pointed to some doors in the back. “Guest quarters for friends of the Ghost Brothers. I’ll show you to the rooms.” She led Harvey and the others to the back rooms, while Clay stayed at the table. He didn’t need to rest, but he was glad that his friends got a break from the action. Dr. Cutte remained at the table as well.
Dr. Cutte stood and approached Clay. He offered his hand. “You spoke up for me in the meeting. I appreciate it.” He had abandoned his refined way of speaking. “I know what you are, Mr. Clay. I’m not an expert in matters of golems, like your young friend, Harvey—but I recognized you easily enough. It’s heartening, in a way, that a lump of earth could learn to overcome some prejudice. If you can, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us as well.”
Clay took his hand. “Maybe.” He thought of the anti-Semitic mob which had attacked Haven Street, and the racially-motivated riots on Hogshead Street and Chinatown. The Dagger Men were the same way—they let their hatred of Goyim fuel them, and it had given them total control over Sickle City. “I hope so.”
“I’ll see you later, Mr. Clay.” Dr. Cutte stood up and set his top hat on his head. “We’ll lick the Dagger Men. Don’t you fret about that.”
He ambled away, walking past the Ghost Brothers’ gambling equipment as he followed the others. Clay stayed behind, watching Sapphire and Kid Twist talk quietly about what underworld allies they needed to summon. Clay didn’t care much for Sid ‘the Shark’ Sapphire, and Kid Twist terrified him. But they could help against the Dagger Men. That was all that mattered, and there was something Clay liked about that grim finality. The battle had left the shadows and gone into the open. It was the perfect sort of fight for a golem like Clay.
~~~
As the sun set red over Sickle City, Clay and Harvey stood on the roof of the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association and looked over their town. All day, messages had been going out from the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association to various criminal groups throughout the city. The phones occasionally worked, but mostly just blared strange Hebrew prayers from the speakers, so Sapphire and the De Brothers used runners and notes to summon their friends. They had gotten word to some of the striking cops, including Detective Flynn. The Italians of Campion Street had been summoned as well, and several Mafia capos and representatives of various Black Hand gangs showed up with agreements to help. From Haven Street, there was still no word. The Tong runners couldn’t get close. Harvey fretted, growing more worried as the hours ticked past, and he still hadn’t heard from his father.
Now, they stood together on the roof and stared into the distance. The Benevolent Merchantman’s Association had a decent size, and let them look across the Cut and to a section of Arcadia Park—though two skyscrapers cut off some of their view. Even from a distance, Clay could see the work going on in the park. Trees had been cut down. Statues and gazebos had been smashed. A fire pit added a warm orange glow. The Dagger Men’s slaves slept on the grass, when they weren’t working endlessly on some vast structure. Golem guards and full legions of skeletal Romans stood watch.
Harvey used a pair of Zipporah’s binoculars to look at the park. “They’re building something, Mr. Clay.” He lowered the binoculars. “It’s the Temple—they’re going to try and rebuild it here. I think it’s only supposed to be in Jerusalem, but they made Sickle City a Second Jerusalem, so I guess they figure that’s okay.” He shuddered. “They want Judaism to change to the way it used to be, back when Judea was powerful. I guess they want to have a priesthood, or something.”
“With Rabbi Eisendrath at its head.” Clay balled his hands into fists. “We’ll stop them. I know we will.” A dark shape fluttered overhead. Clay thought it was a Broxa at first—and then saw the gray feathers. The carrier pigeon swooped down, moved in a spiral around him, and then landed straight on his shoulder.
“Why’d he land on you, sir?” Harvey stared at Clay in amusement.
“He’s a friend.” Gently, Clay picked up the pigeon, and examined the speckled feathers, and the single, remaining eye. “I know this bird. His name is Hermes, after the messenger god.” He reached to the pigeon’s foot, where a small metal canister waited. Clay removed it, opened the case, and unfurled a small line of writing. “This is my commanding officer’s prized pigeon. He must have recognized me.” He showed the message to Harvey, and they read it together.
“Colonel Menelaus Montgomery Rook,” Clay said. “He’s coming here.” The message had not been meant for him—but for anybody who happened to pick it up. It urged them to keep fighting, as the United States was not going to let Sickle City fall to the Dagger Men. Clay held Hermes in his palm. He could write back, and tell Colonel Rook their plans. It would be good to see his former commander again—though Colonel Rook always scared him a little.
“The military’s going to help? Under your commanding officer?” Harvey asked. “That’s swell.” He smiled—for the first time since the Dagger Men had taken the city. “We’ve got a chance, Mr. Clay. We’ve really got a chance.”
“Yeah,” Clay agreed. He hoped they did. “Come on. We’ve only got another hour, and then we’re going to Haven Street.” They walked downstairs, ready to return home.
Chapter 8
DEALS WITH DEVILS
As soon as night fell over the troubled city, Clay, Zipporah, and Harvey made their way to Haven Street. Their forces had been g
rowing in Chinatown for most of the day, with messages running throughout Sickle City in every clandestine manner, and men and women streaming back with the combined goal of resisting the Dagger Men. The Italians came from Campion Street, Black Hand thugs with their drooping moustaches and sharp black suits and thin knives, along with younger mobsters representing the homegrown Mafia Families. Madam Gracie and her Negro gangsters arrived from Hogshead Street, ready for action. Some of the striking police officers, including Detective Flynn, managed to make it to Chinatown as well. Without any negotiation, they seemed to have put aside their desire to strike. Their city had fallen into the hands of madmen, and they had more pressing matters to deal with. The De Brothers and Sapphire welcomed them all. They gobbled down Chinese food, gambled in the casino, loaded their weapons, and waited. Clay knew that they would make their move soon—but first, he had to ensure the safety of Rabbi Holtz.
The cover of night helped Clay and his friends as they snuck across Sickle City. They took a small smuggler’s coracle down the Cut, the oily green waters turning silver in the moonlight, and then left the canal and went in on foot. They passed through empty streets, the occasional burned-out, gutted, or looted building, and ruined cars and wagons resting in the center of the road like broken toys. Clay moved first, doing his best to keep his large form silent. Harvey followed, shivering and shaking with nervousness. Clay didn’t want to bring him along, but he knew they might need the boy’s knowledge. Zipporah brought up the rear, a scimitar in her hand. Together, they made their way to the back of Haven Street.
An old, recently-abandoned tenement provided entrance. It overlooked Neptune Row, the poorest section of Haven Street, and it offered a fire escape leading to the upper floors. They made their way up the spidery steps, which creaked and shifted in the wind. Harvey needed a little help scrambling up the ladders, and Harvey and Zipporah gave him assistance. They reached the third floor and entered an apartment.
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