by Jeffrey Cook
Once more, with hindsight on the day, I am glad to say that for once my expectations and first impressions were proven quite correct. I was growing somewhat tired of so consistently misjudging people, even if they have been some of the most unusual people I have ever encountered. Giovanni Franzini, in his own way and for his talents and contacts may be an unusual and even exceptional man, but if so, he is exceptional in precisely the way he seems to be.
We watched his show with amazement. Eddy, in particular, seemed quite taken with the entire thing, but most particularly the dancing girls, which did not seem to discomfit him nearly so much as it did myself and Sir James. Mr. Toomes, as is his tendency, managed to sit through the entire spectacle of actors, tumblers, jugglers, dancing girls, and the finale of the magic act without giving any hint that he enjoyed any part of the show, or more to the point, that he disapproved of any piece of it any more than any other.
We were directed to the saloon floor and a particular table when the show had finished, there to wait for Mr. Franzini. Mr. Toomes waited there, while Eddy spoke with one of the showgirls, and more than a few of the working girls attached to the saloon approached both Eddy and especially Sir James, seeming drawn to him like they could smell money. Sir James comported himself like a perfect gentleman, of course, while Eddy did not leave with any of the women, but nor did he seem to discourage their attentions.
I fell somewhere in between the two, somehow. One of the girls approached me with offer of her services, whereupon, of course, I told her that my interest lay elsewhere. Somehow she convinced me to buy her a drink while I told her all about my dear, sweet Cordelia. She seemed to find the entire romance quite endearing, and stated just that often, appearing enraptured by the conversation until such time as her employer told her to get back to work.
It was about this time that a young man appeared in the saloon. I would not have noticed him, save that that section of the saloon which I had learned most often housed its regulars went quiet, as did the piano at his entrance. The latter, more than the former, drew the notice of many others, but not all. A couple of the local toughs gave the boy a wide berth, but the boy sat at one of the tables, ordered a drink, and the quiet chaos that is an American frontier saloon began once more in earnest as if nothing had happened. I put it from my mind quickly, for shortly after that Giovanni Franzini appeared from the back.
He and his assistant were directed straightaway to Mr. Toomes's table. He held up a hand, indicating he did not need my help in this one, and he spent considerable time speaking with the pair of them. Both the woman and Mr. Franzini became quite animated some time into the conversation, and at last, Franzini stood up and quite loudly declared that he did not need that kind of help and he had plenty of money, abruptly dismissing Mr. Toomes, who looked particularly cross at this reaction and rudeness. Franzini excused himself, stating that he was missing a card game, at which point he headed towards a game which had begun already, at which the youth I had mentioned previously was seated.
Unsure if I should at this point attempt to help, or simply be glad that we would not be getting the kind of help Mr. Franzini might be, I just watched while Mr. Toomes stewed. As Mr. Franzini was introducing himself to the dealer and taking a seat at the table, the magician's assistant approached, and shortly after her, one of the large, powerfully muscled and well armed men associated with the show moved that way as well. The assistant, now dressed slightly more practically, but quite akin to one of the saloon's working girls, attempted to rest her hand on the youth's shoulder, in much the manner the local working girls approach those men they think might have money and interest in their services.
I began to see the scheme developing: she was the distraction yet again, just as on stage, and between them, they were going to take advantage of everyone at the tables, including this bare-faced boy who they had targeted as a mark. And should anyone have difficulty with them leaving the table with their pockets freshly filled, then the show's burly laborer would discourage any outcry. I now am quite certain I understand precisely how Mr. Franzini achieved such notoriety, so many who felt he owed them a significant sum, and yet no charges had been officially filed. And with his skills as a magician, who could say how many other means he used to cheat those who saw his coin on the table and thought they might pocket some of it.
Except this time, the plan was met with what they had to regard as an oddity. As soon as the dark woman's hand was laid on the youth's shoulder, it was brushed away. I remember the words, in part for the oddest accent I think I have ever heard. “I have a deep and abiding disregard for whores.” It had the pacing of American Southern, slow and distinct, but the rich smoothness of European French or Spanish. And then there were elements to his speech that I could not place. Only a few words, but with a cadence and pronunciation like none I had ever heard.
The woman was as stunned as I, but had a biting response, sounding almost hurt. I can imagine that in a place such as this, her advances were not often brushed off, and certainly not so abruptly. “You don't like boys, do you?” she could almost sound like she was spitting, with the Eastern European sharpness coming out through the fading hints of a more refined Italian tilt to her voice. At the insult, the room around them stilled. I am uncertain if it was my imagination, but I thought some few of the regulars made certain they were not near the table.
Suddenly quite worried, I found myself searching the boy for a gun, for I have heard the tales of Americans and their affinity for firearms, such as their pride in their riflemen, and was sure that some surely had the same pride in their pistols. Some few notable duels have certainly been fought on these shores, after all. To my surprise, I did not find one. Instead, the youth had several knives. One in each boot, one to either hip, and a fifth at the base of his back, such as other men carry pistols. Despite this oddity, Franzini and his companions were too engaged in the perception of easy marks and a lot of money on the table to take any notice.
The young man took no obvious offense, beyond a derisive snort, replying simply, “Only thing appealing about boys is they ain't whores.” Julietta, having quite enough, stormed off despite Mr. Franzini's initial attempt to grab for her arm and protest.
Shaking his head in anger, Franzini turned back around to face the table. This much of what happened next I remember. “Well, that was unfortunate. Shall we get on with the game, gentlemen?” he asked with a practiced showman's charm.
The three other men at the table and the dealer began to settle themselves in for a game, but the boy remained still, both hands on the table. “If we're to have a game, sir, you and your money are welcome to play. But the four cards up your left sleeve aren't invited.”
The room went cool at that, and all eyes in hearing turned towards the table. There is nothing quite so chilling when among those who take their gambling quite seriously as an accusation of a cheat. Even Eddy stopped his flirtations and took notice, starting to right himself at his chair, while Sir James, still near me, sat quite forward. When those people who take their gambling quite seriously are also mostly armed men of rough tendency and frontier sensibility, that chill grows all the more severe. Franzini knew it, and was, of course, quick with his denial.
The showman was on his game at that. “I'm afraid you must be thinking of my show. I don't bring my tricks to the table. Are you certain you want to call me a cheater, young man?” For the next moment to make any sense at all, I must reveal one of Mr. Franzini's tricks. Normally, I would say regrettably, as to reveal an illusionist's secrets would seem a dire insult. This one time I will make an exception and not feel bad in the least about it. Secreted within his specially made jacket, Mr. Franzini has a very simple mechanical device with spring technology that, with the proper subtle motion would allow him to suddenly produce a small object. In this case, after his shows, when intending to go out into his more lucrative gambling trade and thus expecting trouble, the object for the show would be replaced with a tiny flintlock pistol of little powe
r, but even so, able to be produced and in hand ready to fire within the barest moment. I am certain this device has seen use many times, allowing Mr. Franzini to get the drop on those less than pleased with the results of their games. I digress, but felt the need, should this record ever reach some sort of public consumption, then this device would be necessary to explain the confusion that would result.
“I am not calling you a cheater yet, sir.” his table mate replied coolly, hands still flat to the table, unworried. “I am saying you have four cards insufficiently hidden in your left jacket sleeve. Remove the jacket, and you may play.”
Franzini, of course, would be revealed as a cheat if he did any such thing after so clearly stating he did not bring his tricks to the table, so he could not pretend to have forgotten even, and the saloon would rapidly become a very unpleasant place. Mr. Franzini's hired muscle tensed and began a lunge towards the young man at the table, and Mr. Franzini's arm twitched, going for his pistol. The young man moved. This is where my precise recollection of events ends.
A moment later, the scene had somehow changed entirely. Giovanni Franzini's right hand, now holding the tiny pistol, was pinned to the card table by a knife through the trigger guard, plunged through somehow before the man could get his finger to the trigger, sparing him the abrupt end of his career for lack of a pointer finger. The tip of the blade also caught the end of his sleeve, firmly preventing the man from handling the gun further, or retreating from the table. The young man's right hand was held back, not even looking at the brute who had moved directly behind him, but holding a second knife to the towering man's throat, stopping him midway through his lunge, eyes looking about frantically and all other motion arrested entirely lest the slightest twitch carry him forward onto the knife blade. In that same amount of time, Eddy, with his sniper's nerves and trained reflexes, had precisely enough time to go slack jawed, staring openly. I am unsure if anyone else in the room had reacted in the least. The young man had clearly drawn two knives in time to catch the gun mid-draw, faster than the spring could put it to hand and a finger could reach the trigger, and likewise have another blade in hand in time to stop the assault of Franzini's carnival brute, not an untrained-looking fellow. Even with all the time since to process it, I cannot yet say how. Earlier, I stated Franzini had the fastest hands I had ever seen in my life, and to this evening, that was true, and yet he did not begin to compare.
The boy broke the silence. “I cannot abide a cheater.”
Two saloon girls fainted, Eddy swore viciously in such a manner that Mrs. Fisher would have fainted at. I realized I'd stopped breathing, and forced myself to start again. Sir James swore, albeit under his breath.
“The only reason you are alive, sir, is you are not worth the price of replacing the table.” the young man added, before rising from the table, not even looking back, but backing off Franzini's muscle with the motion, very deliberate. The boy picked up Franzini's money from the table, and tossed some part of it to the others sitting with them before pocketing the rest. Then the boy deliberately drew out Franzini's money from his belt, and likewise distributed it. This was all slow and careful enough, and the young man obviously had quite the captive audience such that no one thought to question it, and most did not even move lest they draw more attention than they wanted at that moment. Among those being very, very still was Franzini himself.
“You are not in Europe anymore, showman. I am a kind and forgiving soul, but plenty of folk you'll find out here might hold a grudge. If any such are in the room, I hope you're ready to give fair accounting of yourself to them.” the teenager added, before pocketing the share of Franzini's money he'd claimed, pulled his knife from the table, in the process sending Franzini's pistol skittering across the table to end nearer the dealer than Franzini himself, and turned towards the door. Enough time had passed that a third woman had fainted, and Eddy had managed to mostly get to his feet, though he'd not yet closed his mouth entirely. Not a man had his gun drawn.
It was at this time that I must say I finally found something to admire in Mr. Toomes and his unchanging demeanor and truly stiff upper lip. For while I was still working on the complexities of making sure inhaling followed exhaling, he was approaching the young man to meet him near the door. This got him a lot of nervous glances, no one daring say a word yet, and the boy staring at him dubiously.
Whatever they said, it was quiet, but the boy seemed amenable to talking with my traveling companion at the least. I had imagined at the time that it was a matter of trying to settle all of this chaos down, for shortly thereafter Mr. Toomes excused himself to have a pipe at the bar with the young man joining him. With the pair having a drink together and speaking in hushed tones, things returned somewhat to normal as all within seemed to have assumed that this new British benefactor had calmed the situation, as occasionally has been done, by buying the young man a drink or two. The one departure from the normal activity about the place, of course, was that more and more eyes turned to Mr. Franzini, and even his fellows from the show had abandoned him to whatever fate he'd doomed himself to by getting caught.
Speaking of whom, the oily man, suddenly looking to me something more like a drowned rat than a fox, now spoke, hopefully, turning his eyes towards myself and Sir James's table after having briefly taken a look around the room.
“Good sirs,” he began, nervously, well knowing how thin a cord his life hung by in a place such as this as soon as anyone had the sense to do anything more than breathe, recover the poor women, and gape in awe, depending on their tendency. “I seem to have found myself short on funds and needing an escort from this place. I believe you had a job opportunity available? I'll work cheap. Grazi.”
I did not know all the conditions of the deal which had been offered, but either Eddy was sufficient presence in his own right, Sir James worked his magic with people, or their names carried sufficient weight even here where there might well have been a number of displaced ex-soldiers that things settled to merely dark stares towards the magician. Franzini quickly agreed to whatever terms might still be offered to him if we could get him and his assistant out of this place breathing and whole. Grasping at a straw, I put out the deal that Mr. Toomes had offered, pretending that I might know its terms, but for half the money. He did not even blink now, agreeing and rushing to shake my hand, with his own shaking in such a manner that I imagined it may be some time before he could perform any of his illusions again.
It was some minutes later when Mr. Toomes returned with the young man from their conversation just outside the door. Mr. Toomes would confirm later that though he was not certain, he had some suspicion of who the youth was, and had thus taken the opportunity to confirm his suspicion and offer the last of the contracts he had been given by our employer.
He approached, the young man side by side with him. Though Franzini tensed up, he received not the slightest acknowledgment.
“Mr. Watts, I am pleased to say that our recruitment list, and with it, my role in our mission, is complete until our employer gives me some further instructions. Sir James, you are in charge now. Allow me to introduce you to the last member of your company,” he said, well aware that we'd added Mr. Franzini to our company already, and his assistant with him.
I am certain I expressed considerable surprise at that, for I well knew the last name on our list. The young man extended his hand in friendly enough fashion, as if nothing else had happened.
“Sam,” he introduced himself. “Sam Bowe.” Dr. Bowe's son.
Realizing what company he and his desperation had consigned himself to, Giovanni Franzini fainted. Julietta Penn didn't move to catch him, or even blink her eyes away from young Mr. Bowe.
(9) More attentive readers will notice a large time gap. The daily journals of the trip from New York to St. Louis are of interest to those interested in early American civics and the 'wild days' of the Daughterland. As such, they have been included in several studies, all published via Cambridge press, with Watts li
sted as a source in the catalog. – C B-W
June 2nd, 1815
39º38''N 89º01'W
Dear Sir,
While yet again not truly at the beginnings of the quest you assigned us, I felt the completion of our traveling group progress enough to be worthy of noting. And already I feel quite well traveled in crossing over the Atlantic by dirigible, and imagining how our boys must have felt near the end of the Colonial War period when these airships were new and unknown to the world.
Likewise for having seen some good portion of the American expansion, traveling from New York City to St Louis, and from there across the mighty Mississippi River to the current American frontier. We have had quite some adventure while there, I assure you, as Mr. Toomes will no doubt report. For the time being, we have set our path back towards the east to rejoin the airship crew and the women left with Dr. Mitchell with our new companions. I am not yet certain how either Mrs. Fisher or Miss Coltrane will feel about adding such a woman as Miss Penn to our number, though everyone has certainly become well aware of the nature of our journey, and that some fellows of this trip will make for unusual company. For the time being, she has made herself quite useful on the return trip, telling stories of her travels across the mainland, and explaining some bits and pieces of the contract you sent to hire them for this voyage. Now having access to Mr. Toomes's books, which he was kind enough to pass on to me, I also at last understand your reasoning for their inclusion, despite the risks they present with mercenary tendencies and ample debts lined up against them. I imagine upon our return to some lands where you may easily send us information, which shall hopefully come soon, you will let me know when such portion of their debts is paid off in lieu of actual pay as to allow them to travel more freely and access Mr. Franzini's contacts should they be necessary.
