Lincoln's Wizard (16 page)

“I’m just excited to meet you, sir,” he gushed. “Will you tell me the story of how you captured the train?”

Braxton looked around, seeking some escape. Young Dodd’s enthusiasm had drawn a crowd of onlookers, all eagerly awaiting a story to break up the monotony of a morning in the prison yard. With no escape, Braxton related the story of the airship raid.

“What did the dragon look like?” an old man in a torn Kepi asked.

Before Braxton could answer, other questions were shouted out by the crowd.

“Did you fight the Grays on the train?”

“What’s it like to travel on an airship?”

Most of them had never even seen an airship, much less been on one, so Braxton told them all about his experience aboard the
Jefferson
. By the time Braxton finished explaining how the airship captain gave orders to the gunners and how they kept the boiler fires from igniting the hydrogen, the sun was rising toward noon.

Braxton was afraid that Dodd would demand more stories, but at that moment there was a great deal of shouting and loud conversation at the far end of the yard, and much of his audience hurried away.

“What’s all that?” Braxton asked young Dodd, who seemed torn between staying and leaving.

“The girls,” Dodd said. “Girl prisoners, I mean. The guards let them out to stretch their legs on Thursdays.”

It surprised Braxton, not just that it was Thursday and he seemed to have lost track of Wednesday, but that the Castle had female prisoners.

“How many are there?” he asked.

“A dozen, maybe two,” Dodd said. He seemed to have made up his mind to stay with his new best friend.

“How come you’re not over there?” Braxton asked, seeking an opportunity to rid himself of the young man.

Dodd blushed. “I’ve got a girl back home,” he said. “Her name’s Mary.”

Braxton saw his opening and he took it.

“Well then, I can understand you’re not wanting to tempt yourself,” he said. “But I don’t have a girl waiting for me. If you’ll excuse me.”

Braxton hurried away before Dodd could object. His mother had taught him to always be truthful, but to be fair, his mother hadn’t met young Dodd. Braxton had only had one true love: Sarah. They’d been married for three years. It was a testament to her that he could still remember every moment of their time together. Then smallpox had taken her. Braxton had never really gotten over it. He still carried the pain like a cherished memento, and he’d never looked at another women since. Still, it was a good excuse to shake off Dodd.

The men in the yard had formed a tight knot around a smaller group. As Braxton approached, he caught sight of the female prisoners. Most were well-dressed, and he imagined they were better cared for than the shabbily dressed men. They were a strange assortment of old and young, pretty and plain. Braxton wondered what they had done to earn their place in the Castle. Most were undoubtedly spies, the one profession where the women equaled the men, but there were bound to be some political prisoners in the mix.

Feeling Dodd still watching him, Braxton pressed his way into the knot of men. Most of them were vying for the ladies’ affections, or attempting conversation. Some were openly gawking. Since that was unseemly, Braxton determined to press through the men until he could pass out the other side and slip away from Dodd. He wasn’t paying much attention to the crowd and it shifted, pushing him sideways into someone.

Someone who let out a distinctly female cry of protest.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Braxton turned and found himself confronting a tall, slim woman with dark hair spilling down from beneath a rather shabby, broad-brimmed hat. She had blue eyes and a pert nose that turned up at the tip in a way he couldn’t help but find charming.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, stepping back. “It was unintentional, I assure you.”

Her face went from anger to sarcasm in the blink of an eye.

“That’s what your type always says as an excuse to manhandle a girl,” she said, fixing him with a level stare. “I’ll have you know I don’t tolerate men like you.”

Braxton had been embarrassed, but now he felt offended. He hadn’t done anything improper, even by accident, and he resented this woman’s assertion in front of the crowd that he had. He’d taken a lot of abuse from pretty women in the past, maybe not ones as pretty as this, but that didn’t make it all right.

“Listen here,” he said. “I was pushed and I bumped into you. I apologized and there was no harm done, so I resent you disparaging my character, miss…?”

The woman rocked back on her leg, crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and arched an eyebrow at him.

She reminded him of Sarah, and now that he thought about it, she was pretty, too.

Clearly she wasn’t used to anyone talking back to her, and here in the prison, Braxton could understand why. After a moment she extended her hand to him.

“Lawton,” she said as he took it gently. “Hattie Lawton.”

A violent tremor shot through Braxton; he felt as if he’d received an electrical jolt.

“Have you ever been to Davidsonville, Miss Lawton?” he asked.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wondered where they had come from. He’d never heard of any place called Davidsonville.

Hattie’s hostile gaze lost most of its fire and she regarded him suspiciously. He felt her start to jerk her hand away but stop.

“Why, no,” she said at last, “Mister…?”

“Wright, Braxton Wright.”

Hattie smiled. The effect was as if the sun had just come out from behind the clouds. In that instant, she went from attractive to ravishing. Helen of Troy had nothing on this woman.

“Charmed, Mister Wright,” she said. “I’ve never been to Davidsonville,” she continued. “Is it near Leominster? I knew a tailor in Leominster once.”

Braxton wanted to say that he’d never heard of Leominster, let alone been there, but for some reason, he couldn’t. He felt his body go stiff, then relax, and his vision blurred as if he were in a dream.

“Well, well,” Hattie said, her voice full of amusement. “Mister Right indeed.”

“I was thinking of taking a walk around the perimeter,” she continued in a firm voice. “Why don’t you accompany me?”

Without any thought or control by him, Braxton’s arm presented itself and Hattie took it.

Chapter Twelve
Hattie

Hattie Lawton smiled pleasantly as she led the young man escorting her away from the crowd. She laughed as if he’d said something witty and spoke to him in tones just loud enough to be heard by anyone listening but not loud enough that her words would be understood. All the while, her escort wore the blank, vaguely confused look of someone who’d been brained with a frying pan.

Pinkerton had clearly used his Mesmer Machine to implant a hypnotic message in the man, and he’d remain in the trance state until he’d delivered it. Hattie expected this when he’d used the code word Davidsonville. It was an insignificant little village in her home state of Maryland. As she led the officer out toward the perimeter fence, she felt a great weight lifting off her. She’d waited almost two years for Pinkerton to get her out of the Castle and now it seemed the moment had arrived.

She’d tried escaping on her own, of course. Her first attempt failed, though only just. After that the Rebels kept an annoyingly close watch on her. Too close, as it turned out, and her next three attempts were foiled before they began.

The memories of her failures soured her mood, and she pushed them from her thoughts, turning her attention to her escort. He was average height, just a bit taller than she, with a pleasant, earnest sort of face. Hattie wondered what he’d done before he joined the army. His hands were rough and calloused, and he had the weight of muscle that came with physical work, though not as much as a blacksmith. His face was smooth and youthful, though she guessed him to be near thirty in age. He clearly hadn’t seen a razor since he’d been brought to the prison, though his sand-colored beard was all the same length indicating that he was usually clean-shaven, and his hair was combed.

An orderly man, then. Someone of regular habits but not afraid to get his hands dirty. He had the rank of captain, so probably educated. The ideal candidate for Pinkerton to use as a messenger.

“Are you in there, you old villain?” she asked, once they had passed beyond earshot of the other prisoners. Pinkerton liked to train his hypnotized messengers to act and speak as though they believed they were the crafty man himself. It made conversations less obvious, but they could be unnerving.

“Hello, Hattie,” the young man said, still wearing his dazed expression. “How have you been?”

Hattie felt her jaw getting tight and her brows knit together.

“You know very well how I’ve been, you whore chasing drunk,” she spat. “Two years I’ve been rotting in this jail waiting for you to arrange my early release.”

“I wish I could hear what you were saying,” the man went on. “No doubt your humor hasn’t improved with your long incarceration, so perhaps it’s better I can’t hear you.”

Hattie grunted. It was useless to berate the young man, all he could do was repeat what Pinkerton had told him. It was like trying to argue with a telegram.

“Say hello to Captain Braxton Wright,” the man said.

“Hello, Braxton,” Hattie obliged. He still couldn’t hear her, but it was good to keep up the appearance of a conversation for those who were undoubtedly watching.

“You have no idea what a time I’ve had trying to get someone in to you,” Braxton said, continuing Pinkerton’s hypnotic message. “I sent three agents prior to Braxton; all failed. But I see my faith was not misplaced this time.”

“Yes, yes, you’re wonderful and clever, old man,” Hattie growled. “Now get on with how I’m getting out of here.”

“Now to business,” Braxton said. “The last packet I received before your unfortunate capture contained a map showing a small town, but with no names or other identifying markings.”

Hattie breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t known if the map had made it through. If it hadn’t, all hope of stopping the Rebels’ Gray soldiers would have been lost.

“It’s possible that this town was built after the war started,” Braxton continued. “If that’s the case, there’s no way for me to find it. Fortunately, the national survey maps were moved north when we abandoned Washington. Using them, my people have been able to identify thirteen possible pre-war locations that could be your mystery town. The first is Morehead City in North Carolina.”

Hattie closed her eyes and committed the name to memory. It was a trick she’d taught herself years ago when she’d first entered Pinkerton’s service, the ability to memorize long lists of information. It was one of the things that made her invaluable to him.

“Go to Morehead City,” Braxton continued. “If what you’re looking for isn’t there, I’ll give you the name of the next town.”

“What?” she demanded, forgetting that he couldn’t hear her. The only way for him to pass on the next name was if Hattie took Braxton with her.

“What are you up to you miserable—” Hattie had learned some truly impressive swear words during her time in Castle Thunder and she used them liberally.

Braxton suddenly laughed.

“I really wish I could hear you,” Pinkerton said through Braxton. “I know what your objections are, but I need you to take Braxton with you. If you do discover the secret of the Gray process you’re going to need someone there who can understand it. More than that, I need someone there who can come back here and reproduce it. That’s where Braxton comes in. He’s an engineer, one of our best, and he has an absolute knack for understanding complex machinery.”

“And is he good at not getting caught?” Hattie said, fuming. “You expect me to drag an engineer all over the Confederacy? He’ll give us away the first time some Rebel questions us.”

“I know you’ve got objections,” Braxton said. “And I can’t wait to hear all about them once you get back. That said, you’re taking Braxton, and that’s all there is to it. Every time you rule out one town, he’ll give you the name of the next one down the line.”

Hattie ground her teeth.

“Thank you very much, Allan,” she said, her voice poisonous with sarcasm. The old goat had her and she knew it. There was nothing she hated more than having to dance to someone else’s tune. “Is there anything more you mean to tell me?”

“You’ll also need to hurry,” Braxton went on. “Our best guess is that these posthypnotic suggestions last for about a month. That means you’ll have to get moving, I expect you’ve got a little over three weeks left by this point.”

Hattie swore—a bit louder than she would have wanted. She looked around hurriedly but no one seemed to have overheard. Her mind raced ahead. With only three weeks she would have to escape the Castle soon, maybe even tonight if conditions were right.

“I’ve sent Braxton with a Brimstone ring,” Pinkerton said. “Our boys have made it better since the last time you used it, so be careful. You don’t need much to burn through an iron bar or a lock.”

“Is that it?” she demanded, still irritated at having to take Braxton with her.

“Good luck, my girl,” Braxton said. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

Hattie rolled her eyes and shook her head. As usual, the task Pinkerton had given her was nigh impossible. Fortunately, however, she specialized in the impossible.

That thought made her smile as she began to scheme.

“Uh, pardon me,” Braxton said.

She’d forgotten about him. He no longer wore the dazed look and his eyes were focused and intent.

“Not that I mind, you understand,” he said. “But when I walk with a beautiful woman, I do like to know her name.”

Hattie looked back into his eyes and smiled. She was an old hand at wrapping men around her little finger, and since she had to bring this one with her, she might as well get started now.

“Hattie Lawton,” she said, patting him on the arm. “I must apologize for this. It must seem strange to suddenly find yourself escorting a stranger.”

Braxton smiled at her, an open, honest sort of smile. Hattie was so used to the disingenuous ones she got around the prison yard that she’d forgotten what a sincere one looked like. It was utterly charming.

Her smile slipped, but she caught it.

“I’m afraid our mutual friend, Mister Pinkerton, used you to send me a message.”

“I don’t understand,” Braxton said, a confused look on his face.

Of course you don’t.

“He implanted an hypnotic suggestion in your mind,” Hattie explained. “When you saw me it triggered it and you gave me the message.”

Braxton’s brows knit together, no doubt as he tried to process what Hattie had said.

“The machine,” he said. “The one in Pinkerton’s office with all the mirrors and the strange music. It’s some kind of hypnotism machine, isn’t it?”

Okay, that was impressive. Maybe he won’t be completely useless after all.

“And that smoke,” he went on. “Some kind of drug, opium or morphine, to make the mind suggestible.”

Hattie’s eyebrows shot up and she regarded Braxton in astonishment. In a matter of a few seconds he’d figured out, or guessed, more about the Mesmer Device than Hattie knew herself. She had to admit she was impressed, and she didn’t impress easily.

Focus!

“Something like that,” she said, patting him on the arm again. She found that touching men for no apparent reason had a tendency to break their train of thought and focus their attention on her.

“The important thing,” she said, “is that you and I have a special mission now.”

Braxton wavered. If she was reading his expression right, he was struggling between his basic desire to simply believe her and anger at being used.

“I’m not going on any mission until I get a full explanation,” he said in a low voice.

Apparently anger won.

That was all right. Hattie had smoothed over feathers more ruffled than his in her career.

“Of course, Braxton,” she said, leaning in close so that her breasts pressed against his arm.

Breasts were even more distracting than spontaneous touching, though Hattie never really understood why. That didn’t stop her from utilizing them to the fullest however.

“I’ll tell you everything, but right now we don’t have much time,” she said. “Pinkerton gave you a ring and told you not to take it off. I need it. It’s a tool to help us escape.”

Braxton smiled, but it quickly ran away from his face.

“I took it off,” he admitted with a sheepish look. “It’s back in my cell.”

Men!

Hattie ground her teeth. How was it the world was ruled by men, they couldn’t follow even basic instructions?

She sighed, taking a deep breath that pressed her breasts more firmly against Braxton’s arm, and straightened her smile.

“Where is your cell?” she asked. “Are you sure it’s there?”

“Uh, yes,” Braxton said. He turned a little pink; far too distracted. She backed off a bit.

“My cell is on the ground floor of the stone building,” he said. “Under the tower.”

That, at least, was good news. After Hattie’s third escape attempt, they’d put her in an isolation room in the highest room of the tower. She’d been able to get out of her cell by picking the lock with a bit of wire she’d enticed one of the prisoners to bring her, but the only way out of the tower building was past the mass cells guarded by a six-man squad. If she wanted to escape she’d need another way out of the stone structure, and Braxton’s cell might just foot the bill.

“How many men are in your cell?” she asked.

“It’s just me,” Braxton said. “It’s actually not a cell, it’s a store room,” he amended quickly. “They put me in there because there wasn’t room anywhere else.”

Better and better.

A bugle call sounded and the prisoners began moving out of the yard. Hattie turned Braxton and headed back at a leisurely pace.

“Find that ring,” Hattie said, speaking quickly. “Don’t let it out of your sight again. I’ll find a way to get to you, but it might take a couple of days, so sit tight and don’t cause any trouble.”

“I can do that,” Braxton said. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Hattie nodded.

“Once we’re out, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she whispered.

Hattie laughed aloud as Braxton led her back to the prisoners. The men were lining up to be returned to their cells.

“Thank you, Captain Wright,” she said in a light, casual voice. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

With that she released his arm and walked over to where the other female prisoners were gathered. June Westmorland gave her a sour look and ran an appraising eye over Braxton. June was short and plain with mouse brown hair and an unfortunate snipe nose. Hattie figured her for a Rebel spy after their first meeting. Instead of avoiding her, though, Hattie had pestered her constantly with attempts to be friendly and to gossip. At first June had reveled in it, expecting that she would soon be privy to all Hattie’s confidences. Hattie, of course, had only passed on the most mundane and harmless gossip imaginable and June quickly found her to be an annoyance.

“New friend, Hattie?” June asked.

She still kept trying, though. Hattie admired that.

“That’s Captain Wright,” Hattie said in her best, breathless, female voice. “He’s that fellow who was in the papers. The Hero of Parkersburg.”

“He’s very handsome,” June said, still watching Braxton as the men were led away.

Hattie was a professional who didn’t notice such things.

He was rather handsome.

She felt herself blush and got angry. In her business it didn’t do to give anything away. She covered it by giggling. It was inane, but it did the trick. June’s appraising look faded, and she turned away.

Hattie suppressed a satisfied smile. People always underestimated her, men because she was a woman and women because she was pretty. It used to make her angry when she was young and lacked direction. Allan Pinkerton had seen her potential, though. Nothing got by him. He had scooped Hattie up and made her a detective. She’d served him well, too, even saved President Lincoln’s life by exposing the plan to assassinate him in Baltimore. He’d trained her well, and she’d been a dedicated student.

Now, underestimating Hattie Lawton was a very dangerous thing to do. It gave her power, power Hattie didn’t hesitate to use to great effect.

She smiled as the women were led away by the guards. It had been two years since she’d been allowed to use her skills. Now Pinkerton had found her. Now she had a new direction. Soon, she would be dangerous once again.