Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) (18 page)

Katya reached the food stall and waited for Magdalene to spare her a tenth of her attention. “Can I have a small taste of the root beer, please? I’m so thirsty.”

“Root beer,” Magdalene repeated over her right shoulder to Irina and the Englishman.

“Anything going on tonight I should know about?” Katya asked, trying to sound lighthearted and interested.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to anybody? Mr. Warden. Mr. Kelly.”

“No.” Magdalene accepted a mug from Irina and passed it to Katya.

Katya slurped the root beer gratefully, letting its strong, biting taste beat back the oil from Maddox’s hand. She had not checked the back of her dress for stains. She hoped her jacket covered them all.

“Have you spoken to anyone?” Magdalene asked.

“No,” Katya said automatically, still thinking of Mr. Warden and Mr. Kelly. She bit her lip, remembering that the lapses in her conversation with Maddox had not exactly harbored silence.

Magdalene’s voice broke into Katya’s reverie. “How’s the root beer?”

“It’s good. Thank you.”

Katya walked away, sipping her root beer and using the white mug to steer patrons toward the food stall. “Have you tried the root beer? It’s delicious.” Even after she drained the mug empty, she sold patrons on the idea of it for half an hour. Katya left the mug in one of the collection bins to be washed and reused.

When she glimpsed Maddox again, it was only for a second. He lingered fifty feet away on the other side of the band stage. The blaring flute solo alone would have made it impossible to hear him if he had spoken. He simply smiled, bright and knowing, and Katya returned the expression, content and happy.

Katya waited in the back of St. John the Episcopal, listening to the early morning rustling of the slumbering homeless. Magdalene sat beside her, patient and still. Katya turned her head to catch the different sounds running over the room. A snore erupted in the sanctuary’s front corner. A murmur of dream words sounded from the other side, cut off by a whistle of breath.

At last, even Magdalene swung her head when the front door of the church opened in the hall. Brady stepped quietly into the sanctuary and slid himself onto the bench next to Magdalene. He lowered his hat into his lap.

“Where do we begin?” Magdalene asked.

“What do you know about the death of Agna Lieber? I only know she was replaced.”

Katya could not stop the answer from pouring out of her. “She killed herself. Mr. Warden kept it quiet. I saw her obituary in the
News
.” Katya held up her thumb and index finger, spaced an inch apart. “That much room for her. Unknown causes, it said, following the death of her husband. Possibly died of grief.”

Brady’s eyes were as serious and skeptical as Katya’s voice. “What form, exactly, did Mrs. Lieber’s grief take when it killed her?”

“It was a small gun. A pistol? A revolver?”

“Are you sure it was suicide?”

“Quite sure. She distracted Mr. Warden, told him I needed to see him about something. He came out of his office to talk to me, and by the time we got there, she’d shot herself. No one else was in the building.”

Brady’s lips twisted into a wry smirk. “What did Warden say to that?”

Katya hesitated. She wanted to tell the truth, that Mr. Warden had seemed regretful and wounded by it. She did not know if Brady or Magdalene would appreciate her continuing to share that side of him. Mr. Warden had also tried to kiss her, which Katya definitely wanted to leave out. “Mr. Warden brought in Mr. Weis, the new head of security. He started taking care of the body or doing something with it. I couldn’t see. I left soon after that. That’s all I saw.”

“Was Warden rattled?” Brady asked, relishing the thought.

“Yes.” Under his cool facade, Mr. Warden had been sweating bullets.

Magdalene spoke up between Katya and Brady. “Who’s Mr. Weis? What does he look like?”

“I don’t know anything about him,” Katya said. “I wish I did. He gives me the creeps, just like Mr. Lieber did. Mr. Weis looks like a nice man. Soft cheeks. Small nose. But his eyes devour everything. There’s nothing he can’t see, I’m sure of it.” Katya’s heart sank as she realized that might include witnessing her remove her glove and touch her bare hand to Maddox’s.

Magdalene turned to Brady. “Have you heard anything about him, Mr. Kelly?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Brady said. “I’m more likely to be talked about than spoken to.”

“I don’t know if I’ve seen Mr. Weis,” Magdalene went on. “But I’m still being scrutinized. Even if I do everything the same way I always have, I feel I’m giving something away.”

Katya laid her gloved hand over Magdalene’s. “Have you ever thought about leaving the carnival? Quitting your job?”

“No. I won’t do it. It’s too suspicious, and I’m not leaving either of you to deal with Mr. Warden alone. Even with three of us, Mr. Warden could make us disappear and cover the whole thing up.”

Brady nodded sharply. “We should act soon.”

“The reporters are there almost every night,” Magdalene informed him with satisfaction. “If we can get the band to stop playing, more people will be able to hear Mr. Warden’s confession.”

Katya agreed but did not think it would be as easy as saying it. “How will we do that? They haven’t stopped playing since we opened except when the Beast blew something.”

Magdalene answered without hesitation. “Use the only name that works around here. Tell them Mr. Warden wants them to stop until further notice.”

Katya could not argue with that suggestion. She knew Mr. Warden’s name worked. She had ridden half the carnival on that name.

Brady stroked his chin and tangled beard. “If only we could get Mr. Warden onto the band stage or the other stage, somewhere people could see him.”

Katya’s spirits surged upward. “Getting Mr. Warden to a place where people can see him? He’ll love that. It would be the easiest part.”

“So what’s stopping us? What’s keeping us from blowing the truth wide open the very next night the reporters are there?”

Katya could not put words to the answer, but she felt her stomach tighten. They were missing something, and they needed every last piece to fit to get it right.

Magdalene spoke up quietly. “They think we did it. They must think we had something to do with Mr. Lieber’s murder.”

“How could we possibly?” Katya whispered.

“Don’t they always look for motive? They could say you killed him for spreading rumors about your reputation. They could say I killed him to protect you or because I thought no one would suspect me. Either one of us could have killed him because we spited him. Mr. Warden has to know nobody liked Mr. Lieber.”

Brady’s deeper, gruffer voice interjected. “Why should that stop us? We should act fast. We can’t let them pin a murder on you.”

“They’ll say the journal is a cover-up to get Mr. Warden out of the way and keep him from finding out the truth about Mr. Lieber.”

“It’s in my handwriting,” Brady insisted.

“I know,” Magdalene said gently. “But Mr. Warden is worth millions, and we’re nobodies. He could discredit us in an instant.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Magdalene could barely push the words out. “That we wait.”

Brady jerked forward in his seat. “For what? For Mr. Lieber’s murderer to reveal himself and publicly apologize for any trouble he might’ve caused?” Brady ducked his head and ran his hands over his hair. His shoulders drooped. “Forgive me.”

“I understand your frustration, Mr. Kelly. But you know as well as I do that rushing into a confrontation with Mr. Warden can only end badly.”

Brady nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mr. Warden could destroy you. He’s probably bribed the police and the newspapers. Nothing would stop him from creating new evidence and sending you to prison as Mr. Lieber’s murderer. We’d never see you again, and you’d never see that journal. Mr. Warden wouldn’t throw it in the trash this time. He’d burn it.”

Brady nodded as he sat up straight and picked his head up. “What are we waiting for? We can’t possibly find out who killed Lieber.”

“We just need to find the right time when the newspapers are there and there are so many people to hear his confession that not even Mr. Warden can worm his way out.” Magdalene laid her hand on Brady’s arm. “You know what I’m talking about, Mr. Kelly. There are so many nights when the carnival runs smoothly and everything goes Mr. Warden’s way. But there are the nights when the unexpected happens and strange guests show up around every corner.”

“Yes, I know the times.”

They flashed through Katya’s mind. The frazzled woman in bulky green. The tall, stately Isolde. Agna Lieber’s fists pounding Mr. Warden’s chest before Katya knew who she was.

Magdalene patted Brady’s sleeve. “That’s the kind of night we’re waiting for. We need the tide to turn in our favor. Then there’s nothing to stop us from succeeding.”

Katya could not help glancing the length of the dining table at Lizzie’s hair. Even after a few weeks of it, the sickly green hue amused and mesmerized Katya. Lizzie’s bonnet hid most of it, and Katya knew by the hat’s conservative, frumpy style, just paying for it had bruised Lizzie’s self-worth. To wear it for days on end must be eating her alive.

“I see you looking at me, Katya Romanova,” Lizzie informed her, too proud and bitter to return the stares. She sliced the piece of chicken on her plate into tiny pieces and dabbed each one in tomato-garlic sauce before she ate it.

“I’m just saddened, Lizzie,” Katya said, a hint of her devious nature rolling under her forced concern.

“Why’s that?”

“You missed your big chance. At the carnival.”

Lizzie finally rewarded Katya with a frustrated glare. “What are you talking about?”

“We had an opening recently for a charwoman. You should’ve filled it. Then you could’ve worn any bonnet that suited you and covered up every last curl of your hair.”

Lizzie picked up one of her peas and flicked it at Katya. Katya giggled as it bounced off her shoulder.

“When are you going to dye it again?” Katya pressed. “Even Mr. O’Sullivan asked me that. If you don’t dye it soon, I’m going to recommend Mrs. Weeks redecorate the dining room. Your hair clashes with the drapes.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes to furious slits and aimed another pea at Katya.

“Do it,” Katya baited her. “Then we’ll match.”

Lizzie let the pea fall onto her plate.

Mrs. Weeks lowered her newspaper, appearing over it where the rest of the table could see her. “Now, Katya, Lizzie’s hair is getting better. A few more weeks, and she’ll be down at the beauty salon. You’ll see.”

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at Katya. “I never see you getting your hair done at the salon.”

“I don’t need to. I can do it perfectly fine myself, and besides, men like to do more than just look at me.”

Lizzie sat up taller in her chair, relaxing her tense eyelids. “Yes, is it possible you can’t afford the salon? Did Mr. Warden not think you were worth quite that much?”

Katya lunged to jump out of her chair at Lizzie but restrained herself. She remained seated, delicately lifting her water glass and taking a civilized sip from it. “How’s your doctor suitor, Lizzie? I can’t even remember his name, it was so long ago he courted me.”

Lizzie’s thick eyelids drew together again. “Dr. Kirby.”

“Has he come around recently?”

“No.”

Katya feigned surprise, laying a limp hand over her chest. “No? I thought you were growing so close. Can it be that he rejected you?”

“He was a toad, anyway,” Lizzie scoffed. Her voice cut off, and she covered her mouth with her hand, coughing several times. “I could have Mr. Warden if I wanted him. I just don’t want any part of that stinky old carnival.”

“You and Mr. Warden would deserve each other. That’s for sure.”

Lizzie coughed harder, suppressing it with a long drink of water.

Katya watched her more closely as the coughing went on. She snuck a glance at Mary. Mary’s expression hung blank, her cheeks pale and her eyes staring straight across the table at Lizzie.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Weeks spoke up helpfully. “Mary, get the bottle of Ayer’s I keep by my bed.”

Lizzie shook her head, coughing harder and soon recovering from her fit. “I’m all right.”

“Do you have a cold, dear?”

“I think so.”

Katya asked another question. “Have you been coughing a lot, Lizzie?”

Lizzie batted a hand at her through the air. “Like you care.”

“I care. Have you been sick long? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“It’s a little cough. I’ll be fine.”

Mary spoke up, her voice tentative and shaky. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Lizzie set her head at a disapproving angle. “I don’t believe you, Mary, siding with her.” Lizzie took another sip of water and stood up.

Mrs. Weeks folded her newspaper closed on the corner of the table. “Don’t storm off to your room, Lizzie. Finish your dinner.” Lizzie dropped into her seat, and Mrs. Weeks peered the length of the table at Katya. “I’ll have no more of that sharp tongue tonight. I think we’d all agree you won that exchange, for what it’s worth. If it’s a husband you want, you might want to consider closing that mouth of yours from time to time.”

Katya held her tongue for Mrs. Weeks’ sake. She glanced at Mary, but Mary gazed down at her plate, pushing her chicken aimlessly through the fragrant sauce with her fork.

Magdalene spoke up for the first time in twenty minutes. “The chicken’s very good, Mrs. Weeks.”

Mrs. Weeks’ solemn temper softened with a chuckle. “Thank you, Magdalene. I’ve always wondered that you could sit between those two while they quibble.”

Magdalene sat quietly, but Mrs. Weeks watched her, awaiting an answer. “Patience, I suppose,” Magdalene offered.

“Ah,” Mrs. Weeks said, nodding as if she had suspected that same virtue. “Patience.”

“Katya really isn’t that spoiled, Mrs. Weeks,” Magdalene insisted. “I wish you could see her in action at the carnival. Her outgoing nature is in its best element there.”

Mrs. Weeks helped herself to another spoonful of green beans. “You finally succeeded in drawing Mary to the carnival, and now you’re after me. Is that it? I don’t have time for that kind of foolery, especially at that hour, but I envy you girls. I really do. If I were younger – and I won’t say how much younger, but a few years at least – I’d be there in a heartbeat. I promise you.”

“Do you have friends who haven’t been there yet?”

“I’m sure I do.”

“You should send them. Maybe if enough women want to go to the carnival by themselves, Mr. Warden will buy a streetcar of his own and send it all through the city to collect them.”

“You’re really something, you girls. I don’t know where you get such ideas, but I suppose the carnival wasn’t built on small dreams, was it?”

Magdalene answered more seriously. “No, it wasn’t.”

“I suppose I could recommend my friends pay a visit to the carnival. I think they’d like it.”

“How about your friends, Lizzie? Have you told them about your visits there?”

Lizzie took a few moments to answer, twirling the cube of chicken on her fork in a puddle of red sauce. “Yes, I told them.”

“Did you enjoy it at all? Do you think they would?”

“Are you Mr. Warden’s advertising department now?” Lizzie laid her fork down on her plate. “I think they’d enjoy it more than I did.”

“You should tell them to come. The side stage gets better sponsors all the time. Everyone loves the dance contests. And don’t worry about your hair, Lizzie. Nobody will remember the short time it was less than perfect when you dye it back the way it was.”

Lizzie wiggled her shoulders, a pucker of conceit shaping her lips. “I think you’re right.” She treated herself to the waiting piece of chicken, biting it off her fork with a taunting smirk at Katya.

Katya let Lizzie bounce back to her self-entitled attitude. She had tried to help Lizzie, and Lizzie did not want it. Only Katya’s loyalty to Mary kept her mouth shut. She would have relished the horror on Lizzie’s face when she announced “You’ve got consumption” from the head of the table.

Katya snuck a glance at Magdalene, demurely nibbling her dinner. She would never expose Magdalene for the cunning mind she was, but Katya did stew in the vast difference between the reputations of their personalities. Even if Katya saved the carnival singlehandedly from Mr. Warden’s illegitimate rule, she would be labeled a busybody. Meanwhile, Magdalene could walk naked through the carnival, and people would call her revolutionary. Nude models would spring up in all public places, advertising the openings of banks and possibly a few churches.

Magdalene finished her dinner and placed her cloth napkin on the table. She looked at Katya’s plate, still scattered with vegetables and a few bites of chicken. “I’ll be upstairs getting ready.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Magdalene strolled out of the dining room, and Katya reminded herself why Magdalene’s reputation was so much better than hers. Magdalene would never think such judgmental thoughts about Katya or anyone else. No one needed to hear their thoughts to know this. It was evident in the way they spoke and the way they carried themselves. Katya had only herself to blame, something she had either accepted with a sneer or tried fiercely to dispute.

Maybe Magdalene was right. Maybe there was one place in the world Katya could inhabit better than anyone else, where her big mouth did not get her into deep trouble. Maybe, eventually, it could save them.