Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) (9 page)

The changes at the carnival did not present themselves as obviously as Katya expected. She scrapped the plan to lure Mr. Warden into a mysterious date downtown, and pending a better idea, she avoided his office as much as possible. She felt freer knowing she no longer needed to worry about Mr. Lieber’s imposing presence, but she also felt hemmed in. Katya could not tell which men roaming the carnival night after night were paying guests and which were Mr. Warden’s newly hired security.

Katya stopped mentioning the carnival around the boarding house. The only person there who wanted to talk about it with her was Lizzie, who smirked slyly every time they occupied the same room. Katya would ask for a platter or a pitcher to be passed to her at the table, and Lizzie would hand it to Magdalene between them with a sidelong glance at Katya. Katya always imagined Lizzie thinking pointedly,
You can have this, Katya, but the doctor and his rich friends from the east side of town are all mine.

The rooms and halls at the boarding house grew quieter by the night. Lizzie disappeared on dates for and after dinner a few times a week. Mrs. Weeks buried her white head in the newspaper every afternoon, offering more and more snippets of news about President Cleveland’s upcoming goodwill tour across the country. “It’ll be five thousand miles,” Mrs. Weeks announced with punctuated syllables. “His private train will take him as far west as Omaha, Nebraska, and as far south as Montgomery, Alabama. He’s taking his wife, of course, and about half a dozen other people.”

Mary shared a small portion of her mother’s enthusiasm, reserved but pleasant. “That’ll be nice.”

Mrs. Weeks gasped loudly, clutching the locket over her chest. The rest of the ladies swung their heads to look at her. Mrs. Weeks raised her eyes with a proud, beaming smile. “President Cleveland is including us on his goodwill tour.”

“How exciting,” Lizzie murmured, sipping her tea.

Mrs. Weeks read some more and squealed with delight. “They’re going to be meeting and greeting people down at the statehouse.”

“You should go, Mother,” Mary encouraged.

“I think I will. I should try, at least. You know, Mrs. Cleveland has refused to say what she’ll be wearing on the trip. I’d love to see her and report to everyone I know how fashionable she is. My friends talk about her all the time. They’d simply die to know that I met her.”

Katya and Magdalene listened with interest, but they had little choice about where they would be when the president arrived in the city. They climbed into bed early that morning, several hours before his arrival, and slept right through the president’s visit.

Mrs. Weeks sat aglow at the lunch table, regretful to say the
Presidential Special
had already whisked the presidential party off to its next stop in Terre Haute.

“You should’ve seen Mrs. Cleveland,” Mrs. Weeks reminisced, her blue-grey eyes floating toward the ceiling. “She looked radiant. Her dress was green silk, and her bonnet was stunning. The carriage drew up to the statehouse pulled by eight grey horses.”

Lizzie glanced up from buttering her roll. “You’re so formal, Mrs. Weeks. Everybody else calls her Frankie.”

“I know, but I think she deserves all the respect in the world. She’s better educated than the president, you know.”

Mrs. Weeks’ demure conversations at the Boarder soothed Katya’s mind after her nights at the carnival. In the early morning, she left the grinding of machinery, her ears pounding with it, and woke up hours later to the pleasant, innocuous trickle of afternoon discussion. When weeping and screaming woke her from a sound dream two days after the president’s departure, Katya took a few moments to realize she lay in her own bed. The tidy room stood organized around her, bombarded by the vibrating slam of the front door downstairs. Katya leapt out of bed and tore her dressing gown out of the armoire. One hand fumbled to tie it around her waist as she opened the bedroom door.

Mrs. Weeks clambered up the front stairs with Mary and Lizzie behind her. She waved a copy of the evening paper. “President Cleveland is dead!”

Magdalene’s door popped open next to Katya’s.

Mrs. Weeks stopped in the middle of the hallway with the four young women pressed in around her. “The president was assassinated in St. Louis.”

Magdalene flattened her hand over the heart of her blue-flowered dressing gown. “What happened?”

Mrs. Weeks lifted the newspaper closer to her face. “President Cleveland arrived in St. Louis yesterday. A chorus of twenty-four thousand children welcomed him in song. Afterward, five of the children presented Mrs. Cleveland with a floral shield, which she received with hugs and kisses. What a remarkable woman she is, always so graceful, so gracious.”

Mrs. Weeks untucked a handkerchief from the end of her sleeve and wiped tears from her cheeks. She lifted the paper once more. “The president was well received at the Merchants Exchange, where the applause was so great, he often had to pause his speech. It was during one of these moments that an unknown gunman took aim and shot the president through the head.”

Magdalene stumbled closer to Katya and latched onto her arm for support. “That’s terrible. Poor Frankie.”

Mrs. Weeks nodded. “Mrs. Cleveland was at a luncheon. She wasn’t there when it happened. He was dead when she reached him. The article says they were only married for thirteen months. They didn’t even have a chance to have children.”

Mary dotted her handkerchief to her face. “Who’s going to be president now?”

Mrs. Weeks consulted the paper. “Following President Garfield’s assassination six years ago, President Cleveland had the foresight to review the Succession Act when his vice president, Thomas A. Hendricks, passed away from ill health in 1885. The act was officially changed last year, now leaving Secretary of State, Thomas Bayard, to accept the presidency. He’s to be sworn in as soon as possible.

“You know,” Mrs. Weeks added, sniffling, “Thomas Hendricks’ widow just helped welcome the Clevelands to our city. If Mr. Hendricks hadn’t died, our former governor would’ve been president. How proud we would’ve been.”

Katya leaned against Magdalene. Her heart ached for Frankie. She barely recognized Thomas Hendricks’ name from the papers, but she admired Mrs. Weeks’ devotion to her home city.

Magdalene hung onto Katya’s sleeve. “It wouldn’t erase what Frankie’s going through.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Mrs. Weeks admitted.

Slowly, Mrs. Weeks turned to the spiral staircase and followed it down. Mary trailed after her, blowing her nose quietly.

Lizzie lingered in the hall, her usually sharp gaze blurred by the solemn news. “Is the carnival going to close tonight?”

Katya steeled herself against Lizzie’s superior expression. “I doubt it.”

Lizzie raised her shoulder indifferently, her eyelids fluttering. “It seems to me your carnival won’t be needed tonight. Nobody wants to ride a roller coaster after finding out their president’s been shot.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think attendance will be higher than ever.”

When attendance proved roughly the same, Katya refused to let it bother her as she walked the grounds that night. The carnival opening its gates for those who wanted to forget their sorrows seemed victory enough. The band played the stately, rousing “Hail, Columbia” and “The Star-Spangled Banner” every hour. The side stage, where Lizzie’s employer judged an embroidery contest, stopped its activity for a few minutes of silence between each round.

The unusual repetition grated on Katya’s nerves and challenged the strength of her patriotic spirit. She was almost glad when the carnival closed in the morning. She strolled past Brady’s game stall on her way to check for lingering visitors in the water closets when she noticed him waving her over. Katya made sure no one watched her before she stepped up to the end of the counter. “Do you need some help closing up?” she asked.

“Yes. I need you to rearrange the boxes and things on the shelves there.” Brady gestured to the two long shelves under the counter.

Katya sank down on her haunches as best she could. She heard the strong but delicate clinking of the glass bottles as Brady collected them from the platform behind her. He dropped several into the grass between them. He crouched down, taking his time to pick them up as he spoke in a low voice.

“I wanted to talk to you, Miss Romanova,” he said. “Miss Harvey, too. I hope you’ll pass along what I tell you.”

Katya nodded. Her gloved hands moved the boxes of painted wooden rings around on the shelves, not accomplishing a thing.

Brady spoke up evenly. “I didn’t harm Mr. Lieber.”

He sounded so genuine, Katya felt guilty for including him on her list of suspects, even temporarily. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“We’re not.”

Brady pulled a larger box off the bottom shelf and stood the bottles up in it side by side. “The security’s tighter than ever.”

“How can you tell?”

“You can always tell who they are. Look at their eyes. They’re too watchful to be guests. They’re too serious to feel amusement in their lives.” Brady stood up and collected the last few bottles from the platform. He crouched down again to set them in the box. “Have you noticed them?”

“No, but I’ve tried to seek them out.”

“Warden picked them well. They all look like ruffians, even the ones who shave on occasion.”

“Do you know anything about them? Names or what they might’ve done before?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s too dangerous for us to keep meeting?”

“Not at the church.” Brady lifted the box of bottles onto the bottom shelf. “I think we’re safe there.”

Katya turned frightened eyes on Brady. “What about the carnival? Do you think we’re safe here?”

Brady took a moment to answer, which froze Katya solid despite his reassurance. “We’re safe for now.”

Within a week of President Cleveland’s assassination, the carnival returned to its normal routine. The band restored its passionate, upbeat repertoire. The side stage hosted uninterrupted contests and demonstrations. Katya noticed the same woman arriving almost every night, although a far cry from the woman in poorly fitting green she had seen weeks before. This woman strutted with confident purpose, her golden head held high. Katya wondered if she was also coming to visit Mr. Warden, and a brisk walk across the opposite side of the carnival from her confirmed Katya’s suspicions. The woman stepped gracefully past the food stall, her deep purple jacket melting into the shadows as she let herself into Mr. Warden’s office.

Katya waited near Heinz operating the Warden wheel until the woman reappeared. Katya tugged on his sleeve and tilted her head at the woman. “There. The woman coming out of the office. Who is she? Do you know her?”

Heinz squinted at the woman and cocked an eyebrow. “Know her? That’s Isolde Neumann. No man in the county isn’t in love with her or her money.”

“Why? Who is she?”

“Her father brought his ornament-making business here from Germany years ago. They’re very popular around Christmastime.”

Isolde strutted through the crowd, passing the food stall and heading for the front of the carnival.

Heinz looked Katya over, one eyebrow askance. “She gives you a run for your money, doesn’t she?”

Katya could not deny Isolde dazzled, even at a distance. The lamplight flickered off her smooth, even skin, illuminating the strong line of her jaw. Her hair gave off every shade between honey and lemon chiffon. She eased out of sight behind the Beast’s supporting beams.

Katya kept her irritation at Heinz to herself and crossed the grass to the food stall. Magdalene stood at the counter, handing small paper bags rattling with hard candy to the waiting customers. Katya stood off to the side where Magdalene could still hear her. “Did you see Mr. Warden’s latest girlfriend? She just walked past.”

“What makes you think she’s his girlfriend?” Magdalene scooped more hard candy into a pair of white paper bags. “He can’t be dating every woman who passes within fifty feet of him.”

“This woman’s gorgeous. Rich, too.” Katya leaned her shoulder against the counter. She could not ignore a small twinge of jealousy. “She let herself right into his office the way the other woman used to.”

“You haven’t seen her around anymore?” Magdalene handed out the newly filled bags of candy.

“No. It appears he’s traded up.”

“Did you get her name?”

“Yes, Heinz gave it to me.”

“Well, hold onto it in case we need it. She might need to meet him downtown for something very soon.”

Katya wrinkled her nose. “I’m glad we changed plans. We don’t need to make any more trouble for this woman. She’s already dealing with Mr. Warden.”

“That’s more trouble than anybody deserves.” Magdalene glanced at Katya. The humor blanched from her voice. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can you get away?”

“I don’t think so.”

Irina shuffled in front of Katya in the booth, looking for something among the pots and jars on the shelf. “What are you two whispering about now?”

Magdalene turned away from the line of customers toward Katya and Irina. “I feel like I’m being watched.”

“We’re all being watched,” Irina assured her, her deep voice gruff with resentment.

Magdalene pressed on. “I feel like every time I look up, someone’s staring at me. They don’t want candy or sausages. I don’t know what they want. They never get in line.”

“Maybe you should try offering them something.” Irina picked up a long-handled iron dipper, the wide, flat ladle poked through with holes. She moved back to the other side of the stall to retrieve frying dough from the pan.

Magdalene leaned closer to Katya. “I’m serious, Kat. It scares me.” Her arm shook where it propped her up against the counter.

Katya tried to sound reassuring. “It might be nothing. Mr. Kelly told me Mr. Warden’s new security looked a little rough. But you have to remember they’re not after us. We didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Lieber’s death.”

“But they’ll be looking for who did.” Magdalene straightened up and began scooping candy into another set of bags. “They’ll be looking for whoever sent Mr. Warden those threatening letters. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten those.”

“We’re innocent. He has to know that.”

“I hope so.” Magdalene turned to the waiting customers. “I’m sorry about your wait. Please have some candy on the carnival.”

Katya ambled away from the food stall. She half expected one of Mr. Warden’s mysterious goons to stand staring at her, barely visible through the shifting crowd. Just as Katya would be able to memorize his face, he would certainly disappear behind a large figure in a top hat and never show up again.

No such security appeared. The only faces surrounding Katya were fascinated, awestruck, and eager for more. The men tipped their hats to the ladies around them, and the children munched happily on salted popcorn. Katya waited for one of Mr. Warden’s observant, stone-faced lackeys to break the sea of contented people, but they were all that she could see. She passed the enormous roar of the Beast. A few couples danced and applauded in front of the bandstand. The musicians seemed to respond by playing louder and with even more gusto, lending a triumphant tone to the swirling march.

Katya did not doubt Magdalene was being watched. She felt convinced she was being studied as well, along with most if not all of the carnival staff. She felt it in her long, delicate bones, although for the moment, she did not feel their eyes weighing on her. It was only a matter of time until she saw them, perhaps partially concealed at the edge of a shadow, possibly much bolder. Katya spent the rest of the night looking for Mr. Warden’s hardened security, helping the patrons as much as she was paid to. As sharply as she looked for them, not a single one caught her attention.