The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

He tossed it to me as she wailed louder than when her child vanished.  “There.  Now be gone with this nonsense.” 

I took the cloth in my hands.  It felt odd, old and damp from tears, but also something more. I don’t know how to describe it.  It felt like catching a firefly in your hands.  Yes, that’s what it was, a firefly trying to escape my grasp.  I put it in my coat pocket and stood up.  “That will be all. I shall never tell your scandalous tale.  But you should know, I deal with horrible people, the lowest forms of humanity.  Never have I dealt with anyone lower than you.  Good day.”

Missus Vanderlay wailed, her body shaking with great heaves of breath.  Tears stained her dress, and she buried her face in her hands.  “I love it,” she whimpered under her breath.  “I need it.”

I left shaking my head and met Jim at the gate.

“What was that nonsense about?” he asked.

We started walking to the rail road station.  “We had some business to take care of.  Some land dealings with my father.  Nothing that involves the kidnapping.”

He put his paper and book in his coat as we walked to the rail station. Harlem was quiet today.  The country air smelled good, and it reminded me of my youth, far from the noise and smoke of the Lower Wards.  “Why do you do it?” Jim asked.

“Do what?”

“Your father is one of the wealthiest men in New York.  He’s one of the old uppertens.  He probably has his own pew at Grace Church.”

“He prefers Trinity.”

“Regardless, you don’t have to do any of this.  You could be a gentleman of leisure, not a Muni rolling over drunks and extorting gambling houses.” 

I thought on it until the silence between us became uncomfortable.  Jim altered his stride so that his steps were shorter, quicker, and further away from mine.  “I suppose I like the adventure.  I like the chase.  I like outthinking and outwitting them. I suppose I’m a hunter at heart.”

“One day you’ll get your head stowed in doing it.”

“Most likely, but not today.”  I smiled and as we walked, I began to sing.
“As I was goin’ over the far-famed Kerry Mountains, I met with Capt’n Farrell an’ the money he was countin’.”

I heard a voice beside me.  At first tentatively, but then louder, Jim joined me.
“I first produced me pistol and I then produced me rapier, sayin’ ‘stand an’ deliver, for I am a bold deceiver, musha rim dum diddly um da…”

The train rumbled into the depot, drowning out the rest of our song.

Pop was in his laboratory, and I went down the stairs to join him.  There was an odd smell wafting from somewhere in the room, a combination of baked chicken, sulfur, and something medicinal that I couldn’t place.  A small whirlwind collected dust and moved across the room.

“What’s that smell, Pop?”

“One moment.” He knelt at the summoning circle that once held the rabbit Dweller.  He had a chisel in one hand, a dish of yellow powder in the other.  I deduced that it was the source of the smell. On the ground were chiseled markings in a ring. Inside was Shadow McGuirk. 

Pop said a few words in the Babel language of his, rising and falling in volume, until his voice reached a crescendo and the ring of carvings glowed like molten iron.  He sighed and wiped his brow and he stood up.  “I apologize.  I had to lock the door.”

“Most people use a key.”

He poured the yellow powder into a jar, and then replaced both in a separate cabinet.  “Not everyone has a murderer on the inside,” he said calmly.

Unlike the Dwellers that held residence that not long ago, Shadow was unconscious. He floated vertically within the ring. “He’s too dangerous to keep awake,” Pop explained.  “I don’t know the limits of his knowledge.  I doubt it, but he may know how to unweave this spell.  Did you enjoy your trip to the Vanderlays?”

“I did.  It felt good to be the moral superior for once.”

“Don’t be foolish,” he said.  “You’re a moral man, your badge proves it.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” For all of Pop’s magic and knowledge, he knew very little of what went on with the Munis and Mets.  “Lazy as a Leatherhead,” they say.  Lazy, no, but corrupt and violent to be sure.  I wish there was a better way.

“Do you have the handkerchief?” Pop asked.

I took the handkerchief from my coat.  It seemed to stick in my hand, as if it didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t want it to leave.  I hadn’t noticed before, but it was quite beautiful.  I placed it in Pop’s hand, but I couldn’t help but feel like I lost something important.

“Thank you.  I’ll give this to him in the morning.”

“Give it to who?”

Pop folded it and placed it in his pocket.  “There’s a man on Henry Street that needs it more than I.”

Nathaniel

It was Thanksgiving, and we gathered for our annual feast.  I always open my doors to every Dweller in the city, even to Cadatchen and his caravan of thieves.  Most of that lot doesn’t show, but it would be rude not to invite them.

I hired at least two dozen Gnomes to make preparations.  Geebee supervised of course. She bustled about, nitpicking this one there, glamouring a lamp to shine in a slightly different hue, and all-around lording over her domain.

Jonas and I wove through the throng of Dwellers as they helped themselves to libations and aged cheeses.  One Rat Pooka in an orange and cream dress had her snout in a glass of red, and she drank happily.

“Did I tell you what happened at the precinct yesterday, Pop?”

“No. Does it have to do with the Vanderlays?”

“Yes, but better.  There was so much noise about Jim’s article that Chief Matsell formed a special group of police for those situations.  He calls them, ‘detectives.’  So far, there are four of them, and guess who one of them is?”

“Someone with a penchant for bad accents?”

Jonas smiled wide.  “You should’ve seen Roundsman Leary’s fat face turn red at the news.”

“I’m sure it was a sight.”

“It was two sights, I tell you,” he said.  “A man like that, he doesn’t take to losing well.  He’ll have to see me every day and know that he has no power over me.  I even get my own office.”

“That’s a big responsibility. Can you keep it clean?”

Jonas tilted his head at me.  “You’re in a queer mood today.  Not used to all the people here?”

I looked around at the crowd, searching for a familiar face.  “I invited Rabbi Levitt and his family.  I know that I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see the coat again.”

“That damn handkerchief again?”

“It tempts me.  It was during a moment of weakness, but I wanted to hold it again.”  I hated that feeling. I should be stronger than this.  “I’ll have to be strong.”

“I know you will, Pop.”

Geebee tapped me on the back.  “It’s a disaster!  They tracked mud all over the floor, the brandy’s almost gone, and Seabreaze is fluttering around like nothing’s wrong.”

“She’s a Pixie, they flutter.”

Geebee frowned, and the frown turned into a pout.  “She needs to take this more seriously.  This is my most important…I mean, our most important event of the year.”

“My dear, you need a drink.”  I conjured three snifters of applejack from my study.  “Join us.”

“I can’t drink now I—”

I placed the glass in her hand and gave one to Jonas.  “Happy Thanksgiving.  Drink with me.”  I put the liquor to my lips, and Jonas did the same.

She sighed.  “If I must.”  The three of us downed the sweet cider brandy.  She sighed again, but it was a sigh of contentment. 

I found myself lost in the whirl and colors of the party.  Many of the guests greeted me, many others stayed away.  Of those that did make conversation with me, the subject inevitably turned to some complaint or request.  I did my best to listen and to promise help.  Even on a holiday, I am a Watchmage first.

Maybe this is why Master Sol left.  Was it the constant needs of the Dwellers, or was it the lack of respect?  He was a harder man than I am, and prouder.  I wonder if the Star of Nine revenged themselves on him or if he lives in some remote part of the world.  It’s a wide world out there, but the world comes closer every day, with every boatload of immigrants passing through Castle Garden.

It wasn’t long afterwards that Rabbi Levitt appeared at the door.  I greeted him myself, sensing the distinct magic that belonged to Joseph’s divine coat.

“Happy Thanksgiving,
Herr
Watchmage,” said the rabbi. “I brought something for the table.  Rifka, you have it?”

“Yes,
Zaydee.
” His granddaughter passed me a deep, covered, clay pot.  I smelled the magic inside.

“You can never have too much soup,” Levitt said with a chuckle.  “There’s
kreplach
in it.”

I took the pot and passed it to one of the hired Gnomes.  “Thank you.  You didn’t have to.”

“Ah, but giving what you don’t have to give, that is the mark of a
mensch
.  Now, allow me to reintroduce an old friend.  I’m sure you remember Uncle Shmuel.”

A tall man with handsome, Semitic features, stepped inside.  His skin was light brown, with dark curls on his head and large, dark eyes that shone with intelligence.  Like the rabbi, locks of hair ran down the sides of his face.  Stitched  into his vest was the remains of Joseph’s Coat.

Almost every guest turned to look at Uncle Shmuel as he entered the hall.  They all sensed the magic within him. He was alive, made of clay perhaps, but filled with the spark of life and the look of a true man.  I sensed an ancient magic inside of him that I didn’t understand, but one word went through my head in every language that I knew: Truth.

Shmuel smiled as he spoke. “Greetings, Watchmage Hood.  Rabbi Levitt has told me wonderful things about you.” He had the slightest of German accents, but his diction was perfect.

“Yes…I...pardon me, but you’re astounding,” I said.  The handkerchief radiated with power, but it no longer called to me.  It was as if it found its home. 

Rabbi Levitt interrupted by clearing his throat.  “If it’s no bother,
Herr
Watchmage, my granddaughters and I will join the party.  There’re so many wondrous creatures here.  It’s like every tale I’ve ever told my children, all in one room.  We’ll speak later. I heard this wonderful joke about a rabbi, a sailor, and President Pierce.” He let his voice trail off.

“Enjoy yourself, Rabbi.”

“I’m sure you’ve many questions for Uncle Shmuel”  His eyes followed a guest behind me.  “Is that a Goblin?”  Levitt and his granddaughters plunged into the crowd.

“As the rabbi was saying,” said Shmuel. “I am at your service.”

There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how to ask.  Was he even alive?

“Yes, Watchmage Hood, I am alive,” he said, deducing my thoughts. “I am born of clay, but with the Divine inside of me, as any other man.”

“Do you remember the battle with the Fire Elemental?”

He nodded and touched his chest. “I contain the entire history of my people within me.  Their great joys and sorrows all exist within my heart.  Before I was but a husk.  Now I am whole, a servant of God. As long my clay heart beats, we will live and prosper in this city.  This is our promised land.  Lest I am unmade, I will always exist.”

“An immortal?”

“We are all immortal, in one form or another, but yes, I will not die of age or disease.  In many ways, I am not unlike you.  We are both guardians of a people, destined to see them to the end of days.”

“Yes.”  He continued at length, and I looked for an escape route.  “I think I hear my housekeeper calling me.  I must be off.”

He frowned and adjusted his vest. “I understand.  Perhaps I can call on you later?  There is so much to discuss, and I am quite good at chess if you play.”

“If I’m not too busy.  Oh, there she is again, saying something about the hams.  Enjoy the feast.”

I heard him thank me, but I had already escaped into the crowd.

When the clock struck three, we settled in for our meal. We needed three long tables in the ballroom to accommodate all of my guests.  Hendricks convinced me to invite Molly Hyde’s younger sister Leenie.  I couldn’t refuse the boy, not after all that happened and all that she’d seen.  She sat next to Hendricks, who fiddled with his collar and blushed at every word she said.

It was a fantastic meal, with pumpkin soup and rich venison stew, puddings of all flavors, turkey, ham, and greens.  Wine and spirits flowed, and the people laughed as they ate.

Halfway through the dinner, I stood and tapped my fork against my empty wineglass.  The note sang through the hall and quieted my guests.

“I am pleased that you joined us to give thanks for all that we have.  Our city lives and thrives, no small part to our Dweller society.  Thank you. I hope to have many more Thanksgivings with you at my table.”

Some affirmed my words loudly, some less so, but not one refrained from drinking.  I hoped that someone would stand and raise a toast to me, but no one did.  I suppose that it was too much to ask for. 

Authority will never be adored, so I must draw my comfort from their joy.  As well as this Madeira, as fine a vintage as I’ve ever tasted.