Curiosity (18 page)

“I've always wanted to have my head examined!” whispered Virginia.

“Maybe you should rephrase that,” I suggested.

She giggled. “You know what I mean!”

I fished around in my pocket again and came up with two half dimes—plus Mademoiselle Bouvier's pearl earring. For a moment I stood staring at the blood-tarnished jewelry, a graphic reminder of how ruthless Maelzel could be when crossed and of the fate that awaited me if I should let slip any information about the Turk. I would even be risking his wrath if I returned late to the Mausoleum. I glanced about, hoping to spot someone who could tell me the time.

“Is that for me?” asked Virginia.

“What?”

“The earring.”

“Oh. No. Just—just something I found.” I crammed it back into my pocket and thrust my ten cents at Professor Palmer.

“Oh, I didn't expect you to pay!” Virginia protested.

“I don't mind.” The truth was, if it made her think well of me I would have given her my last penny or ridden on the most terrifying ride ever devised.

The Professor probed Virginia's bonnetless head so gently that he barely disturbed her raven hair, which she wore in a simple style, without the elaborate curls favored by more vain young women. “Your organ of Spirituality is highly developed,” said the Professor, “as is that of Kindness. I also perceive that you are quite modest.” The Professor smiled at the crowd that had gathered—more to admire Virginia's beauty, I suspect, than the Professor's ability. “There is no organ of Modesty, I hasten to add. That diagnosis was due solely to the fact that the young lady is blushing so deeply.” His long fingers explored a bit more. “You have a very pronounced protrusion in the Matrimony area; I predict that you will marry at an unusually young age. Ah, I see that you are also very Agreeable—perhaps too much so. I do hope you'll be cautious, my dear, and not accept the first marriage proposal that comes along, just to be agreeable.”

There was laughter and applause from the audience. As Virginia made her way through the crowd, a grinning young dandy doffed his hat and bowed to her. “Will you marry me, Miss? I wanted to be the first to ask.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “I'm flattered, sir. But I'm afraid you're too late. The truth is, I'm already betrothed.”

The fellow clutched his chest in mock dismay. “Ah, my heart is broken!”

When Virginia took my arm, I received a dozen envious looks. “That was great fun!” she said. “This whole afternoon has been delightful, in fact. Thank you.”

I didn't reply at once. I was still mulling over what she had said a few moments earlier. Finally, I got the nerve to ask, “Was that true? The part about you being betrothed?”

“Well, not
betrothed
, exactly. I did promise my cousin that I'd marry him when I came of age. But I expect he'll have lost interest in me by that time. He's a good deal older and more worldly than I am.”

Though it was foolish of me, of course, it gave me a great sense of relief to know that she wasn't actually, formally engaged. And though I wasn't bold enough to say so, I couldn't imagine anyone losing interest in her, not even if they had to wait twenty years.

Ordinarily I looked forward to the evening performance, to crawling into my little lair where, for an hour or two, I had some control over things, where no one could order me about or curse at me for being stupid and clumsy and lazy. But I must admit that having Virginia's soft arm in mine was more satisfying than gripping the Turk's mechanical one. I wished the afternoon could go on forever.

It ended abruptly when the bell at the State Capitol tolled. “Oh, Lud!” I groaned. “It's five o'clock! I have to go!” Reluctantly I withdrew my arm from hers. “Will you come to the exhibition? I'll find some way of getting you in.”

“Never mind that now! Just go! I don't want you to get in trouble!” She made a shooing motion with her hands, then hurried off, as if fearing that her presence would make me linger. I gazed wistfully after her, but only for a moment; then I turned and broke into a run, or as close to it as my spindly legs could manage.

The Mausoleum had no earth closet through which I could creep in undetected. But there was a side door that opened into one of the small exhibit rooms, and the curator often left it unlocked, even though Maelzel had repeatedly lectured him about the danger of someone sneaking in to get a look at the Turk.

Luckily for me, the curator was terribly absentminded. I slipped through the door, very conscientiously locked it behind me, and sank down, panting, on a crate. I barely had time to catch my breath before I heard Maelzel shout, “This place needs sweeping! Where the devil is that useless boy?”

I sprang from behind the curtain like an actor taking a bow. “Here I am. I was just checking the Turk, to make sure he's working right.”

“The Turk is fine; it is your
own
working you need to worry about.”

The day before, with Mr. Moody's grudging help, I had rehung the curtain so that my little peephole was once again at eye level. When the audience began to drift in, I scanned them eagerly, selfishly hoping that Virginia would pawn her cameo after all and squander some of the money on yet another frivolous and decadent bit of entertainment. But if she was in the crowd, I couldn't spy her.

I did, however, catch sight of another familiar figure—a small, slender woman dressed all in black.

S
EEING THE WOMAN IN BLACK STARTLED
me so that I gave an involuntary gasp—and then silently cursed my own stupidity. The audience mustn't suspect that I was behind that curtain. But, I told myself, it was a noisy crowd; neither they nor Maelzel could possibly have heard me. All the same, I climbed out of my torture device and into the cabinet, just in case he should check up on me.

Once my heart was beating at a normal rate, I tried to think rationally about the situation. Maybe I'd overreacted. It was hard to make out details through that little peephole; all I'd really seen was someone in a dark dress and bonnet. There must be any number of widows and generally gloomy-minded women in Richmond who dressed that way. There was no reason to think that this was the same ghost-like figure who had haunted me back in Philadelphia. After all, why should she suddenly turn up in Richmond? Unless, of course, she was deliberately following me. But why on earth should I be pursued by someone completely unknown to me?

I shook my head briskly, sending a jolt of pain down my spine. I couldn't afford to dwell on such things right now; I needed to focus on the task at hand. For the first time in months, I felt ill at ease inside my coffin-like box;. I hoped that, once Otto—I had decided that should be his name, since Virginia preferred it—once Otto and I had dazzled the audience with our endgames, they'd be content to let us go. But no; just when it seemed we were done, I heard the brass dial turn and glanced at it. Number Six. We'd been challenged to a complete game.

After only half a dozen moves, I realized we'd faced this opponent before. When one of the Black knights moved, it mistakenly went two spaces ahead and two to the left. I'd played only one person who made that particular error; at the time, I'd thought it was a test, to see how the Turk would respond. Now I got the distinct feeling that it was a signal—my challenger's way of identifying herself. I say
her
self, because I was almost certain it was Mrs. Fisher, the woman I'd allowed to win back in Philadelphia.

But if she was identifying herself, then she must know, or at least suspect, that there was a a person inside the machine to identify herself
to
. I'd have to be careful—as careful as I'd been with Poe—not to give myself away. I took longer than usual to make my next move; I needed time to think.

If my opponent was indeed Mrs. Fisher, did that mean she was following us around? Not necessarily. After all, Richmond was a major crossroads; nearly everyone heading south passed through the city. Our paths could easily have crossed purely by chance.

I might have chalked the whole thing up to coincidence . . . except that I had just glimpsed another mysterious female figure from Philadelphia. Instead, I found myself thinking the very thing you're thinking right now: Maybe Mrs. Fisher and the Woman in Black were one and the same person.

It was a long time before I would learn the truth of the matter. When the game was over—no, I didn't let her win—I asked about my opponent. But as I've said, Maelzel paid far more attention to his creations than he did to actual people. “I did not ask her name. She may have been same person you played in Philadelphia . . . or perhaps not. I do not recall that woman. This one was . . . well, ordinary looking—neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. Her clothing was ordinary, too; it may have been dark, but I am not certain it was black. I was concentrating on the game, not on her. Anyway, what does it matter?”

“I was just curious. Not many female players are that skilled. I thought maybe . . .”

“What?”

“Umm . . . nothing.” I reached into my pocket and fingered the pearl earring. The hook had been jabbing my skin, reminding me of a certain female player who had been skilled enough to operate the Turk before she disappeared. What if Mademoiselle Bouvier hadn't met an untimely end after all? What if she had mysteriously
re
appeared, and was using an alias? In truth, it didn't seem very likely. Unless she was equally skilled at disguising herself, Maelzel would surely recognize her; he couldn't be
that
unobservant. In any case, I didn't dare mention her name. I was supposed to know nothing about her.

Each evening after that, I peered through my peephole but I spied neither the Woman in Black nor the Venus of Richmond. On my next free afternoon, I shuffled around the city for as long as my pitiful body would stand it, without encountering either of them. I retired to a bench in Haymarket Gardens, hoping Virginia might return to the scene of our outing.

I sat close enough to the stone chess table to follow the progress of the games, but not so near that anyone would suspect me of being a chess fanatic. Still, there were times when I could barely keep from shouting, as I'd once shouted at my father, “No, you mustn't move
that
piece!” When the bell in the tower struck half past four, I got wearily to my feet and, sighing, headed back to the Mausoleum.

Despite Maelzel's disapproval, the curator insisted on keeping his shabby exhibits open to the public several afternoons a week. Maelzel, in turn, insisted on draping his automata and dioramas with sheets, so that the three or four people who came to view the museum's curiosities couldn't get a free look at ours in the bargain.

I made a quick visit to the room that contained the statues; if I couldn't see Virginia, I could at least pass the time of day with her less lively sister, the Venus de' Medici. And who should I find standing before the plaster Venus but the flesh and blood one? I was treated to the same delighted smile I'd gotten at the pawnshop. “Rufus! I thought I might catch you here! I hope you didn't get in trouble the other day, when I made you late.”

“Not at all.” Glancing furtively about, I whispered, “I sneaked in the side door.”

She giggled. “Good for you!” Leaning close she said, in a conspiratorial tone, “You don't suppose I could do the same thing, do you? I'd so like to see your exhibition, and we haven't a dime to spare. I get to tour the museum only because my cousin knows the curator.”

I hesitated for a long moment. My offer to get her into the hall for free had been a foolish one, an attempt to impress her. I hadn't been thinking about the possible consequences. If I were caught sneaking some-one in, there'd be the devil to pay. But as reluctant as I was to run afoul of Maelzel, I was even more reluctant to disappoint Virginia. “I reckon I can manage it. Why don't you come to the side door at about a quarter past seven, and I'll let you in.”

“Oh, good!” She clapped her hands together. “We'll be partners in crime! How exciting! Can we have a secret knock?”

Her little-girlish enthusiasm made me laugh. “How about three raps, then three more, then two more?”—the very code, you will recall, that Maelzel used.

“Like this?” She rapped her gloved knuckles on the glass display case containing the stuffed fox.

“Exactly.”

“Three, three, two. Three, three, two,” she repeated to herself. “All right, then, I'll see you at a quarter past seven,
mon capitaine
.” She gave me a naval salute.

“You have to leave?” I asked in dismay.

“No,
you
do. You got away with being late last time, but don't press your luck. Oh, you needn't look so glum; I'd have to go soon, anyway—the museum closes at five.”

As usual, Maelzel found some menial task for me to do—in this case, greasing the gears inside Fiona, the artistic automaton. I'm sure it was his way of showing me that my skill at chess didn't make me special; as far as he was concerned, I was little better than a chore boy. His attitude didn't bother me much; I was used to it. What did bother me was letting Virginia think I was good for nothing but sweeping floors. If she came back, of course, she'd see my brilliant chess moves; unfortunately, she'd never know it was me making them.

“I wish I could tell her,” I whispered to the lovely mechanical lady. “But if Maelzel found out, he'd have a conniption, wouldn't he?” I put a hand on Fiona's wooden head and gave it a solemn nod. “What about you? Do you know it's me inside the Turk? Or do you think he's run by clockwork, the same as you?” She didn't reply. “I'll bet you wish you and Otto could go to Haymarket Gardens and ride the Flying Gigs, don't you?” She nodded quite emphatically, with a little help from me. “You could have Professor Palmer phrenologize you, too. I'm sorry you're both stuck here, and can only come to life for an hour each evening. I know how it feels. I'll tell you what:
I
could read your skull for you. Would you like that?” Not surprisingly, she nodded. I placed my other hand on her head and felt about with my fingers. Her skull was disappointingly even and smooth; it gave no hint of what her character might be.

When seven o'clock came I was at the side door, waiting for the secret knock. To tell the truth, I half expected Virginia not to show. It wouldn't be the first time someone had abandoned me. A girl so charming and beautiful surely had far better things to do; perhaps her worldly cousin would escort her to the opera or the theater or a society ball.

At seven-thirty, I heard Maelzel open the entrance to the main hall; there still was no sign of Virginia. With a sigh, I turned away from the door. Just as I did, there came a light rapping sound: three, three, two. I rushed back, unlocked the door, and flung it open, nearly knocking poor Virginia off her feet.

“I'm sorry!” I whispered.

She gave me a wan smile. “It's all right.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” she said, “I'm fine.” But I sensed that something was wrong; she no longer seemed so enthusiastic about our escapade.

“You're sure?”

She nodded, avoiding my gaze. “Where should I go?”

“Well, the customers are already coming in—a lot of them, it sounds like. You should be able to slip in without anybody noticing.” I led her to the door that opened into the exhibition hall, unlocked it, and pushed it open a few inches. A few feet away, a dozen young men and women were grouped around the miniature carousel, oohing and aahing over its lifelike horses and riders. I guided Virginia through the doorway and she merged with the others just as though she belonged.

At that moment, I heard someone moving about in the adjoining room, the one where Otto sat waiting to go on. I weaved my way through the museum's exhibits, fearing that some audience member was snooping about, trying to discover the Turk's secret. Instead, I found Maelzel crouched beside the cabinet, staring at the empty interior.

When I entered, he sprang up with an agility I didn't know he possessed and seized the front of my new striped shirt. “Where have you been?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, his scowling face only inches from mine.

I said the first thing that came into my mind. “I—I had to use the privy!”

“You are supposed to be in
there
!” He shoved me toward the Turk.

“I'm sorry! I couldn't help it!” I protested as I climbed into the cabinet.

“
Ja, ja,
now shut up and listen. We have another challenger; he claims to be chess champion of the entire South, for what that is worth. He has brought a group of fellow chess fanatics with him. If the Turk defeats him, it will get us a good deal of publicity, so be sure you play your best.”

“I always play my best,” I said, a bit indignantly. As he locked the cabinet door, I murmured, “Except when I'm ordered not to.”

I don't mean to sound snide or conceited, but if my opponent really was the chess champion of the entire South, all I can say is, the South had better stick to raising cotton and tobacco. I have to admit that, despite my promise to Maelzel, I didn't play my best. I didn't want to humiliate the poor fellow, after all, so I dragged the game out longer than it actually deserved.

It wasn't easy. Each time I tried to make a stupid move, I felt Otto's arm stiffen and resist, as if he wanted me to go ahead and massacre the man. When the game ended, I heard the faint patter of applause, like rain on a rooftop. I imagined Virginia's delicate, white-gloved hands clapping in delight, and I ached to tell her that it wasn't Otto's cleverness she was applauding, or Maelzel's; it was mine.

I blew out the Carcel lamp and sat in the dark, replaying the game in my mind and wishing I'd had a stronger challenger, until Maelzel wheeled me behind the curtain and signaled that it was safe for me to emerge. As I stood, wincing at the pain in my crooked back, I heard a noise from the adjoining room: a soft thud, like something falling to the floor. I knew from Maelzel's expression that he'd heard it, too. Fiercely, silently, he jerked his head sideways, indicating that I should investigate.

I crept between the statues and glass cases, meaning to take the intruder, if there was one, by surprise. To my relief, I found no one lurking in the shadows, only a stuffed snowy owl lying on the floor, with one wing all askew. The big bird had been listing dangerously of late and had finally toppled from its perch, a victim of decay and gravity.