Ganymede (23 page)

The women on the Texian’s lap smiled in welcome, but he showed no interest in letting them leave, so they stayed.

“Thank you, sir, I do believe I’ll do exactly that,” Kirby Troost declared, taking off his hat and making himself comfortable on the love seat. Cly was less certain. Partly for the sake of comfort, given his size—and partly because he’d rather not be crushed up against the engineer in such an intimate setting—he retreated to the couch and folded himself awkwardly, looking and feeling like a grown man sitting inside a dollhouse.

The captain asked the Texian, “You said Hazel and Ruthie. Is … is Josephine still here?”

“Miss Early? Oh, sure. She’s the woman in charge, but she’s not around—not right this moment. I believe she’s out with a family emergency of some sort,” he said vaguely. “Ruthie went with her, but she came back last night. Anyway, for what it’s worth to you, I don’t think Miss Early takes customers too often anymore.”

“No? I mean, no—that’s not … that’s not why I ask. She’s invited me here, to hire me for a job.”

“What sort of job?”

“I’m not too rightly sure yet. But I’ve finally made it to town, and I mean to ask her about it.”

The fluffy-faced Texian nodded and said, “Perhaps Hazel or Ruthie can help you out. They’re real competent girls themselves, and so’s Marylin. They’re the ones she usually leaves running the business while she’s out.”

“Good to know. Thank you, sir.”

A slender mixed-race woman who was more white than anything else chose this moment to descend the staircase and enter the lobby, a vision in pink taffeta and ivory lace, with her hair tufted up and fastened with elaborate combs. “Mr. Calais,” she said to the Texian, “you surely do look comfortable, sir.”

“Couldn’t be happier, Miss Quantrill!” he assured her, though when he reached for his scotch, it was barely beyond his fingertips. The girl upon his right knee retrieved it for him and leaned so that he could squeeze her close and take a swallow at the same time. “And these men here, they’re looking for Josephine.”

Kirby and Cly both came to their feet, and Troost announced, “
He’s
looking for Josephine. I’m just looking.”

She gave them both a demure smile that showed no teeth. To Troost, she said, “You’ll be the easiest to assist. My name is Marylin, and I’ll be happy to make any arrangements you require. But as for you, sir,” she told the captain, “Miss Early isn’t here right now.”

“That’s what your friend said. Any chance you know when she’ll be back?”

Before Marylin could answer, a second woman slipped up behind her. The dark-haired beauty was wearing maroon that bordered on brown, and every inch of her shimmered. Kirby Troost’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

She swished forward, taking in Troost’s gaze and discarding it in favor of catching Cly’s. Unabashedly she appraised him from head to foot, and when she felt she’d seen everything she needed, she declared, “
Je suis
Ruthie Doniker, and I manage the house for Miss Early while she is out. Are you Captain Cly?”

“Yes … yes, ma’am. I am. Josephine sent for me.”

“
Oui,
I know. For a while, she thought you would not come.”

He hunkered, even though the ceiling accommodated his height. “I do apologize—I tried to reply to her telegram sooner, but I had a hard time getting hold of the taps until a few days ago.”

“Your message reached us, but she was called away suddenly. She has left instructions. Could you come upstairs with me,
monsieur
?”

Marylin gave Ruthie a look Cly couldn’t decipher, but he thought it might mean,
Trust me.
And she turned with more swishing to ascend the stairs.

“You won’t be needing me, will you?” Troost asked with optimism dripping from every word.

“I don’t guess so.”

So the captain left him there, in the company of Marylin Quantrill, the Texian Mr. Calais, and the two women on his lap who were spoken for; Cly followed the stunning, slim-bodied woman up the stairs while trying to neither knock his head nor stare too hard at the swaying bustle that covered her backside.

By way of making conversation he asked, “Does she—does Josephine, I mean—still keep an office up here?”

“She does,
oui, monsieur
. And that is where we are going.” Ruthie paused on the stairs and looked back at him, appraising him afresh, though the captain didn’t know why. She turned and continued upward, added, “Madame said that she knew you, a long time ago.”

“That’s right.”

“She said you are a very good pilot.”

“I don’t get any complaints.”

“She said you were the tall man, and I should know you that way.”

“Many men are tall.”

“She said that in any room, filled with any group of men,
you
were the tall one.”

As she said this, he swung his head to avoid an old wall sconce that had not yet been fitted for gas, but still held a candle that had melted down to a thumb-sized nub.

On the third floor, the stairs emptied into a walkway, just as Cly remembered, and he followed Ruthie to Josephine’s office. The office was not quite the same as the last time he’d seen it, but he would’ve recognized her touch anywhere. New curtains, in burgundy instead of green. Two new chairs—no, two
old
chairs with new striped upholstery. And the desk she’d inherited from someplace or another, half as big as a bed and ornately carved at the corners—where cherubs held harps and the wings of angels curved gently downward to the lion’s-paw feet.

Gaudy, she’d called it once. But she’d never replaced it.

Behind this desk sat an attractive colored woman with a curvy body and kind eyes. She wore a beautiful blue dress in some high style that hadn’t yet made it to the West Coast, and when she gracefully rose to meet Andan Cly, the tiny bells sewn into her sleeves made a delicate tinkling sound. Ruthie introduced them by declaring, “Captain Cly, Hazel Bushrod.” And in French she said, “Hazel, this is the airman Josephine sent for.”

Hazel ducked her head in a discreet bow, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m sorry Miss Early isn’t here right now, but I hope I can help you all the same.”

“Miss … Bushrod? Is that right?”

“Yes, and no, I didn’t make it up or acquire it on the job,” she said, the kindness in her eyes hardening briefly into something else. “It was my father’s name, and now it’s mine. And if you have anything further you’d like to say—”

“No, no, ma’am. It’s an unusual name, that’s all. I’ve never heard it before.”

“Well, now you have. And if we’re finished with the subject, I’d like to invite you to pull up a seat.” She sat back down, her skirts and those tiny silver bells conspiring to make music. She crossed her legs beneath the desk, unleashing a new round of rustling, and the rubbing together of fabrics and thighs.

Ruthie pulled up one of the striped chairs and offered it to Cly, who sat gingerly upon it. Then she drew up the second one and positioned it beside Hazel’s, so that the captain could not escape the feeling he was about to be interrogated, quizzed, or possibly sentenced.

He didn’t recognize either of these women. They hadn’t been with Josephine back in the old days, which stood to reason, given that neither of them appeared to be older than her mid-twenties. A decade before, they would’ve been young for such a life, by Josephine’s business standards.

Cly shifted in his seat, attempting to get comfortable without damaging the furniture, which looked delicate on the surface but bore his weight without creaking. “I suppose Josephine told you, she called me here about a job.”

Hazel said, “How much did she tell you about it?”

“Almost nothing. She wants me to fly something from the lake to the Gulf.”

“Did she say what she wanted you to fly?”

“No.”

“And did you think it was strange?” she asked, reaching into a drawer and withdrawing a collection of papers without taking her eyes off the captain.

“I did,” he admitted. “But I needed to make a big supply run for my town anyway. And say what you will about Texians—I’m sure they’re none too popular in this house—but they know their way around a machine shop. And I need one, because I’m having some work done on my own bird.”

Ruthie and Hazel considered this response and exchanged the kind of gaze that old friends can sometimes share—squeezing a whole conversation into an instant’s worth of facial tics, blinks, and small frowns. When the moment had passed, Ruthie rose from her seat and went to shut the door. Then she returned to her position beside Hazel, and the pair of them turned their full and absolute attention upon Cly, who could scarcely recall having felt so uncomfortable in his life.

“I get the feeling this is trickier than I thought. Stranger than I thought.”

Hazel said, “Miss Early told us you weren’t stupid, and so far, so good. Yes, what we have to tell you—what we have to
ask
you—is tricky and strange, and I want you to understand how much danger you could put us in, simply with one wrong word.”

“Danger? For you?”

“For us,” Ruthie said. “For the Garden Court. For Josephine.”

Hazel folded her hands on the desk and said, “Dangerous for you, too, once we tell you everything. So first I must ask, and I expect you to answer me truthfully: Have you now, or have you ever, owed any loyalty to the Republic of Texas or to the Confederate States of America?”

Easily, he responded, “No. Nor the Union, either, if you want to get precise about it. I was born on the Oregon Trail, somewhere east of Portland. I’ve been a merchant by trade most of my life, and it’s been worth my time to keep from making enemies.”

Ruthie snorted, and Hazel said, “A merchant? Josephine said you were a pirate.”

“Same thing, in a way. I’ve run plenty of goods that weren’t good for anyone. But I’m trying to leave that life behind me now. That’s one reason I’m here in the city, getting my bird refitted up in Metairie.”

Hazel asked, “Why would you leave pirating? The only money anybody has anymore comes from working while the law isn’t looking. We know that better than anyone, don’t we, Ruthie?”

“Mm-
hmm
.”

“Ladies,” he said, opening his hands as if to entreat them. “Josephine and me, we have birthdays only a week apart—and I want to settle down while I’ve still got the life in me to enjoy retirement. But whatever Josie wants, I’m prepared to help her out—even if it’s something that we don’t want the law looking at, since that’s what you’re implying. I told her I’d fly for her, and I will. But you have to tell me what’s really going on, and what Texas and the Rebs have to do with it. Is this a military thing? You want me to sneak something out past the forts?”

“Yes,” Hazel said bluntly. “That’s precisely what we want. We have a craft out at Lake Pontchartrain, and we need to bring it out to the Gulf of Mexico—
into
it, past the edge of the delta and then some—and deliver it to Admiral Herman Partridge aboard the Union airship carrier
Valiant
.”

“An airship carrier? I’ve heard of those, but never seen one. Fairly new to the war, ain’t they?”

“Fairly new. Very big ships,” Hazel said in a rush. “But if you chose to accept Josephine’s mission, you won’t be flying an
air
ship.”

A hush descended on the room as Andan Cly struggled to figure out what on earth these women could possibly mean, and the women teetered on the brink of spilling everything, unsure whether they could trust him. Ruthie cracked first. She blurted to Hazel, “Just tell him! Or ask him, and then we will know whether to shoot him or pay him, eh?”

“Shoot me?” he asked.

Hazel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them again. “Captain, please understand—we are asking you to participate in smuggling something the likes of which you’ve never smuggled before. And the entirety of the Confederacy and the Republic of Texas will be stacked against you.”

“Must be important.”

“Very,” she told him gravely. “We are not talking about an airship. We are talking about a war machine with the power to enforce the broken naval blockade. A machine that can choke off the ocean supplies, and perhaps the river supplies … and in time, the whole South. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“You’re telling me you want me to spy for the Union, here inside a Southern city controlled by the South’s number one ally. You’re telling me I’ll be risking my neck to take the case, and you’re risking your own necks to describe it.”

“Sums it up rather nicely,” Hazel agreed. “So what do you say?”

After half a dozen seconds of silence, he told her, “I suppose the war’s got to end one day, one way or another. And all things being equal, I’d rather it gets won by the Federals. I can’t much rally for any government that’ll call a man a piece of property. So if you’re asking if I can keep my mouth shut and do the job, I’m telling you I can.”

“Are you sure?” Ruthie asked, hope in her lovely face, but also fear.

“Yeah, I’m sure. If Josephine thought it was important enough to bring me here, then it must be a job worth doing. But I do want to know, before we come to any formal arrangement: What do you mean, it’s a war machine, but not an airship? I’ve never flown anything but an airship. Is this some special kind of warbird? I’ve seen a few armored crafts, including a big one a buddy of mine stole from a base in Macon … but you’re going to have to be more specific.”