Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (5 page)

Whyborne

By the
time we put into port in Alaska a month later, I was heartily sick of the
steamer that had brought us to these wild shores. And yet my first glimpse of
land over the rails quelled whatever desire I had to leave the ship.

The
journey began auspiciously enough. We’d traversed the country in comfort,
thanks to Whyborne Railroad and Industries. I’d felt a bit odd once we’d left
Widdershins, as though I were slightly off balance, but the luxuries of our
private car softened any sensations of discomfort.

The
steamer awaiting us in San Francisco, however, provided no such amenities. The
thing was more scow than passenger ship, and packed to the rafters with exactly
what Christine most feared: a hundred men and women who, having missed the
great stampede to the Klondike two years ago, now rushed to the new finds in
Nome and Hoarfrost.

The
sight of so many people who, as she put it, wanted to destroy her dig site,
sent her wild with indignation. Griffin tried to calmly point out they would
likely be stuck in St. Michael for the winter, until the spring thaw allowed
them and their goods to be transported up the Yukon. It did little to improve
her mood.

I hid in
the cramped berth I shared with Griffin and tried to avoid everyone for the
duration of the voyage. My sensation of being slightly off, as though some mild
illness weakened me, persisted. Combined with my intense dislike of traveling
on the water, it left me miserable and short tempered. When not complaining of
our fellow passengers, Christine teased me for being a fish-man afraid of
water. I quickly tired of her sport, and our barbed exchange ended with us
thoroughly out of sorts with one another.

As a
result, I’d been desperate with longing to leave the blasted steamer and have
dry land beneath my feet again. Now I viewed the wharf, such as it was, and
wondered if I hadn’t appreciated the confines of the ship quite as much as I
should. The thin sunlight, which lasted only a few hours at this latitude,
revealed a chaotic scene of ships, cargo, people, and animals. Stevedores
cursed in French, English, and Russian, horses whinnied in alarm as they were
hoisted off the deck of a nearby ship, and dogs barked incessantly. Unlike the
old quays of Widdershins, these docks were hastily built from raw lumber and
looked as if they might collapse at any moment. The solid land beyond was
nothing but a churned mess of half-frozen mud, snow, ice, and dog waste.

I’d
expected to see a town much like Widdershins—not as venerable, of course,
but consisting of orderly streets lined with shops and homes. Instead, the place
was a ramshackle sprawl of tents, shacks, and rough buildings, its roads
nothing more than raw muck.

“This is
St. Michael?” I asked faintly, in the desperate hope the steamer had put into
the wrong port. The bitterly cold, dry air stung exposed skin and savaged my
nose and throat with each breath. I tugged the hideous puce scarf up over the
lower half of my face, grateful when it blunted the cold.

“I’d
advise against that,” Griffin said, pulling the scarf back down. “The humidity
from your breath will soak it, and the whole thing will end up frozen to your
face.”

Wonderful.
“And the town? I expected something a bit more…established? I thought the
Russians founded it seventy years ago.”

“It’s
still a frontier town.” Griffin noticed the expression on my face and grinned. “I
suspect by the time we reach Hoarfrost, you’ll look back on St. Michael with
great fondness as a bastion of civilization.”

Clapping
me on the shoulder, he turned away to retrieve our baggage. I stared at the
filthy collection of buildings—I could hardly term it a city—with
mounting horror. What had I gotten myself into?

Iskander
awaited us on the dock, heavily bundled in a fur-lined parka. Had his Egyptian
blood adapted to the cold, or had he spent the weeks cursing Griffin’s brother
for drawing us here?

A smile
spread across his face when he spotted us—or, rather,
Christine—coming down the gangplank. He hurried over, and, ignoring the
curses of the dockworkers trying to unload the ship, took her thickly gloved
hands in his. “Christine,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”

She
flushed, but didn’t look away from his eyes. “And you.”

Griffin
cleared his throat politely. “Perhaps we should get our baggage unloaded?”

Iskander
released Christine and took a hasty step back, folding his hands behind him as
if to restrain himself from touching her. “Yes. You brought everything on the
list?”

Although
most of our supplies already awaited us in Hoarfrost—assuming they hadn’t
met with some disaster on the way, at least—we’d brought a few things
with us.

“Of
course we did,” Christine replied. “Food for the trail, clothing, and medicine
for each of us.”

“And
lime juice and tomatoes to ward off scurvy?”

“Scurvy!”
I exclaimed. “No one said anything about scurvy to me.”

“It’s
quite the problem, I understand,” Iskander said. “As you can imagine, there is
little opportunity for fresh food in the hinterlands once winter sets in.”

“Jack
didn’t come with you?” Griffin peered around at the crowd. A little frown line
sprang up between his brows.

“He
needed a few moments to attend to some business, as we’ll be leaving in the
morning,” Iskander replied. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

“Well,
come along, let’s see to our things, before the captain decides to fling
everything overboard,” Christine said.

As
Iskander called to some of the dockworkers, I turned to Griffin. “Did anyone
mention scurvy to you?”

“Jack
spoke of it in his letters.” Griffin rubbed at the stubble on his chin, not
looking me in the eye. “I didn’t think it worth mentioning.”

“Is
there anything else you haven’t bothered to mention?”

“I’m
going to see if Iskander needs any help.” Griffin patted me on the arm. “Why
don’t you wait for us over by those crates?”

Curse
the man. I glared at his back as he beat a hasty retreat.

As
Griffin had suggested, I found a quiet—well, quieter—spot to wait,
well out of the way. Nearby, a troop of women greeted the newcomers from the
steamer. Their clothing, revealing even in these frigid temperatures, left
little doubt as to their profession. They smiled and flirted, but I caught
sight of a few shivering. Should I offer one of them my coat?

Before I
could determine the polite course of action, two men strolled past, deep in
conversation. One I recognized from the steamer: a strapping young fellow with
a strong Iowa accent, chasing the prospect of gold. The other was much more
finely dressed than anyone else I’d yet seen on the docks.

“I’ve
made my fortune,” the well-dressed man said. “But I still have an unworked
claim, right beside the one I pulled a million dollars out of. Now, I’m ready
to get back to civilization, so it’s no good to me. I don’t suppose you’d be
interested in buying me out?”

The
young man’s eyes widened. “For how much, sir?”

“Why, if
I asked for what it’s worth, thousands of dollars, at least.” The older man
smiled genially. “But as I said, I’ve plenty of money already. And, just
between us, you remind me of myself, when I first arrived. I’d like to give you
a break, the way I would have wanted someone to give me a break.”

“Someone
ought to give you a broken leg, Callahan,” said a new voice.

The
newcomer ambled up, his easy gait belying the hard look in his emerald green
eyes. His animal hide coat more closely resembled what an Eskimo might wear
than the mackinaws sported by most of the others on the dock. A fur hat crowned
his chestnut locks, and his cocky grin added to devilish good looks.

Callahan’s
own smile slipped. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh,
course you do.” The newcomer clapped Callahan on the shoulder. “Have you
introduced yourself properly to the cheechako?” Turning to the young man, he
bowed slightly. “This here is Bill Callahan, the town’s biggest swindler. Picks
a likely fool off every boat and offers to sell a rich claim at a bargain
price. Of course, the claim doesn’t exist.”

The
young man’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Er, excuse me,” he said, and hurried
away.

Callahan
pulled free, his face dark with anger. “Devil take you, Hogue. I don’t know
what you’re playing at these days, but you’d better watch your back. Someone
might put a bullet in it.”

Hogue?

As
Callahan stormed away, I called, “Jack Hogue?”

“That’s
me,” Hogue said brightly. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Please,
allow me to introduce myself,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Dr. Percival
Endicott Whyborne, with the Ladysmith Expedition.”

Surprise
widened his eyes, although I couldn’t imagine why. What on earth had Griffin said
about me in his letters? Then Hogue’s smile returned to its previous
brilliance. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Whyborne.” Up close, his resemblance
to Griffin became obvious. They had the same eyes, the same hair, even the same
grin. A spray of freckles decorated Hogue’s nose and cheeks, just as they did
Griffin’s.

Although
he would never know it, this man was in a way my brother-in-law. “Please, it’s
just Whyborne,” I said. “We might not have corresponded, but any brother of
Griffin’s is a friend of mine.”

He
grinned, a devilish smile I knew well from seeing it on Griffin’s lips. “Jack,
then.”

“Whyborne!”

For
once, my height gave me an advantage, and I spotted Griffin quickly. “Griffin!
Over here!” I called back. A moment later, he’d pushed through the crowd to
join us.

“Griffin?”
Jack asked. His voice sounded oddly hopeful.

Griffin’s
eyes widened at the sight of his brother. His tremulous smile made my heart
ache. “Jack? Brother?”

Jack
laughed and pulled Griffin into an embrace, their first in over a quarter
century. I shuffled back a few paces, wishing I could have given them more
privacy for their reunion.

“I can
hardly believe it,” Griffin said.

“Here,
let me look at you.” Jack held Griffin at arm’s length, still clasping his
shoulders in his hands. He stood slightly taller than Griffin, and his nose had
a crook to it where an old break hadn’t set properly. Otherwise, they looked
remarkably alike. “My baby brother, all grown up.”

Griffin
blinked rapidly. “Yes.” He swallowed. “We have so much to talk about. Our whole
lives to catch up on.”

“Quite,”
Jack said. “But there will be plenty of time on the trail. For now we need to
get your things off the ship and packed onto the sleds. I’ve hired some fellows
to help out, but even so, there’s not much daylight left.”

“Of course.” Griffin nodded, but couldn’t keep the
smile from his face. “Let’s get to work.”

Griffin

“How
many to a bed, did you say?” Whyborne asked, sounding a bit faint.

I put an
expression of mild concern on my face, although in truth I wasn’t surprised in
the slightest. Having been to many a frontier town—albeit never one so
damnably cold—I’d guessed our accommodations would be a far cry from our
hotel in Threshold, let alone Shepheard’s in Cairo. But, as with the scurvy, I’d
neglected to mention the details when discussing it with Whyborne.

Not to
suggest I’d truly wished to deceive him. Nor had I omitted things because I
feared he would otherwise refuse to come. But Christine and I quietly agreed
that this way, we would only have to listen to Whyborne’s complaints once we
actually arrived, as opposed to the entire trip here.

“Four,”
Iskander replied, rather apologetically. We stood in the cramped front room of
the hotel, which doubled as a saloon and restaurant. Men sat at rough-hewn
tables, and a few of the town’s women circulated among them. The air stank of
wet wool, raw lumber, and unwashed bodies.

“Four,”
Whyborne repeated.

“The beds
aren’t narrow—they’re made extra wide,” Iskander offered. “They aren’t
what one would call comfortable, and of course there’s the danger of lice, but
they’re quite warm at least.”

Whyborne
paled at the mention of lice. The color looked particularly bad when paired
with the puce scarf.

“We’ve
roughed it before,” I said, patting his arm. “Egypt was hardly a pleasure
jaunt. And it is only for one night.”

My
reminder didn’t serve to cheer him. “Not that I’ll sleep a moment of it. I don’t
mind living rough, but…”

“Don’t
you worry,” Jack said. He gave Whyborne a bright grin. “St. Michael might be
rough, but it’s no Skagway. None of these fellows will try to rob you in your
sleep, I promise.”

Ival’s
look of alarm confirmed my guess he hadn’t even considered the possibility
until now. “Oh, do stop complaining, Whyborne,” Christine said. “We’re all
exhausted, and standing about isn’t going to change things.”

“Easy
for you to say,” he muttered. Christine would of course be bunking with the two
or three other respectable—or mostly respectable—ladies who had
come on the steamer with us. I suspected their small room in the back of the
hotel would be far more comfortable than ours, if only because it wouldn’t be
packed to the rafters with snoring men.

“Perhaps
we should turn in,” Iskander suggested. “An early start and all that.”

“Yes,
quite.” Christine looked as if she wished to say something further to him, but felt
constrained by our presence. It must have been difficult, having been separated
for so long, but unable to touch or speak openly without inviting scandal. At
least Whyborne and I could slip away alone without causing comment.

Of
course, once they married, Christine and Iskander would be expected to sleep in
the same bed, and do so openly. I pressed my thumb against the heavy band on my
left hand, the gold warm from the heat of my body. There was no reason to resent
Christine; it was hardly her fault, and she’d been nothing if not staunchly
loyal.

Still,
it meant this trip would probably include an extended interlude of celibacy,
unless we were exceedingly quick and discreet about things. Another fact I hadn’t
mentioned to Whyborne.

Jack
turned to me. “Would you care to get a drink before turning in?”

“Of
course.” I tried to tamp down on a mix of both excitement and trepidation. I’d
searched for my brother for so long…but there were so many things I could never
share with him.

“Good
night,” Whyborne said. He didn’t look any more pleased than before.

I longed
to touch his hand, but such a fond gesture was impossible in front of Jack. I
only said, “Sleep well.”

He shot
me a glare, before following Iskander to the rickety stairs leading to the
second floor.

“He’s a
bit grumpy, isn’t he?” Jack observed when we were alone.

I
chuckled. “A bit.”

“And the
scarf is…interesting.”

“A gift
from an admirer,” I said, although Whyborne would never have agreed with my
assessment. Poor Miss Parkhurst.

Jack led
the way to a pair of empty seats at the end of one of the long tables. A Yukon
stove lent a pleasant warmth to the air. “Two whiskies, Madge,” Jack called to
one of the girls. Judging by her dress, buttoned up to her chin, she was there
to serve drinks and food and nothing else. Even so, I found her more attractive
than the prostitutes; she had a stern set to her chin and a gleam in her eye.

I
preferred the company of men, but women appealed to me as well. I’d slept with
more than a few, usually in service to one of my cases when I’d been a
Pinkerton, and enjoyed the experience. Still, I’d never really considered
marrying and having a family, like many of the men I’d met in the bathhouses
did.

“Do you
play poker?” Jack asked, reaching into his coat for a pack of cards.

“I’m a
fair hand,” I replied. “Shall we play for pennies?”

Jack
laughed. “Gold dust is the currency of the North, brother. But I have a few
pennies left in my pocket.”

The
serving woman brought our drinks. I lifted mine in salute. “To family,” I said.

Jack
grinned and clinked his against mine. “To family,” he agreed.

The
whiskey burned going down, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the rotgut I’d
imbibed over the years. Jack only sipped his, then set it aside, rather than
drinking the entire shot at a go as most would have done. Was he the sort of
man who liked to keep his wits about him?

As Jack
considered his hand, he said, “How well do you know Dr. Whyborne?”

I hadn’t
expected the conversation to enter dangerous territory so quickly. Keeping my
face neutral, I shrugged easily. “Well enough,” I said. “As I mentioned in my
letters, we’re close friends. Why do you ask?”

Jack
studied his cards, then raised the bet by a penny. “I noticed your rings during
dinner.”

Damn it.
Should I have taken mine off? Or asked Ival to remove his?

Shame
washed through me on the heels of the thought. How could I even consider such a
thing? I’d chosen him, and I’d never regretted it for a moment. I only
regretted the split with Pa.

“We
belong to the same society,” I replied, drawing three cards. “Widdershins is
full of clubs and secret societies. Some of the more powerful families are
members, which means most of the cases that come my way have a certain monetary
benefit to them.”

“I see.”
Jack discarded a single card. “I assume the different colors of the pearls
indicate a different rank in the society?”

“Astute.”
I needed to turn this conversation from my fabricated life. “You should have
been a detective yourself, instead of mining for gold.”

Jack
finished his drink and beckoned for another round. “I’ve done well enough.”

“And now
you find yourself in possession of an archaeological find instead of gold.”

“Oh,
there’s gold in the claim, too. But Nicholas thought the stele might be more
valuable.” Jack settled back.

“I’m
glad you decided to send it my way.” I upped the ante by another penny.

“As am
I.” For a moment, Jack’s smile faltered. Then he shook his head and smiled
again. “I imagine Dr. Whyborne showed quite the interest in it from the
beginning.”

“He is a
scholar,” I said cautiously. What did he mean to get at? Or did I read too much
into harmless remarks? “An unknown, possibly ancient, system of writing was impossible
for him to resist.”

“I
expect it was.” Jack frowned slightly and discarded another card. “Still, he
isn’t of the usual…type…one tends to find in the gold fields.”

The men
seated at the tables around us were lean and tough as whips, their skin rough
and features hardened from the demands of frontier life. Whyborne, to be
charitable, was not the most athletic of men. I looked at him and saw the brave
man I’d fallen in love with, not to mention a powerful sorcerer. But a stranger
likely wouldn’t see anything beyond his bookish appearance.

I smiled
ruefully. “I can’t argue with your assessment. But don’t worry. I won’t say I
think he’ll enjoy our expedition, but he’ll endure it well enough.”

“I’ll
take your word for it.” Jack laid down his cards. “Straight flush.”

“Curse
it,” I said good-naturedly. “Four of a kind. Shall we play again?”