Julian Comstock: A Story of 22nd-Century America (66 page)

This was dismaying news, for an uncontrolled fire in a modern city can quickly become a general disaster; but the theater was far from the flames, and there was no panic in the crowded lobby, only some excited conversation.

I looked for Sam, and found him coming down a stairway from one of the high balconies.

"Damn Julian!" he said as I came up beside him. "He won't open that theater-box to anyone, including me—sits in there with Magnus Stepney and armed guards on the doors—no exceptions!"

"I expect he's ner vous about the success of his film."

"I expect he's half mad—he's certainly been acting that way—but it's no excuse!"

"He'll have to come out eventually. You can speak to him at the conclusion of the last act, perhaps."

"I'll speak to him before that, if I have to pull a gun to do it! Adam, listen: I've had a report from the Guardsmen I sent along with Emily to the Palace. They say she had two wagons ready to go, and that she set off for the docks along with Flaxie and several nurses and servants and a fresh contingent of Guards. It was all very neatly and efficiently done."

I didn't like the idea of Flaxie being spirited through the streets of Manhattan on a perilous night like this, without me to protect her; but I knew Julian's mother loved the baby as if it were her own and would take every possible precaution. "And they're safe, as far as you know?"

"I'm certain they're safe. Probably snug aboard the
Goldwing
 by now.

But there's trouble at the Palace—that's the bad news. The servants and Guard troops saw her drive away with all her possessions, and they're bright enough to divine the reason for it. Lymon Pugh is doing his best to preserve order and prevent looting. But the news will get around quickly that Julian Conqueror has abdicated the Office of the Executive—and he
has,
 whether he knows it or not—and the Palace grounds might yet be invaded by rioters or a rogue Army detachment."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the hounds are at our heels, and I hope this damned Movie comes to an end soon!"

With that, the bell rang for Act II.

Act II was the story of Darwin's travels at sea, a stark contrast to the rural idyll of Act I. As such, it mirrored the tempests and turmoil taking place in my own mind.

Here was the
Bea gle
(actually an old schooner hired by Julian for the production, anchored off Long Island), bound for South America with its crew of hardy sailors. Here was Emma Wedgwood back in En gland, refusing the courtship of the increasingly bitter (and wealthy) Wilberforce. Here was Wilberforce in a low dive by the sea, paying a drunken pirate captain to pursue and sink the
Bea gle
.

Here, too, was South America with all its peculiar tropical beauty. Here was Darwin discovering sea- shells in cliff-sides and prying up the bones of extinct mammals from ancient marl, all the while singing a meditation on the age of the Earth and fleeing from unusually aggressive armadillos. Here he was on the Galapagos Islands, collecting mockingbirds and confronting a ferocious Lion (really a mastiff dressed up in a carpet and a wig, but very convincing for all that). Jungles (mostly paper) stretched to distant mountains (painted), and a
Giraffe appeared fleetingly.
¹⁰⁵

The
Bea gle
 encountered Wilberforce's cut-throats on the return voyage to En gland. The
Bea gle
 was boarded, and the ensuing battle was very realistic.

For pirates Julian had recruited a number of men from New York waterfront dives, who suited the part in perhaps too many ways. They had been told how to strike blows and wield swords without killing anyone; but their grasp of the technique was often uncertain or impatient, and some of the blood in the scene was more authentic than the professional actors might have liked.

Darwin proved to be a surprisingly skilled swordsman, for a Naturalist.

He leapt up on the
Bea gle
's windlass, and defended the forecastle against dozens of assailants, singing:

Now we see in miniature the force that shapes Creation:I'll slay a Pirate—this one, here—and stop the generationOf all his heirs, and all their heirs, and all the heirs that follow,Just as the Long-Beaked bird outlives the starving Short-Beaked Swallow.

Some pious men may find this truth unorthodox and bitter:But Nature, Chance, and Time ensure survival of the fitter!

It was as good a scene of fighting as had ever been filmed, at least in my limited experience. The attending crowd of Aesthetes and Apostates was not easily impressed, but cheering broke out among them, and triumphant shouts when Darwin pierced the Pirate Captain with his sword.

The
Beagle
 reached London battered but unbowed—watched from the shore by Emma, and from the shadows by Wilberforce, now a Bishop, who gritted his teeth and sang a reprise of his murderous intentions.

In the lobby, waiting for the third and final act to begin, I moved through the crowd to the great glass doors of the theater. I could see that the wind had gained strength, for it tore at the awnings and banners along Broadway, and the taxi- men at the curb were huddled together, struggling to keep their pipes alight. A two-horse fire wagon came rattling by, its brass bell ringing, no doubt headed for the Immigrant quarter.

Messengers in Republican Guard uniforms came and went in flurries, shouldering past the ushers and ascending and descending the stars to the high balcony where Julian kept his box. Sam did not appear in the lobby, however, and I went back into the auditorium for Act III without being further enlightened.

It was during this final act, as Darwin and Bishop Wilberforce sang at one another relentlessly during their great Debate, that the truth of my situation began to sink in. Even as the audience showed its appreciation for the drama—with cheers and whistles for Darwin, boos and catcalls for Wilberforce—my spirit was weighed down by the knowledge that I would soon be leaving my native country, perhaps forever.

I considered myself to be a patriot, or at least as patriotic as the next man.

That didn't mean I would bow down to just any individual who assumed the Presidency, or to the Senate, for that matter, or even to the Dominion. I had seen too much of the imperfection and shortsightedness of such people and institutions. I loved the land, however—even Labrador, as much of it as I had seen, though with a tempered love; and certainly New York City; but above all the west, with its sundered badlands, open prairie, lush foothills, and purpled mountains. The boreal west was not rich or greatly inhabited, but its people were kind and gentle, and—

No, that's not what I mean. I don't suppose westerners are humbler or nobler than anyone else. I knew for a fact there were crooks and bullies among them; though fewer, perhaps, head for head, than in Manhattan. No: what I mean is that I had grown up in the west and learned the world from it. From its wideness I learned the mea sure of a man; from its summer afternoons I learned the art and science of repose; from its winter nights I learned the bittersweet flavor of melancholy. All of us learn these things one way or another; but I learned them from the west, and I was loyal to it, in my fashion.

And now I was leaving it all behind.

These feelings gave a particular edge to Darwin's Aria on the subject of Time and the Age of the Earth, though the sermon was not a new one to me, for I had heard these sentiments from Julian often enough. The mountains I admired were not eternal, the wheat I fed on grew from the bed of a primeval ocean, and ages of ice and fire had passed before the first human beings approached the Rocky Mountains and discovered Williams Ford. "Everything flows," in the words of some phi los o pher Julian liked to quote; and you would be able to watch it do so, if you could hold still for an eon or so.

That idea was as disturbing to me, this night, as it was to Bishop Wilberforce, up on the screen. I did not approve of Wilberforce, for he was a villain to Charles Darwin and a menace to poor Emma; but I felt an unexpected sympathy for him as he climbed the crags of Mount Oxford (actually some headland up the Hudson), hoping to gun down Evolution and murder Uncertainty into the bargain.

It was Calyxa's voice that brought me out of my funk. Emma Wedgwood sang,

It's difficult to marry a man

Who won't admit the master plan

In nature's long exfoliation,

But finds a better explanation

In Natural Law and Chance Mutation—

His theories shocked a Christian nation—

But I love him nonetheless!

Yes, I love him, nonetheless!

and she sang it so wholeheartedly, and in such a winsome voice, that I forgot that it was Julinda Pique's image on the screen, and saw Calyxa in my mind's eye; and I became Darwin, battling for his bride. It wasn't a trivial analogy, for Calyxa was in as much danger from the collapse of Julian's Presidency as Emma Wedgwood ever was from the Bishop's bullets and schemes.

Those bullets and schemes were cunningly portrayed, and the audience gasped and cheered at each turn and reversal, and it seemed to me that Julian's
Life and Adventures of the Great Naturalist Charles Darwin
 was a great success, and that it would play to packed houses wherever it was allowed to be seen, if it
was
 allowed to be seen. But by the end of it I was so wrought up with anxiety over current events that I didn't wait for the end-credits to finish showing, but jumped the orchestra and cut around the screen to the hidden booths where the voice- actors and noise-makers did their work.

That might not have been a wise act, for rumors of fire and abdication had already made the audience ner vous. Ticket-holders were startled by the sight of me dodging in such a hurry past the screen, and casting awkward shadows on it; and when I tripped over a snare drum of the sort used to mimic the sound of gunshots, causing a racket that might have been the opening cannonade of a military attack, the audience finally gave up applauding and cleared the auditorium, endangering an usher in the pro cess.

Calyxa was surprised to see me, and a little miffed that I cut short the curtain-calls. But I caught her by the arm, and told her we were forced to leave Manhattan this very evening, and that Flaxie and Mrs. Godwin were already aboard the
Goldwing.
 She took the news stoically and accepted a few compliments from her fellow players; then we left by a stage door at the rear.

The crowd in front of the theater was already well-dispersed, but a cordon had been kept for members of the Presidential party, and we were admitted through those lines.

Sam hailed us as soon as he saw us, but his expression was grim.

"Where is Julian?" I asked.

"Gone," he said.

"Gone to the docks, you mean?"

"No, I mean gone, plain gone—gone in the general sense. He sneaked out of the theater with Magnus Stepney during Act III, and left this note with my name on it."

With a disgusted expression Sam passed Julian's note to me, and I unfolded the paper and read it. It had been written with obvious haste in an unsteady hand, but the penmanship was recognizably Julian's. The note said: Dear Sam,

Thank you for your repeated attempts to reach me with news of the imminent departure of the
Goldwing
 for foreign waters. Please tell my mother and Calyxa that I admire their extensive and thoughtful planning for this eventuality. I regret that I cannot join them, and you, and Adam and all, for the voyage. I would not be safe in Eu rope, nor would those I love be safe as long as I was among them. And there are more personal and pressing reasons why I must stay behind.

As unsatisfactory as this explanation is, it will have to do. Please don't attempt to seek me out, for nothing can change my decision, and I would only be endangered by the attempt.

I thank you all for the kindnesses you have shown me over so many years, and I apologize for the hardships those kindnesses too often caused you.

Thank you, especially, Sam, for acting in the place of my father, and for guiding me usefully even when I defied your guidance. Your lessons were not wasted, and never more than briefly resented. Please be kind to my mother, as I know she will be upset by my absence, and please emphasize my love for her, which is everlasting, if anything is.

Also thank Adam for his boundless friendship and many indulgences, and remind him of the promise he made to me.

Yours,

Julian Comstock (never really a Conqueror)

"Do you know what he means, Adam?"

"I think I understand it," I said in a small voice.

"That's more than I do!
Damn
 Julian! It's just like him to throw a shoe into the works! But about the promise he mentions—"

"It's nothing much."

"Do you care to tell me about it?"

"It's only an errand. Escort Calyxa to the
Goldwing,
 and I'll join you there."

Calyxa made some objection to this, but I was adamant, and she knew me well enough to hear the steel in my voice, and she yielded to it, though not gracefully. I kissed her and told her to kiss Flaxie on my behalf. I would have said more, but I didn't want to increase her anxiety.

"Only an errand," Sam repeated, once Calyxa was settled in the carriage.

"It won't keep me long."

"It had better not. They say the fire is spreading quickly—you can smell the smoke on the wind even here. If the docks are threatened we sail at once, with you or without you."

"I understand."

"I hope so. I might have lost Julian—I can't do anything about that—but I don't want to lose you as well."

His statement made me feel very emotional, and I had to turn my head away so as not to embarrass myself. Sam took my hand in his good right hand and gave it a sturdy shake. Then he followed Calyxa into the carriage; and when I turned back they were gone.

All the crowd had gone away before them. Except for a few Republican Guards still keeping a vigil, the street was nearly empty. Only a single horse cart remained at the curb. It bore the insigne of the Executive Branch.