Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) (19 page)

Maddox swept the backs of his fingers over Katya’s naked skin, tracing a slow, ever-changing pattern over her body. They crowded together in Maddox’s narrow bed, the only light a dimness seeping through the small room from the lamp turned low by the door. Katya lay with her back to Maddox. His fingers trailed from her shoulder down her collar bone, between her breasts, over the softness of her stomach, and up the climb of her hip. Katya felt every swipe and glide of his hand, her mind alert but troubled. She could not form her situation into words, but it haunted her. As her body glowed and reawakened to every inch of skin that Maddox rested against her back and the backs of her legs, Katya could not shake the rumble of doom.

Maddox nestled his face into the hollow between Katya’s jaw and shoulder. He kissed her neck, his fingers blazing a new route down her side to the top of her thigh and up her pelvis.

Katya reached for Maddox’s hand. “Hold me,” she whispered. She could hear the tension binding her voice.

Maddox slipped his arm around her, letting his hand rest on her opposite arm. He kissed the back of her neck, the unforgiving bone behind her ear, and the softer padding of her cheek.

“Do you think there’s something wrong at the carnival?” Katya asked. She could not tell Maddox the whole truth, but she could warn him. She had to warn him.

Maddox chuckled in her ear. “How can you think about the carnival? We finally got out of there for the night.”

“Something’s not right.”

“Of course not,” Maddox murmured, moving his lips against Katya’s shoulder. “Two people died, am I right? I was talking to one of the game stall men. Did you know the games are rigged?”

Katya’s muscles tightened, thinking of Mr. Kelly. “Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Not the games. Which game runner were you talking to?”

“He didn’t give me his name. He runs the one in the front where you throw the baseballs. Have you tried it?”

“No.” Katya’s restless fingers stroked Maddox’s arm.

Maddox adjusted his position behind her, shifting his other arm up under his head and brushing it past her hair. “There’s a mechanism under the bottles that holds them in place and makes them harder to knock down, if not impossible. One step on the foot pedal, and the game runner can make a winner out of anybody.”

“Mr. Warden’s behind all that.”

“How do you know? Did he tell you?”

Katya found herself shaking her head, which was not a lie. Mr. Warden had never admitted to it. Brady had told her the first night they talked at his game stall. She fibbed to the first question to cover up her conversation with Brady. “It’s just a guess. He decides everything.”

Maddox pinned his arm closer against her stomach. “He doesn’t know everything.”

Katya’s insistent
yes
caught in her throat. She kept it there, making her eyes water.
Mr. Warden knows too much
. She blinked the wetness out of her eyes and turned over on her back to look at Maddox.

His expression greeted her gently, confident but not arrogant. The lamplight glinted in the stubble covering his chin and jaw. His eyes shone with appreciation rather than the preoccupation weighing on Katya’s mind.

“Promise me,” Katya whispered, “that you’ll be safe there.”

Maddox breathed with good humor. “Be safe with what? Fixing the machines?”

Katya could imagine Mr. Warden rigging one of the devices to hurt Maddox, maybe even mangle his hands for life so he could never work again. “Yes, that too.”

“What else, then? I don’t understand why you’re so afraid.”

Katya tried to find the best answer that did not involve Brady and his journal or Mr. Lieber’s unknown murderer. “Mr. Warden’s jealous.”

“Of me?”

“He’s a possessive man. If he finds out that we rode the carnival together or were seen slipping into the maintenance office together–”

Maddox gave a wide grin.

Katya took a deep breath to keep herself on track. “It’d explain to him why I didn’t want to kiss him.”

Maddox’s amusement faded as quickly as it had brightened into being. His jaw tightened, and his eyebrows furrowed over sharpened eyes. “He tried to kiss you? When?”

“After Mrs. Lieber killed herself.”

“What did you say?”

“I excused myself from his office.”

Maddox’s tone darkened. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. He thanked me for my help, and I left.”

“If he’s so envious, he can clear off the side stage. I’ll gladly stand toe to toe with him and fight for you. I wouldn’t mind taking a few swings at William Warden.” Maddox’s eyes flashed in a different light as he pictured it. “I bet he’s never been in a fight before.”

Katya remembered Mr. Warden’s more humble, thieving roots. “I’m sure he has.”

“You seem to know a lot about Mr. Warden.”

“Rumors. I don’t think he’s always had this much privilege. He started the carnival from nothing. Investors paid for it, not family fortune.”

“Why didn’t you tell him you were interested in me? How come nobody seems to know that we’ve been getting acquainted? Are you ashamed of me?”

“No.” Maddox’s insult pierced Katya’s heart. “I’d tell anybody. I don’t care. Do you honestly think it matters? Do you know what people think of me? If they saw us in the street, they wouldn’t think, ‘The Romanova girl’s throwing herself away.’ They’d say, ‘He’s still too good for her.’”

Maddox said nothing, and Katya rambled on, the wetness coming back into her eyes. “I’m sorry I told you money and station mattered, and I’m sorry that was the shallow, simple person I was. I don’t know what you want me to say to take that back. I can’t make excuses for it. I can only tell you that I like being with you, and if that’s not good enough, there’s no way I can make this right.”

Maddox pulled Katya closer to him, his arm sturdy around her waist, and kissed her. “No, that’s more than good enough.” He rested his forehead against hers.

Even as Maddox’s temper cooled into the reliable stillness and comfort she knew him for, Brady’s words picked at Katya.
“How well do you know him?”
First Brady’s gnawing questions, then the joke.
“He’s Irish.”
Brady’s purposefully thickened accent made anger flare inside Katya like a newly struck matchstick. Maddox’s indirect rivalry with Mr. Warden was justified. Katya could no more picture Maddox stabbing a letter opener into Mr. Lieber’s thick German neck than she could imagine Magdalene or Mary doing it. Katya resented Brady for making her doubt Maddox, even for a second, but she understood Brady’s reasons. Agna Lieber having taken her own life did not make her death any less affecting. The carnival reeked of loss and sorrow and bad fortune.

Maddox held Katya for a long time before he spoke. “There must be a better way you can come here. I don’t like you riding the streetcar alone at this time of the morning.”

Katya did not care for it, either, surprised at the difference between riding it home with Magdalene from St. John’s Church and riding it alone across the southern part of the city. “If there is, I don’t know it. The only options are to hire Mr. Davies for a few hours or purchase my own carriage.”

Maddox returned to his breathy, joking responses, his face pressed close to hers. “I think Mr. Davies would rather get some sleep than wait out in the street for us to be done. As for owning your own carriage, I’m not sure your reputation could handle the extra pressure. It might be simpler for me to find another boarding house closer to where you live.”

“I’d like that,” Katya said, smiling although she knew she had offered the more selfish of the two possible answers. “That is,” she added, “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

Maddox shrugged. “I don’t have much to move. Not like you would.”

Katya turned under the easy weight of his arm, looking over the shapes and shadows of clothing strewn across the room. The great mass of her dress took over the back of a chair. Buckles and buttons glimmered from pants, jackets, and undergarments on the floor. “I do have a lot of things. But I only have one of you.”

Maddox took advantage of Katya’s twisted, vulnerable position. He kissed her neck, sweeping his hand up her stomach to her breasts. Katya shivered at the familiar sensations trickling through her body.

Katya’s mind flitted past the advancing hour of the morning, which she could not read on the alarm clock out of view on the bedside table. She tried fleetingly to calculate it, how long it might have taken her to ride Mr. Davies’ carriage home, slip out of the boarding house after Magdalene drifted to sleep, and ride streetcars to the southeast corner of the city. She must have been at Maddox’s boarding house for at least an hour.

Maddox’s lips and fingers lured her out of her practical mind, and Katya left the time of day in the hands of the clock. “I’ll sleep until supper time,” she murmured, but it did not seem to matter. Her body snaked and curled under Maddox’s explorations, tracing borders and territories across her skin. His tongue marked cities and monuments. His hot breath drew rivers and mountains. Katya followed him down every trail, the two of them plastered close together to keep from falling out of the bed. Maddox shifted Katya’s hips to the middle of the mattress, rising above her and taking his place between her legs. Katya breathed him into her, aware of all the warm places their bodies touched. Maddox lowered his chest against hers, and as one, they moved toward the discovery of a new and distant shore.

In her ear, Maddox whispered, “Yes. I’ll be careful.”

It was one of those nights. Magdalene worked the food stall as surely as ever, collecting coins and paper bills from the customers. She handed down the bags of popcorn and plates of sausages on buns.

Behind the customers ran the real show. Magdalene watched it play out over their heads. The stately figure of Isolde Neumann arrived and passed behind the line of hungry customers. She was not easy to miss, one of the beyond-fashionable three-story hats on her head. A black velvet bow adorned the front of the band. Golden silk covered the rest of the form, its heavy appearance lightened by matching ostrich feathers. Perched atop her gleaming hair, any carnival guest could have scaled the monstrous structure and sat as high as the top seats of the Warden wheel. Isolde barely looked around her before she passed the corner of the food stall and let herself into Mr. Warden’s office. Magdalene caught her familiarity, the lack of a courteous knock to announce her arrival. She ushered herself inside as if passing from room to room inside her own house.

Magdalene was not sure how long Isolde stayed inside. Perhaps a half hour, perhaps longer. Magdalene wondered if they might be discussing business, but she could not reasonably explain what the daughter of a glass-ornament manufacturer could offer the Steampunk Carnival. Either she was making a deal to outfit the carnival over the winter holidays or their only business with each other involved no words at all.

Isolde reappeared, closing the door behind her, her face and hat as fresh as when she had arrived. Magdalene wondered how long it had taken to straighten her hat and jacket. How long had Isolde waited, checking her reflection in a sterling silver pocket mirror slipped from her purse, until the swelling of her kissing lips went down? Isolde traipsed back the way she had come, her spine straight and tall behind the line of chirping customers. With as much confidence as Mr. Warden himself, she did not glance left or right but continued on toward the front of the carnival. She rarely stayed to take in anything, save whatever awaited her in Mr. Warden’s office.

Magdalene asked Irina to cover the front counter while she took a break at the water closets. She had stopped asking the Englishman to do it, which did not matter to him. Irina accepted the temporary post with a satisfied twist to her lips, knowing Mr. Warden was too busy elsewhere to keep her from working the front line of carnival employees.

Magdalene crossed the back of the carnival, passing Brady’s game stall. His only acknowledgement was a gaze held longer than a casual meeting. He hid their acquaintanceship well, a great part of the reason Magdalene trusted him. He knew what he stood to lose and what he stood to gain, and he never took too big of a risk. He did not wave or wink or stare too long. He merely looked over, recognized her, and motioned the next customer to the counter to play.

A man brushed past Magdalene, a few inches closer than most guests walked by her, and she shivered. She barely recognized him, but she had seen him dozens of times over the past few months. His nondescript suit allowed him to merge in and out of the crowd, but Magdalene had learned to pick him out. She could spot Mr. Warden’s security more easily every week. They surveyed her, their eyes darting away when she noticed or intensifying their stares, almost daring her to react. Her heart would race, but her hands remained calm and professional. There was always another cup of coffee to hand out, another napkin needed.

Magdalene reached the first water closet in the row and shut herself inside. It remained the only place on the carnival grounds she felt security could not peek at her. She felt their eyes on her as she nibbled snacks to keep her strength up through the night. Mr. Warden allowed it, but she sensed their brains working, calculating how much she ate in dollars and cents. She felt watched as she walked to the front of the carnival every morning to climb into the carriage. She felt them inspecting every conversation she held with Katya and Irina.

Magdalene used the toilet and washed her hands in the sink, letting the cool water refresh her skin. She patted some cold droplets along her hairline under her hat brim, trying to ease the tension in her body. Regretfully, she dried her hands and started back across the carnival to the eastern food stall.

Irina, despite her gruffness, dealt surprisingly well with the customers. Magdalene had never heard Irina be short or annoyed with them. Irina stepped aside as Magdalene reentered the stall, and Magdalene swept back into her role, asking the first person in line, “What can I serve you tonight?”

The evening settled into a busy but predictable pace. Magdalene had almost forgotten about her close run-in with the security guard until she saw several of them leave Mr. Warden’s office. They spread out with a few feet between them, combing the crowd as they stalked toward the front gates.

Magdalene patted sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her jacket. She tried to keep up with the customers’ orders, but several times, Irina had to correct her. Irina studied Magdalene’s weary face but said nothing. Magdalene offered the strongest smile she could manage and only ever replied with, “Thank you. My mistake.”

Magdalene felt hardly shocked – but hardly pleased – when a man reached the front of the line and stood silently instead of giving an order. His chocolate-brown top hat read slightly darker than his mud-colored suit. His sharp eyes pried information from her face from a gentle, trustworthy expression.

“Mr. Weis,” Magdalene guessed, her voice trembling with certainty and uncertainty. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to take a little walk with me, Miss Harvey.”

Mr. Weis’ unexpected accent filled his words with understated threat, making Magdalene work to keep her cool. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m needed here.”

“It’s urgent. I’m sure Mr. Warden and your fellow workers would understand.”

Swallowing hard, Magdalene asked Irina to cover the counter. She walked to the back of the stall and stepped out, meeting Mr. Weis at the front. He led her at a meandering, easy pace toward the entrance to the carnival.

“Are we leaving?” Magdalene asked, terrified to be alone with him.

“No.”

They passed the Beast and the bandstand before curving to the right to stay within the carnival gates.

Magdalene wondered if running through the gates and screaming for help might be her best option. So far, Mr. Weis had not acted overtly menacing, and Magdalene did not want to make the situation worse in case he meant well. She continued on past the game stalls at the front of the carnival. She hated Mr. Weis’ silence, the way it dug its claws into her, extracting scared blood and angry bile.

“Mr. Weis,” she said at last. “If you don’t intend to speak with me, I really do need to get back to the food stall. Irina hasn’t been trained to deal with the customers. Mr. Warden wouldn’t approve.”

Mr. Weis paused with a sidelong glance. “Miss Harvey, forgive me for pointing this out, but that is not something you have previously concerned yourself about.”

Magdalene rebuked herself for trying to bluff him. Of course Mr. Weis knew she put Irina to work at the counter against Mr. Warden’s wishes. Meekly, she replied, “I try not to do it so much in one night.”

“That’s a little closer to the truth.”

They reached the southwest corner of the Beast, making their way in a loop past the water closets.

“What are you and Katya up to these days?” Mr. Weis asked.

At the mention of Katya’s name, Magdalene searched for her through the crowd. She found it impossible to believe she had walked almost three-quarters of the grounds without seeing the outrageously adorned hat or blue, embroidered jacket. Magdalene winced at the stabbing intuition in her gut. “You wouldn’t be interested in us, Mr. Weis. The everyday affairs of women can’t seem very fascinating to men with high-risk careers such as yourself.”

“What do you mean, high risk?” Mr. Weis’ brown eyes peeled her apart.

“Nothing.”

Mr. Weis cracked a grimace meant to soothe her. “I ask because I’m interested. Please. Tell me what the two of you have been planning.”

“Planning?” Magdalene’s hands fidgeted in front of her. She pulled them apart and pinned them to her sides. “What would we have been devising except perhaps a lovely roast dinner to repay the kindness of our landlady?”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Why not? She’s been widowed these past few years, and she’s been very kind to us.”

Mr. Weis led Magdalene past the western food stall. He stopped outside the door to the maintenance office. “Miss Harvey, I’ve heard you’re good at a great many things, but lying is not one of them.” Mr. Weis pushed the door open and ushered Magdalene inside.

The door to the inner room stood closed. Magdalene stepped slowly into the empty storage room, her muscles tightening as Mr. Weis joined her and closed the door. She thought she heard muffled breathing or shuffling in the other room. Before she could identify it, Mr. Weis spoke, covering it over.

“You really have nothing to say to me?”

Magdalene shook her head. It sounded like sighs, like sobs in the other room.

Mr. Weis exhaled, resigning. “They told me you wouldn’t talk. That’s why we started without you.” He turned the knob on the inner door and swung it open.

Magdalene barely kept herself from running in. Katya slumped on the floor, her arms held up by two of Mr. Warden’s inconspicuous security. One of them held a hand over her mouth, dampening her groans. As he pulled the hand away, Magdalene could see the full damage to Katya’s face. One eye swelled, turning purple and green. Her nose trickled blood to her lips, where the man’s fingers had smudged it across her fair skin. Katya’s dark hair lumped in a mess of curls and frizz, her hat discarded somewhere Magdalene could not see.

Katya hung her head for a minute, huffing each shaky exhale as she caught her breath.

One of the security men curled his upper lip. “Even the brave ones cry eventually.”

Katya snapped her head up, focusing more on Magdalene than Mr. Weis. Her eyes were not pleading but defiant and pained.

Magdalene plotted her words carefully, hoping they would emerge as casually and evenly as she needed them to. “Mr. Weis, I suggest you stop this at once. There’s nothing to keep me from running out of this room and notifying Mr. Warden what you’re doing.”

Mr. Weis scanned her face. “Who do you think gave the order? Any means necessary, Miss Harvey. Those were Mr. Warden’s exact words.”

“Necessary for what?”

Mr. Weis stomped his boot on the floor, and Magdalene looked at him sharply. “Do you value this woman’s life?” He jabbed a finger at Katya in the next room.

“Yes.”

“Then stop fooling around.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Weis. Slap me as hard as you like. I have nothing to tell you.”

Mr. Weis’ lips pursed in taunting. “That’s just it, Miss Harvey. We’re not going to lay a finger on you. I’m going to ask you questions, and if you don’t answer, it’s not you who suffers, at least, not physically.”

Magdalene heard a slight metal sound behind her and turned to the exit. A fourth man she had not noticed before, probably hidden in the corner, had moved forward. He gripped the handle tightly to the outside door.

“So I ask you again,” Mr. Weis said. “What are you up to? What are you planning?”

Magdalene studied Katya before she answered. Katya, like Brady, proved too smart to signal in any obvious way. Katya held Magdalene’s gaze, the same as Brady had. Magdalene steadied her breathing, forcing herself to remain calm. “Mr. Weis, I don’t understand what we’ve done to give you the impression we’re conspirators of any kind. Do women huddling together always have to be planning something, or are we allowed to talk about mundane things like hair and clothes and men?”

Mr. Weis nodded to the two men holding Katya’s arms. One of them, his bold blue eyes flashing with menace, lifted her arm even higher. He adjusted his grip on it so one palm met hers and his other hand cradled her elbow.

Magdalene maintained her crafted composure. “Mr. Weis, I can’t help you if you don’t answer me.”

“I’m not on trial here. We’ve been watching both of you. Every time I ask Mr. Warden or one of the security guards if you’re doing something you normally do, they assure me you’re not.”

“May I have an example, please?”

“All of your conversations at the food stall. I hear they used to be lighter, more enjoyable for you. Now every time you’re seen together, you look like you’re facing the gallows.”

“Work has been stressful lately.”

“Why?”

“We’re being watched by numerous security guards, for one thing.”

Mr. Weis leaned closer to Magdalene, his brown eyes purposeful. “People who have nothing to hide don’t get nervous.” Mr. Weis raised his hand from his side and squeezed the fingers together into a gloved fist.

The blue-eyed man snapped Katya’s wrist back. He held her upper arm firmly in place and twisted her forearm as he shoved it down into her elbow. Katya cried out, and the other man slapped his hand over her mouth. She stared at Magdalene, pleading her.

Not to tell.

“I don’t know what they could’ve said about us,” Magdalene insisted. She could feel sweat beading and itching along the top of her forehead. She dabbed it away with her glove as casually as she could.