Call of Fire Page 8

  “You worry me, Ingrid.” Cy’s jaw was set.

  “Well, I worry over you, and Lee, and Fenris, and that cramped airship we’re calling home.”

  “Don’t let Fenris hear you say a critical word about his baby.” He paused. “Though I think one of these days I’ll wake up on board and my head will be permanently angled to one side. I’d rather sleep in a chair than in those coffin-like racks.”

  Ingrid shot him a quick grin.

  They worked their way through the haphazardly parked cars. More men ran by. “Almost everyone in the mob looks to be an older white man.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Most Japanese men around here wouldn’t think to drop their obligations and dash off in pursuit of fortune. It’s not the Bushido way.”

  Cy and Ingrid reached the edge of the road along the water basin. Ingrid gasped and pointed. “There’s someone in the water.”

  He dropped the clothes bag and half slid down the gravel slope to meet the other man at the water’s edge. The white-haired fellow coughed and choked between torrents of Japanese epithets aimed at belligerent Americans.

  “Mr. Ito.” Cy bobbed his head, the closest he could come to a bow while still on the slope. He extended a hand. “Mr. Fujiwara provided us a ride here. He was trying to get back to your ship.”

  Mr. Ito squinted. “Ah! Mr. Jennings!” His English was heavily accented. “He will have no luck there. Our ship is gone! The thieves, they threw me out!” He waved a hand to the sky. “Your ship is gone, too.”

  Chapter 7

  Gone? The Palmetto Bug was gone? The world wobbled around her. Where were Lee and Fenris?

  “What happened?” Ingrid snapped.

  Mr. Ito slipped on the slope. Cy reached to help and almost slid headfirst into the water. Both men flailed to find their footing. Mr. Ito’s errant fist whacked Cy’s face. Cy landed on his backside, but he had finally managed to grip Mr. Ito’s arm. They staggered up the embankment.

  “Gomen nasai, Mr. Jennings!” Mr. Ito panted. “I did not mean to . . .”

  “It was an accident, sir. Pay it no mind.”

  “You said our airship is gone?” Ingrid repeated, staring at Cy. His glasses were missing. Damn it all, the man would be blind as a worm. Cy glanced back at the slope with a dismissive shrug.

  “Hai! Group of men rushed aboard, unmoored it. I did not see what happened next.” Mr. Ito frowned at Ingrid and then focused on Cy again. “I thought I was safe with the hatch closed but they broke through. As it took off, they threw me out!”

  What sort of horrible people threw an unarmed, innocent man off an airship in flight? Anger caused a small spike of pain in her arm. She couldn’t see anyone else in the water. Could Lee swim? Chinese hadn’t been allowed to use public pools or beaches around San Francisco, though he had surprised her with other skills recently. She doubted Fenris could swim either—he was likely averse to an activity that might reveal his slight natural curves to others.

  “Let’s get under cover again,” Cy said, motioning them toward the cars. “Did you see if both our companions were aboard when they took our ship?”

  Ingrid grabbed the bag and winced at her injury.

  “Hai! Both men. Outside work was done. Stairs gone.” Mr. Ito granted Cy a quick bow and headed toward the mob. “I must find Mr. Fujiwara! Domo arigatou gozaimasu.”

  “Cy, what are we going to do?” murmured Ingrid.

  “I don’t know. Lord have mercy, but I don’t know.” More cars squealed to a stop at the northern access to the dock. Gunshots caused both Cy and Ingrid to drop to a crouch between cars. Feet pounded past them close by.

  Cy motioned her to stay put as he removed his hat. He tugged a switchblade from his pocket and slipped the blade along the lining of his hat.

  “What are you . . . ?” asked Ingrid.

  “A trick I learned a few years back, from one of Mr. Roosevelt’s books, actually. When he was on the battlefield, he kept spare pairs of glasses sewn into his hat.” He pried his fingers into the cloth lining and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in a rag. Another pair of pince-nez emerged. He planted them on the arch of his nose and grinned. “A gentleman is never without a hat, after all.”

  “What a marvel!” she said. “How many glasses do you have there?”

  “Another pair, and more on the Bug.”

  “I guess it’d be prudent to avoid being smacked in the face again.”

  “I must say, ‘get smacked in the face’ is never something I add to my daily to-do list.” He adjusted the derby hat on his head again.

  “Run! Run!” a man screamed. More gunshots punched the air. Cy and Ingrid hunkered lower.

  One thing was clear: they had to get away from here. Cy immediately led the way back through the cars, heading to the northern perimeter of the airship dock. Ingrid heard footsteps behind her. Someone grabbed the clothes bag, yanking her to a stop. She turned, in the process pulling the bag from a man’s grip. He was a stocky fellow with a face like lumpy bread dough that’d been dropped on a filthy floor.

  “Gimme your money.” He brandished a Tesla rod of his own.

  She heard Cy shuffle behind her, likely drawing his own rod, but the space was narrow and he couldn’t defend her on this end. She didn’t need him to.

  “Of course.” She reached for her pocket, but she didn’t go for the gun. Instead, she whirled around, using her sliver of power to bash the man with the loaded laundry bag. His head met the trunk of an autocar with a satisfying crunch. She brought the bag down on his legs and used the blunt force to send him flying backward. His back and head struck the car on the other side. He slid to the ground, limp, as she brought up the bag again.

  “Ingrid! I think that’s enough! Leave him be,” Cy yelled.

  She was panting heavily. Hot blood drained down her raised arm, trickling to the armpit. “You’re right. This is clean laundry. I don’t want his blood to soak through the bag.”

  More gunshots. More men running to the dock, away from the dock. Cy spared the time to grab the fallen man’s Tesla rod and motioned Ingrid forward. “Look for a running car, or one with keys left in the ignition!”

  A man was sobbing nearby. Other voices overlapped. “We should get on a ship for Seattle—”

  “Let’s get more of the boys and come back—”

  “Gold! They say there’s so much gold in a vein up there, it’s like a river! All a man’s got to do is stake a claim—”

  “Carmichael!” A voice boomed over the chaos.

  Ingrid couldn’t help but look up. An elegant autocar was idling in the empty road past the tangle of abandoned cars. A man stood by an open door, his hands cupped to his mouth. He saw Ingrid looking his way and waved.

  “Cy. Cy!” She grabbed him by the coattails. “That man! I know him! He’s Siegfried, he works for Roosevelt!” As a secretary for the Cordilleran, she had come to know many of the most powerful men in the world by the companionship of their servants.

  Cy and Ingrid ran for the car. Siegfried flung open a back door. Ingrid threw the laundry bag into the dark interior, then herself. Cy’s warm body landed beside hers. The instant he slammed the door shut, the driver hit the gas. The car reversed with a roar and made a tight turn away.

  Distinct, familiar laughter brayed from feet away. Two plush seats faced each other within the autocar, the seat across from them occupied. “Dee-lighted to see you alive and well, Miss Carmichael.” Theodore Roosevelt embraced their thick laundry bag with both arms, his grin broad and brilliant.

  Ingrid had always been a bit intimidated by Mr. Roosevelt; within the small space of the autocar, she was even more acutely aware of his dominating presence. Two hundred pounds of muscle were packed onto his small frame. The walrus-like thickness of his neck strained his collar while a tailored black jacket accentuated his broad shoulders. At a glance, anyone would know he was an athlete in top physical form, though no one would accuse him of being good-looking. His stiff brown hair was parted high and was c
lipped unflatteringly short, emphasizing the largeness of his head. A glossy bowler hat sat on the seat beside him. Lights inset in the roof and sides of the car seemed to be angled to set him aglow.

  “It’s good to see you, too, sir.” Ingrid bowed.

  Against the canvas bag, it was easy to see the large signet ring of an ambassador on Roosevelt’s left hand. It looked just like the one worn by Blum. Ingrid sensed its enchantment like buzzing bumblebees. The ring afforded its wearer incredible protection against injury. It could only be removed by a quorum of the Twelve Ambassadors.

  Siegfried and the other men must have seen that Cy carried two Tesla rods but no one expressed concern, and with reason. Those rings were said to be among the most powerful artifacts in the world due to their nearly impervious level of shielding.

  “Pardon me, sir.” Cy bobbed his head in apology. He set his hat on his lap and pulled away the laundry bag to rest at their feet.

  Roosevelt squinted at him. Both men wore pince-nez. “Do I know you, sir?”

  “My name’s Cy Jennings, Mr. Roosevelt, sir.” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and justifiably. Mr. Roosevelt undoubtedly knew his father, George Augustus, and had likely heard of Cy. After all, he had been the brilliant inventor of the Durendal who tragically died in an airship crash. Or so the newspapers said. Cy had spent the past dozen years as a deserter from the military; here before him was a man who deemed military service akin to godliness.

  Roosevelt also had a memory as keen as Excalibur’s blade. He memorized whole books during a single reading, and recalled faces and names years after brief meetings.

  Ingrid weighed what to say. Secrets seemed to be the currency of the day. They needed Roosevelt as an ally, but they couldn’t tell him everything. Certainly nothing about Cy’s true identity. The presence of the three men in the front seat, their heads visible through a small window, only complicated things more.

  “Sir, Mr. Sakaguchi advised us to go to you. But what we need to say should be for your ears only.”

  “You’re concerned about my men. I trust them with my life, Miss Carmichael.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but our lives are substantially more fragile than yours.” She certainly felt her own frailty now. Exertion and adrenaline were causing her whole body to tremble. She pressed her knees together to steady herself.

  Mr. Roosevelt’s arms sprawled against the back of his seat as he fixed his level gaze on her. “I trust them with the very welfare of the United States of America. They hear secrets but do not repeat them. What you wish to say, they may very well already know.” He tapped on the glass. Two of the men tilted their heads. “Gentlemen, did you already know Miss Ingrid Carmichael here is the only known woman geomancer in the world, and one of titanic skill?”

  “Yessir,” said all three men in a slightly offbeat chorus.

  Indignation caused Ingrid to open and close her mouth several times without being able to form coherent speech. She’d certainly never been privy to the late-night conversations between Mr. Sakaguchi and Mr. Roosevelt, so it was possible that Siegfried had been in attendance for those talks. He had been a regular fixture with Mr. Roosevelt, though he often ended up in the kitchen, where he knew Mama usually had cookies or pies of which he could partake.

  These other men, though . . . they were strangers. Strangers who had also kept counsel well enough that Blum hadn’t suspected anything about Ingrid’s power until the events of the past week.

  Ingrid didn’t like her hand being forced like this, but she also knew there was no time to dawdle. If she and Cy couldn’t trust Roosevelt and his men, they were already as good as damned.

  “Sir, our airship’s gone, nabbed by gold rushers. Lee Fong was on board.”

  “Lee Fong?” Mr. Roosevelt’s eyes narrowed. “You know.”

  So much weight in that one word. “Yes. We both do.”

  Mr. Roosevelt tapped on the window again. “We are done with Portland! We must fly straightaway. These airship thieves will likely fly toward Seattle.”

  “Understood, sir!” barked the driver. The car made a hard right turn. Ingrid viewed blurring trees through the tinted side windows and estimated that they drove to the east.

  “My airship is moored at the ranch I am staying at nearby. It’s vital that I maintain my distance from Mr. Sakaguchi and his concerns, Miss Carmichael. That includes you. In light of these circumstances, however, I must make an exception. I will assist in your pursuit of this airship. In return, I need to hear from your lips what befell Mr. Sakaguchi and San Francisco.” His face reddened. “This fool business with Baranov has such wretched timing.”

  “Ambassador Blum engineered this gold rush in Baranov, didn’t she?” asked Ingrid. Better to delve into someone else’s secrets before exposing more of their own.

  It was odd to feel Roosevelt’s intense scrutiny on her. She had enjoyed his after-dinner stories as a child but she usually interacted with him in a more menial role.

  “Baranov is Miss Blum’s idea of a grand diversion. Russia has wandered into Manchukuo and disrupted the railroad. That entity is run by one of the most powerful corporations in Japan—”

  “South Manchukuo Railway, the main rival of Augustinian,” added Cy.

  “Indeed.” Roosevelt studied Cy for a moment then continued: “This past winter was hard on Russia. The czar’s coffers are low, as is soldier morale in the motherland and abroad. Our people have known about gold in Baranov for some time. Miss Blum delayed the announcement of its discovery until now, springtime—”

  “To lure mass desertions to Baranov. Russia will execute any soldiers who abandon their posts, and either kill or imprison their families as well.” Cy grimaced.

  “The ones who don’t die in the effort to reach the Baranov interior, yes,” said Roosevelt. “The gold isn’t conveniently located at the coast. It’s a dangerous and long trek, one unfriendly to airship and man alike. A good bit of gold is just across the border in the Yukon as well. It will likewise distract the Canadians and Brits.”

  “And plenty of Americans, too,” said Ingrid.

  “The sorts of Americans that Miss Blum deems to be past their period of prime use as soldiers. I assure you, I don’t agree with her assessment. Many of these men are fathers and still contribute to society in other useful ways, but I doubt it will surprise you that Miss Blum doesn’t readily accept my counsel.”

  Ingrid shook her head. “What a horrible political ploy.”

  “But brilliant all the same,” added Cy softly.

  “Such plots are Miss Blum’s hallmark. You’re now part of her grand web as well, Miss Carmichael. She has scoured the ruins of San Francisco for you the past few days. She is convinced that Mr. Sakaguchi now works against Japan and is in league with a tong. She’ll see him executed, and rejoice in that. She doesn’t tolerate disloyalty to Japan.”

  “Whereas your loyalty is to America,” Ingrid murmured.

  At that, Mr. Roosevelt dipped his head. “Thus is the nature of the Unified Pacific: we combine our militaries, our resources, yet the representation is not equal, nor is the sacrifice. I vowed to fight for America and what is right, and indeed I will fight!” The spark in his eyes could light fires.

  “That’s a dangerous position to take, isn’t it, sir?” asked Cy. “A common man would be jailed for saying such, but as an ambassador, you take a different risk. It’s not the first you’ve taken either. You might have publicly ceased your friendship with Mr. Sakaguchi, but you still fought to keep him free these past months while Japan was well aware he’d lied about Abram Carmichael’s death.”

  “You are privy to a great deal of information for a man who is a stranger to me.”

  Ingrid didn’t like the way Mr. Roosevelt was regarding Cy. “I wouldn’t be alive without the help of Mr. Jennings and Mr. Fenris Braun, sir. Mr. Braun is aboard the airship with Lee.”

  The autocar’s horn blared, and Ingrid swayed as the driver made another tight turn. The engine roared a
s the car accelerated.

  “Fenris!” Mr. Roosevelt laughed, all teeth, and an instant later his face went utterly sober.

  “Unfettered will fare the Fenris Wolf

  And ravaged the realm of men,

  Ere that cometh a kingly prince

  As good, to stand in his stead.”

  He grinned again. “A piece of the poem ‘Hákonarmál.’ A tenth-century work. I should hope this Fenris of yours is not intent on destroying the world in the manner of his namesake. There’s already a queue for that privilege.”

  “Our Fenris doesn’t tolerate long waits in line, so it’s all well and good for us that he favors construction over destruction,” said Cy. “He’s my business partner in our machinist business. We ran a shop South of the Slot in San Francisco. I met Miss Ingrid this Sunday past when I dropped by the auxiliary to buy some kermanite.”

  “Easter Sunday. The auxiliary explosion.” Roosevelt’s hands knotted together. “I read a report penned by one Captain Sutcliff that said Miss Carmichael credited Thuggees with the attack. The press has joyously blamed the Chinese for the explosion and many wish to blame them for the earthquake as well, though they aren’t sure how to do so. In any case, it validates the flimsy logic of many men who wish to treat the Chinese as less than human.” He sighed. “I hope Lee manages to stay hidden aboard this airship. I shudder to think of what those louts would do to a Chinese boy.”

  Ingrid nodded, her throat dry. Fenris and Lee could be in danger even if they weren’t physically attacked. The thieves might be inexperienced with airships, or bad weather might arise, or the state of the Bug’s repairs could have catastrophic consequences. Possible disasters were infinite.

  Roosevelt stared out the window, into the distance. “If any semblance of China as a people and a culture is to survive these next few years, Lee Fong is our hope to lead it. Millions of bright lights are being extinguished. That boy is a spark in the deepest, blackest night. He is hope for people who have little else.”

  Ingrid thought of the qilin and the guandao as she met Mr. Roosevelt’s gaze. “What is he to you, sir?”