Curiosity (17 page)

O
NCE AGAIN, MY THROAT SEEMED FAR
too tight and dry to let any words out. She mightn't have noticed me at all if the Irishman hadn't spoken up. “I believe the young gentleman is after trying to get your attention, Miss Clemm.”

She turned toward me with a puzzled expression that, to my great gratification, turned into one of delight. “Rufus! I told you we'd bump into each other again, didn't I? How have you been?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, busy. Very busy.”

“With the Original and Celebrated Automaton Chess Player?”

“No, no. They don't let me near the Turk. Just sweeping and dusting and that sort of thing.”

She brushed one sleeve of my jacket with her worn white glove. “You do look a little dusty.”

“Well, I'm going to buy a new suit of clothes, if I can find something suitable.” I winced as the punbroker let out another cackle.

“Oh, good; I'll be your fashion adviser!” said Virginia. “I've always loved dressing up dolls. You can be my life-sized doll.”

“What about the cameo, then?” asked the Irishman.

“We can discuss that later.” She tucked the pin in her handbag and began searching through a pile of clothing that, judging by its size, had belonged to a boy of nine or ten—which meant it was probably just right for me. Though I had grown a little lately, I was still a runt. Virginia selected a dark blue sack coat and held it up in front me. “Oh, you'd look
very
dashing in that. Can you take off your brace and try this on?”

I felt myself reddening with embarrassment. “That's easier said than done. I'm like a turtle climbing out of its shell.”

“Here, I'll help you,” she said cheefully, and proceeded to unbuckle the straps. When I was free of the torture device, I stood there like a plaster statue, trying to keep my back as straight as possible while Venus—I mean Virginia—helped me out of my old jacket and into the new one. “Yes, that looks perfect, don't you agree, Mr. Tindle?” She held up a calico shirt with blue stripes. “Mama would love this; she fancies bright colors. Oh, and here are some trousers to match the coat.” She giggled. “You'll have to put those on yourself.”

If I was red before, I must have gone positively crimson. “In here,” said the pawnbroker, and ushered me into a small enclosed booth. One wall of the booth held a door leading to the outside; the front opened onto the counter. “This is for me customers who don't wish to be seen hocking their valuables—but 'tis also me dressing room.”

When I emerged, Virginia clapped her hands. “A perfect fit!”

“How much?” I asked the Irishman.

“Well, being as you're a friend of the young lady, I'll let you have them for a dollar.”

Virginia moved up next to me and took my arm. “Now, Mr. Tindle,” she said, in a voice that managed to be both sweet and reproachful, “you mustn't try to take advantage of Rufus just because he's new here. He may not have noticed the ink stain on the trousers, but I did.” She leaned close to me and said, in a stage whisper, “I wouldn't give him more than fifty cents for the lot.”

The pawnbroker sighed. “If all me customers were like you, Miss Clemm, I'd be out of business in a week. Seventy-five cents, then.”

I started to hand over the money, but Virginia put her gloved hand on mine. “I think you meant
sixty
-five, didn't you Mr. Tindle?”

Mr. Tindle smiled wryly and shook his bald head. “We shall have to change your name to Miss
Clam
, for it's that hard to pry anything out of you.”

“I don't mind—provided I may call you Mr.
Swindle
.”

The pawnbroker looked to me helplessly. “Can you believe it? Not only does she out-haggle me, she out-puns me as well!”

After helping me into my turtle shell, Virginia took my arm again and we strolled back toward the center of the city. “I think,” she said, “that we should take the thirty-five cents you saved and squander it on something completely frivolous and decadent.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Her eyes bright with excitement, she said in hushed, dramatic tones, “The Flying Gigs!” At that point, I had no idea what she was talking about. Before I could ask, she went on. “I've always wanted to ride on it, but I can't do it alone, and Mama refuses to try it; she insists that it would send her into conniptions. I know you wouldn't be afraid in the least.”

“How do you know that? You only just met me.”

She shrugged and smiled slyly. “Woman's intuition.”

“Well,” I said, in my usual cautious fashion, “I could try it, I suppose.”

“Oh, good! It's at the Haymarket Gardens.”

The Gardens was an extensive pleasure park that sat on a series of terraces overlooking the river. On our way there, we passed a site that was the furthest thing from a pleasure park—the gallows that stood in a field behind the State Penitentiary. Virginia paused before the wooden structure, and I felt her shudder and draw nearer to me. “I hate this place.”

“Why stop here, then?”

“I don't know. There's something compelling about it, as there is about the scene of some great battle. I think that, in places where some dreadful event has happened, there's a sort of . . . presence that lingers.”

“Like—Like a ghost, you mean?”

“Not exactly. Just a feeling, as if the spot were charged with electricity.” Her delicate fingers gripped my arm so hard it hurt and she said, in a low voice, “Do you know that, only a few years ago, they hanged three Spanish pirates from this gallows? But here's the most interesting part: After they took the bodies down, they tried to bring them back to life by giving them electric shocks!”

“Oh, Lud!” It was my turn to shudder. “Did it work?”

“Yes!” she whispered. “There's one of them now!” When I jerked my head around—not an easy thing to do while wearing a back brace—she broke into giggles. “I'm only teasing, Rufus!”

“I knew that,” I muttered.

“I'm sorry if I sound morbid,” she said as we walked on. “I just find stories like that so fascinating. I won't tell you about the boy who was killed on the Flying Gigs.”

“You're just trying to scare me again.”

“No, really. My cousin says that, years ago, a little boy tumbled out of the Gigs and the carriage ran over him. Don't worry, I'm sure it's perfectly safe, as long as you hold on tight.”

“I'm not worried,” I lied. As I've said, I was taught that we should accept gracefully whatever befalls us, but that doesn't mean we should go around
inviting
things to befall us.

When we entered the Haymarket Gardens, the first thing I saw was a small group of spectators gathered around a stone table at which two men sat playing chess. I was drawn to the spot as irresistibly as Virginia was to the gallows. I felt something like the electrical charge she had mentioned running through me; it made my fingertips tingle. One of the men had his fingers poised over his bishop—a really bad choice. It was all I could do not to reach out and make the right move for him. Unfortunately, I couldn't control human players the way I did the Turk. The man moved his bishop—and three plays later met his doom.
“Échec et mat,”
I murmured under my breath.

“What did you say?” asked Virginia, over the sound of the spectators' applause.

I mentally scolded myself for forgetting Maelzel's instructions to show no knowledge of the game. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why it's over when there are still lots of pieces on the board.”

She laughed. “You don't know much about chess, do you?”

“I know those are called pieces, and that's called a board.”

“It's a good thing you're not operating the Original and Celebrated Automaton Chess Player.”

Though her comment took me aback, I tried not to show it. “What makes you think someone operates him?”

“
Him
? You think of him as a person?”

“In a way, yes. I call him Otso.”

“
Otso?
What sort of name is
Otso
?”

“Basque. It means
wolf
.”

“Where did you learn that?”

I shrugged. “I read a lot.”

She gave me an amused glance. “What a curiosity. A chore boy who reads.”

“I wasn't always a chore boy.”

“Oh? What were you?”

“You certainly ask a lot of questions,” I said with a sigh.

“That's what Mama always tells me. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just naturally curious.”

“Don't apologize; I'm the same way. People always say I ask too many questions, too.”

“Well, if you're so curious, surely you must have wondered what makes Otto work?”

“His name's Otso, actually.”

“I like Otto better. It sounds like a real name.” She yanked at my arm so hard, it almost knocked me off my feet. “Oh, look! There's the Flying Gigs! And they're loading it up! Let's hurry!”

The ride consisted of four carriages, each about half the size of a real horse-drawn gig; their wheels ran on a wooden track that descended the hill toward the river. There were six passengers aboard already. A boy in a cloth cap and rumpled corduroy suit helped us into the rearmost carriage. We were barely settled in our seats when the whole thing began to move—slowly at first, but as the grade grew steeper we quickly picked up speed, until we were traveling faster than a toboggan on an icy hillside.

Beside me, Virginia let out a shriek; though my wide eyes were fixed on the track ahead, I forced myself to look her way. She hadn't swooned and wasn't having conniptions; in fact, her face was the very picture of delight. Mine, I imagine, was more like one of the fearful faces in Michelangelo's
The Last Judgment
.

Ahead of us lay the river; we were traveling so fast that I was convinced we would take flight and plunge into the water. At the last possible moment, the tracks made a sweeping curve and headed back up the hillside. Our momentum carried us uphill quite a distance before we slowed to halt; as we started to drift backward, some sort cable caught hold of us and dragged us back to our starting point.

“Oh, my!” Virginia exclaimed breathlessly as we stepped—in my case a bit shakily—from the car. “That was even more thrilling than I expected! Can we go again?”

“Umm . . .” I fingered the dimes and half dimes in my pocket. “I suppose we could.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you spend all your money, Rufus.”

My hesitation was due more to a lack of courage than a lack of money, but of course I couldn't say so. “No, no, I've got more than enough.” I dug the coins from my pocket and the courage from somewhere, and we flirted with death one more time. “If my heart stops,” I said, “just have them give me an electric shock, the way they did with those Spanish pirates.”

She laughed; no doubt she thought I was joking.

Obviously I survived, and didn't even require the electric shock. As I unsteadily led her away from the Flying Gigs, I asked whether she had a watch.

“I used to.” She smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, Mr. Tindle has it now. You know, when you're out with a young lady, it's not good manners to worry about the time.”

“Sorry. It's just that, if I'm not back by five o'clock, Maelzel will have my head.”

“I'm sure it's nowhere near that late. Oh, look!” She dragged me toward a booth where two men were engaged in a curious enterprise. One was a tall, gangly fellow dressed all in black, like a clergyman or a physician. His eyes were closed and his huge hands were clamped onto the head of a smaller man seated in a straight-backed chair. It looked almost as if he were trying to crush the smaller man's skull, but of course he wasn't. His true purpose was made clear by the sign that stood next to the booth: