Fiddlehead (The Clockwork Century) (34 page)

When the men outside ceased their response, Gideon returned to the clock. Positioning himself on the far side of it, he braced his back as best he could, and shoved it with his boots. Always the best leverage that way. Simple mechanics: levers, screws, pulleys. If more people were of a mechanical, scientific bent, the world would be an easier place—he was confident of it.

Then again, if more people were of a scientific bent, it might lead to a more vibrant criminal class.

The good would not necessarily outweigh the bad, but one could not pick and choose when it came to wishfully bestowing mythical aptitude on the masses … or so he concluded, as the clock moved by inches as he bent and unbent his knees. He kept his eyes on the clock’s face. The large piece of furniture was top-heavy, and it wouldn’t do for him to shove it too hard and wind up with the thing crashing across his lap.

A sharp hiss came from behind him. “What are you doing?”

He recognized it, and therefore did not startle. Instead, he said, “Mr. Grant, I am addressing a weak point in our defenses. The lock is a feeble thing. It could be resolved with one shot, at which point the door would open with a simple shove.”

Gideon half expected the president to observe that the door stood between two broken windows, either one of which any fool could leap right through, as they were guarded only by blankets. But his good impression of the man’s strategic mind was borne out when Grant only nodded. “Let me help.”

Only a fool would hop through a broken window when he couldn’t see what awaited on the other side. A wiser man might use the big oak door for cover—much like he and Grant were doing at present—and choose to lead a charge from that position. If he were lucky or ambitious enough, such a man might even blow the hinges and use the door as a shield all the way down the corridor.

Perhaps. If another man or two were present to help him carry it.

Gideon knew he was overthinking the situation, but Grant didn’t say or do anything to suggest that the extra precaution wasn’t warranted, so he considered himself correct and proceeded with the wiggling, shoving, and balancing of the upright clock. Finally it was in position, and between the two of them, they knocked it ajar, forcing it into a diagonal across the door.

“That’ll hold it for now.” Grant sounded pleased.

“It also gives us more cover at the windows. But only a little,” Gideon frowned. The clock was very tall, but when slapped across the entry, it looked much shorter. Only by virtue of a decorative column did it remain in position at all; otherwise, it might’ve fallen right to the floor. “This wouldn’t have been my first pick for a defensive position.”

“Mine either, but we rarely get a chance to choose such things. We’re usually stuck with what we get. Anyway,” he added, surveying the area with a critical eye. “As I told Polly, I’ve worked with worse. Only three entrances on the first floor—in a building this size, that’s a relief. It could be far more. And given the high ceilings … unless they bring a ladder, that’s all we’ll need to defend for now. Assuming all the curtains are drawn—and between you and Wellers, I trust that’s the case.”

Gideon nodded firmly. “And for all they know, we’ve got an armed man in every room.”

“Oh, they know better than
that.
But they aren’t dumb enough to risk it. Or, more likely, they don’t have enough men to undertake an empirical study in the matter.”

“So far.”

“That’s true: We must assume they’ve sent for help, but they can’t assume we haven’t done likewise. At least three or four men are out there, by my count, never mind the fellow on the stairs. You can bet they were able to spare someone to run off with a message, requesting reinforcements or instructions. They don’t really know what to do,” he said almost gleefully. “This isn’t what they expected. Now they have to make a decision. A
big
one.”

“Whether or not to kill us all, knowing that the president’s inside. And Lincoln, and two women.”

“They know about Polly, but they didn’t see Mary. And, as you said, we could have another half-dozen servants inside—all armed, all ready to defend the place with their lives. Polly didn’t let the man in—she closed the door and left him there. Neither he nor his friends saw anyone but her. They know almost nothing, and that’s to our advantage.”

“I’m happy for any advantage we can claim, no matter how small.” And again, he considered the wiles of Polly, for whom his admiration grew by the moment.

“It’s not small. On the battlefield, information is currency.”

Gideon sighed grouchily. “But
we’re
missing as much information as they are. We don’t know how many men they have any more than they know the reverse.”

“True, but we know what they want. We know they’re near the house, but lurking in the shadows—which means they fear us. Otherwise they’d charge, storm the place, and call their mission a success. We know who sent them, or we can make a good enough guess to predict their future course of action.”

“And what might that be?” Gideon asked. He was confident he wouldn’t care for whatever came next, but he wanted to hear Grant’s assessment.

“Violence, and plenty of it. Haymes will kill me if she thinks she needs to, and leave William to run the show from under her thumb—which is how she prefers things, you know. Everything would take place under her thumb if she got her way.”

Gideon didn’t know much about the vice president, so he didn’t know how likely this was. “Can she do that? Is Wheeler so ethically flexible?”

Grant shrugged, a gesture Gideon barely saw through the gloom. “He has a reputation for trustworthiness, and I’ve trusted him this long. But he’s a politician, and the more time I spend in Washington, the less I know about such men. I’ve trusted plenty who proved me a fool. Given the present situation, I’d rather rely on soldiers. And I have
good
soldiers tonight, don’t I? You and Wellers, both smart men who know their way around guns. And since Wellers is a Pink, I know he has some experience with danger, despite what a frail-looking fellow he is. All height and no weight, do you know what I mean?”

Gideon nodded. He’d had the same thought himself.

“But you can’t put anything past him, so I don’t mind what he looks like. And what of
you
?” Grant wanted to know, as if it only just dawned on him that he ought to ask.

“What
of
me?” Gideon responded in the rhetorical. “Can I fight, you mean? I’ve never fought in battle, but I escaped the South, and I’ve survived more than one attempt on my life. I’ve protected my family and served my benefactors as I was able, to the point of violence if necessary.”

“That’s good enough for me. And you’re no coward, which is worth more than any formal service, in my experience,” he said politely.

Gideon was almost touched. He hid it well. “My father fought in the Mexican War—for Texas, as you might expect, if not approve. My grandfather served in the Revolution. He died before my father was born.”

In the dark, he could barely see Grant’s eyes, but he saw them flicker. “Is that his coat? The one you wear all the time?”

“Yes. Old-fashioned, I know. But it suits me. My father left it to me, and I … I prefer it.”

“I recognized the old army cut,” he said. “No business of mine, and so I never asked, but a man can be curious, can’t he?”

Outside, the invaders tried again with their untrustworthy shouted compromises. “You send out Wellers, and we’ll all go away! Call it a night!”

Grant and Gideon went to opposite windows and looked outside cautiously.

“This is good,” Grant murmured. “They want to make a deal. Men who are confident of victory don’t seek to make deals.”

“Maybe they can’t get reinforcements after all.”

“That’s possible. It’s also possible that Haymes doesn’t want the deaths of two presidents on her hands, and she’s told them to withdraw. Don’t forget: The advantage is ours, though we do not know its extent.”

“Forgive me if I don’t get too excited while they’re out there holding us hostage.”

“Absolutely.” Grant lifted the quilt an inch farther, holding it away from the broken glass with the barrel of his ’58. He raised his voice to project it, and hollered out into the night. “Forget it! Wellers is innocent!”

“You can’t hide him forever!”

“We don’t have to, and you know it!”

Gideon frowned. “What do you mean by that?” he whispered.

Grant whispered in return. “Confused? Good. They’ll be confused too. Let ’em think we’re up to something. Right now, they’ll assume we mean to dig in our heels, but we could also have a plan to sneak him away, or call in reinforcements of our own. Lincoln has many friends, and someone will come calling eventually—or, for that matter, someone will notice that the president is missing.”

“Good. If we can hold on until dawn, they may decide this is more dangerous than they’d prefer and try a different approach. But,” Gideon warned, “they’ll come again. For him. For
me.
”

“Son,” Grant said. It was precisely the sort of voice that usually felt like nails on a chalkboard to Gideon, but for some reason, he didn’t mind it now. “All I can do is buy you time. But I doubt you need much more than that to think your way out of this.”

“Your vote of confidence is … meaningful to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Someone outside disturbed the moment with a threat: “Don’t make us set fire to the house!”

Gideon and Grant paused and looked at each other across the door—each one trying to read the other, and gauge what they thought about that. Grant shook his head first. “If they could, they’d have done it already,” he said. “Haymes is a gambling woman, but she wouldn’t push them that far.”

“How do you know she’s a gambler?”

“She spends all her time with politicians. Name me a bigger risk if you can.”

“Are you going to answer them?”

Both men sat on the floor, watching from behind the swaying blankets. The wind had calmed, but only a bit. The night was still full of treacherous gusts, and threatening, broiling black clouds that hid all the stars.

“Yes, I’ll answer them. Like
this,
” Grant said. Then he shouted, “Light up a flare, and we’ll shoot any man who holds it!”

Silence in response.

After a few seconds of what must have been conferral: “Our offer stands!”

Quietly, Grant said, “Oh does it, now? Well, good for them.”

Nelson Wellers came tiptoeing around the corner, and announced himself by saying, “They’ll do it, if they’re Haymes’s men. She’s done worse than cook a family alive.”

“Sit down, doctor.”

“I can’t let them harm the Lincolns. I won’t have that on my conscience, not when I prevent it just by being less of a coward.”

“Thinking beyond the first option isn’t cowardice. If we beat this, you stay alive, and Gideon stays alive, his credibility intact. His editorial finishes taking the nation by storm—we all know the story is
well
on its way around the globe, so maybe, if we’re very lucky, it takes the South by storm as well. The war ends. The walking dead are vanquished. Stepping stones, doctor. Stepping stones.”

“Send him out, or we’re coming in!”

Grant said, “See? They’re backtracking. They aren’t threatening to burn the place down anymore. First blood was ours, and the first retreat is theirs.”

“Maybe they couldn’t reach Haymes?” Wellers suggested, but he put a question mark on the end.

“That would make sense,” Gideon mused. “They’re rather marvelously disorganized out there.”

The president peered out once more. “You could be right. And if you are, that’s one more advantage. We’re racking them up, over here!”

“Until they actually try to come inside.” Polly stood at the edge of the foyer. She spoke from the shadows behind the staircase, where no one could see her very well. “
Then
what do we do, Mr. Grant?”

“Then, my dear, when they try to come inside, we forcibly keep them
out.
Wellers, now that we’ve gotten the house as secure as possible, it’s time to ask: Does Abe have any other guns on the premises?”

“I’m sure he must.”

Polly answered. “There’s a cabinet in the cellar.”

“There’s a cellar?” Grant hesitated. “Oh that’s right. And it opens to the outside?”

“Yes, sir, it does.”

Gideon threw up a hand, volunteering himself. “Polly, take me to it. I’ll secure the cellar and bring up guns for everyone.”

Wellers was taken aback. “Mary, too?”

“Abe said she’s a better shot than
he
is,” Grant replied.

Gideon groaned. “I’ve seen her. She’s not terrible, but close enough. Still, he’s in that chair, and his hands barely work—so technically, he’s right. Doesn’t matter. We need every able body, and Mary’s able enough. Polly, take me to the guns, and be quick about it.”

“Good plan,” Grant said, endorsing it. “Now, Wellers, I want you to stay here and man the front. This is where they’ve been trying to communicate from, up until now, but they’ll be investigating the rest of the house, testing doors and trying their luck in other places. I’m going to do some reconnaissance. And as soon as Gideon gets back from his mission, I want him to relieve you.”

“All right.” Gideon agreed over his shoulder, one hand on Polly’s arm so she could lead him through the darkness.

The president’s instructions to Nelson Wellers followed behind him. “When he returns, you take the east wing. I’ll patrol the west. Do your best not to answer them, except with bullets. They may know your voice. Let’s keep them guessing about who’s inside.”

Polly drew Gideon into the large entryway, past the parlor and its unattended fireplace, burning low. Softly, she asked him, “Are you really going to give Mary a gun?”

“If she’ll take one.”

“So … that’s a yes?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “She doesn’t have to shoot well or wisely; we only need people who can shoot from inside, at various locations, giving the impression that the whole house is occupied … and there’s not just the six of us to hold down the fort.”

“So you’ll give
me
a gun too?”