Jo Goodman (55 page)

Up until the very last Grey thought he and Donnel would have to carry Annie Jack out of her precious kitchen. It didn't come to that. When he finally told her that he was acting on Berkeley's intuition that there would be trouble, she barreled right past him.

The oddity of the throng of displaced guests gathered in Portsmouth Square soon brought out the curious from the El Dorado. They were joined shortly by men from other saloons and gaming houses bordering the square. The rising noise woke up whores and their customers and brought them to their windows. In a little more than the hour since Grey had risen from his bed, it seemed that no one was left resting comfortably in their own.

Berkeley laid one hand on Nat's shoulder to keep him close. His eyes were darting around the crowd at boot level looking for some sign of Pandora. Berkeley was more than a little afraid he would slink off when she wasn't looking to find the cat.

"There!" Berkeley said. "Over there!"

Nat looked up hopefully and saw Berkeley had spotted Grey. He raised his hand to join hers. Grey caught sight of their waving arms and ignored all those demanding an explanation from him to reach Berkeley and Nat.

"Have you seen Pandora?" Nat asked in the way of a greeting.

Grey tousled Nat's hair affectionately. "She was under my feet most of the time I was trying to get everyone out. I nearly stepped on her twice." He noticed that seemed to calm Nat rather than alarm him. Grey decided not to tell Nat he'd been close to pitching Pandora off the balcony at that point. "I'm certain she followed me out."

"Probably has." His eyes went back to the crowd.

Grey smiled a little guiltily at Berkeley. "I suppose I should have taken the cat in hand."

"No," she said, taking his instead. "She'll be fine." Berkeley looked around her. There were not many patient, understanding faces from what she could see. "Do you think they'll lynch me for provoking this?"

Grey could tell the question was asked only partially in jest. "I think you'll be this night's real hero," he said.

Looking at each other the way they were, Grey and Berkeley were not the first to see flames shooting from the roof of Peterman's hardware store on the southwest corner of Portsmouth Square. That sighting was left to a whore leaning out of her room at the El Dorado. Her shrill cry was lost on the crowd below her. What they all heard instead was the shattering of the store's large plate-glass window as it was blown outward by exploding cans of paint and turpentine.

Grey thrust Berkeley away from him. Donnel was already shouting for a brigade to form, and Grey took up the call. The crowd organized itself quickly, finding purpose where there had been chaos. Buckets were gleaned from every available source, and the pumps were manned. Even men who minutes before had staggered away from the bars were able to manage themselves well in the crisis.

Their first target was not Peterman's hardware. These men had enough experience fighting fires in San Francisco to recognize that the store could not be saved. The plan, the only one that made sense and had some hope of succeeding, was to keep the fire from spreading. They accurately judged the wind to be coming from the north and east, and while they approached their task with a single-minded grimness, knowing full well it was the worst condition they could face to fight the fire, it was the Gandy Dancer saloon that received the first shower of water.

The pumper trucks arrived pulled by men, not horses. Taking aim at the roof, water was unleashed on the saloon. The brigades, less effective but still so necessary, never stopped passing their buckets hand to hand.

"Fine work of the Ducks this night," someone shouted.

There was a general chorus of agreement, though no man among them thought it would ever be proved. "We'll be lucky if we don't lose the city," another observed.

Standing on the opposite side of the square, Berkeley couldn't hear the comments, but she was thinking much the same herself. The wind had already randomly lifted tongues of flame from Peterman's and set them licking at a storefront three buildings away. Without a miracle, the fire was going to get away from them.

"I feel as if we should be doing something, Nat," she said. "In addition to praying, I mean. Do you have—" Berkeley stopped because she was suddenly aware that Nat was no longer beside her. Worse, she couldn't recall how long ago she had last noticed him. Had he taken it upon himself to help Grey fight the fire? Her heartbeat quickened as she imagined him among the crush of men, staggering under the weight of bucket after bucket of water passing through his hands. Nat would drop over before he would give up.

She started forward to search him out when his youthful, anguished cry behind her stopped her in her tracks. The next one raised gooseflesh on her arms. Berkeley whirled around and faced the Phoenix. Her pale complexion reflected the orange-and-yellow flames leaping through the open French doors off Grey's balcony. They reached out toward Nat, twisting and curling, trapping him in one corner.

Watching from below, her heart in her throat, Berkeley held her breath while Nat climbed on the balustrade. He teetered there a moment until he threw one thin arm around the Phoenix's figurehead. Two arms would have been better, but in the other he held Pandora.

The fire that was leaping from the Phoenix's windows was still confined to the upper floors. Berkeley started to cross the street for the main doors, but she was hauled back roughly.

Grey planted her. "Don't you move. "His face was streaked with soot and sweat. Beneath it his complexion had taken on a ruddy hue from the heat of the fire. His eyes were like beacons, and they held Berkeley in place after he let her go. "I'll get him." He looked over her shoulder at Donnel and Sam, who were just catching up with him. "Get a pumper here! Hose down the hall!"

Having every expectation his orders would be followed, Grey turned and sprinted into the Phoenix.

The stairwell was clear at the bottom, but by the time he reached the first landing the smoke was thick. Grey took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. He crouched low so there was a little more visibility. After less than ten yards he was feeling his way to the door of his suite. He held his breath until he felt unsteady. The next full gulp of air seared his lungs and caused a paroxysm of coughing. Stinging tears blinded him.

When Grey finally found the door there was nothing he could do. It was hot to the touch and beyond it he could hear the fierce crackle and spit of the fire. In the few moments he stood there weighing his options, a thin sheet of flame began to creep out from under the door. He backed away, dropping to his hands and knees again, and headed for the stairs.

Shawn met him halfway and helped him out of the hall. "No good, was it?" asked Shawn. "We were worried. The boy's still out there. We think we might catch him with a blanket if he drops."

Grey shook his head. Now that he could see Nat again it was clear the boy wasn't going to let go of the figurehead any more than he would let go of Pandora. Berkeley was straining against the arm Sam had around her shoulders. Grey realized if he didn't think of something soon he was going to have to fight her as well.

He looked at the distance to the balcony from the ground, then at the flames that were flickering up the side of the building. "Give me a lift, Shawn." There wasn't time for something elegant. Brute strength was called for.

Shawn positioned himself under the balcony and hunkered down, making a firm step with his work-hardened hands. Grey stood back, measured his leap, and signaled Shawn he was ready. His first step put him in Shawn's callused palms. The boost Shawn gave him sent him up to the laborer's broad shoulders. Grey grasped the bottom of the balcony rail and began pulling himself upright.

Berkeley did not want to look, yet she couldn't look anywhere else. All around her she was aware that men were working tirelessly to save the Phoenix. The crowd in Portsmouth Square had swelled as miners, merchants, whores, and johns came from everywhere to fight the fire. No one wanted to lose another building. Sam Brannan's Vigilance Committee did not want to lose a chance at the Ducks.

Berkeley sucked in her lower lip, biting down hard, as Grey hauled himself awkwardly onto the outside edge of the balcony. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyes followed his progress, willing him over the balustrade. She pressed her hands together in an attitude of prayer and murmured her thanks as he landed safely on the balcony.

Heat kept Grey against the rail. He worked his way carefully toward Nat, keeping his eyes on the flames as they spiraled out of the sitting room and were whipped into a frenzy by the wind. He climbed on the balustrade when he reached Nat and used his body to protect the boy from the heat and fire.

"Give me your hands," he said. "I'm going to lower you over the side."

Nat's eyes were glassy with fear. He shook his head. His lips moved but there was no sound.

Grey made out a single word: Pandora. Apparently he would have to save the cat to save them. He didn't wait for Nat to come across with the feline. He tore Pandora out of the boy's arm and felt her claws sink into him. He grimaced but managed to keep his balance. Grey let Pandora perch on his shoulder like a parrot and began prying Nat's arm away from the figurehead.

He dropped back to the balcony and felt it begin to give. Nat felt it, too. He clutched Grey's arms, almost unseating Pandora. Grey leaned over the balustrade and saw Shawn in position below him. "We can't go together," he whispered in Nat's ear. "Shawn will catch you."

"Who will catch you?"

Grey smiled.
Who indeed?
he wondered. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I'll get down. You'll see." Grasping Nat by the wrists, Grey swung him over the balcony and lowered him as far as he could. Pandora, seeing a path to freedom open up, jumped from Grey's back to Nat's shoulder and finally to Shawn. "Traitor," Grey said under his breath, watching the cat leap to the ground. "You have him, Shawn?"

"Close enough. Let him go."

Nat gave a little yelp as the sensation of falling filled his senses. He was pulled up short of the ground and immediately pounced on by the cat and Berkeley. Shawn moved them out of the way of the balcony. He realized he wasn't imagining the cant in its floor. He could hear it giving way now.

Shawn cupped his hands over his mouth and called up to Grey. "Jump! You've got to jump!"

Berkeley's head shot up, and Nat twisted in her arms to see the building. "Jump!" she called. "Dear God, Grey! Jump!"

Grey
did
leap as the balcony collapsed under him. He threw himself toward the face of the building and the figurehead from the
Lady Jane Grey.
She held him there, supporting him against her polished bosom while his fingers found purchase in her intricately carved hair. She held him there for twenty long seconds while scenes from his life played out in his mind's eye.

Scenes from
all
his life.

Then Rhea came away from her mountings and carried him with her as she fell, cradling him at first, crushing him in the end.

Chapter 16

August 1851

They came for the baby first.
Colin Thorne found the phrase intruding on all his other thoughts.
They came for the baby first.
He had always imagined he could taste it on his tongue. It was a fanciful notion, perhaps, for a man who was no stranger to life's harsher realities, but these words had been formed in his mind as a child, and when he thought of them he could not help being that child again, with all the same bewilderment and hurt and desperate resolve. Yet something was different now, and Colin was finally struck by the contrast.
They came for the baby first.
At last the flavor of it was more sweet than bitter.

Colin didn't know what to expect. When the carriage stopped in front of the Phoenix he didn't move immediately to get out. Instead he glanced questioningly at his brother, and for once Decker could not summon up his casual, careless smile.

They both looked simultaneously toward the Phoenix. The red fireball that was the late-afternoon sun lent a pinkish hue to the brick. The windows were tinted rose. They had heard about the Portsmouth Square fire from their driver as soon as they gave him their destination. Now they looked for some evidence that his story was accurate and found only a subtle change in the shading of the brick to support it.