Steampunk Carnival (Steam World Book 1) (3 page)

Railroads entered the city from almost every side, welcoming those who could afford to travel as businessmen and tourists. Katya did not normally mind this. She was not born there and had traveled by train to get there herself. She understood the draw of the city and the carnival. She appreciated what the local and traveling carriage trade did for the success of both.

Only when an exceptionally long-winded guest bent her ear did Katya find herself regretting the city’s easy access. The woman prattled on for such an inescapable length of time, Katya completely lost track of it. The large woman was stuffed into a golden outfit that made her complexion fall sallow and sickly by comparison. The height of her hat threatened to rival that of the Tower, and although Katya was pleased with herself for getting away with some light rouge across her cheeks, this woman had applied hers with too heavy a hand.

Every time Katya attempted to slink away or open her mouth to interrupt, the woman met the subtle movements with a new or repeated point. “It’s been three years since the world’s fair in New Orleans,” the woman drawled offhandedly. “If New Orleans can have one, so can Chicago. It’d be nice to see something so extensive and universal without traveling.”

Katya parted her lips to agree with her.

The woman settled her shoulders. “It’s nothing against New Orleans, of course. It’s just that Chicago could use the positive publicity.”

A short, lanky boy zipped past Katya, making her skirt rustle against the petticoat beneath it. She stared after him, taken aback by his rush during the standstill of her own evening. He clutched a stuffed bear under his arm, its black eyes staring back at Katya with the round hopelessness of the recently kidnapped. It was one of the toy prizes from the rear game stall, and the man who ran it was close on the boy’s scuffed heels.

“Excuse me,” Katya muttered to the woman. She left the patron discoursing to herself to follow the game runner and the boy.

The man snatched the boy by the sleeve of his brown jacket. The boy spun and soon got over the surge of courage or mischief that had made him run off with the animal. He stared at the game runner, jerking his arm away from the hand that held his sleeve in place. His short shouts rose on the way to hysterical screaming.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the game runner insisted, his thick Irish voice gentle despite the effort of running after the boy.

The boy was still panicking, tugging his arm repeatedly. “Let go of me.”

The game runner let go immediately, and the boy remained in front of him, hugging the stuffed bear. “Do you really need that bear?” the man asked.

“Yes. You can’t prove I took it. I won it fair and square.”

“I’m sure you did.” The game runner looked over his shoulder toward the game stall and Mr. Warden’s office beyond it, both of them blocked from view by the Beast’s vast inner workings. “If I let you keep it, will you promise not to take – I mean, win – anything else?”

The boy’s head bobbed up and down.

“I want an honest promise now, not a lie. Shake my hand like a man.” The game runner held out his hand, and the boy gripped his fingers loosely with his own. “That’s an oath, then. Can you find your parents by yourself?”

The boy nodded and sped away on his scrawny legs.

Katya blew out a breath. The game runner had been more than generous with the boy, probably risking his job if Mr. Warden found out about the lifted merchandise, and the boy raced off without so much as a thank you.

Katya retraced her steps. The woman from Chicago had wandered off into the crowd. The game runner passed Katya as he returned to his game stall. He apologized briefly to his waiting customers and encouraged the next one in line to take a turn.

A member of Mr. Warden’s additional security caught Katya’s eye, moving slowly through the crowd. Dressed in a plain, loose suit, the patrons would never know he worked for the carnival rather than attending as a guest. Katya strolled past him, only partially aware that she was looking for the woman in ill-fitting green, half expecting her to emerge from Mr. Warden’s office at any moment.

A woman’s scream both interrupted Katya’s thoughts and merged with them. She darted toward the sound, wondering if it was one of Mr. Warden’s proposed mistresses or if fresh death threats were making their way around the carnival. A woman wailed outside the eastern food stall, pointing a bare finger into one of the trash bins positioned around the roofed, open structure.

“My ring,” she cried, looking to the others around her. Her eyebrows tented imploringly. “Please. My ring is in there.”

Katya laid a light hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Did you drop it?”

“I only took my gloves off for a minute, and it slid right off. It’s down in there somewhere. It couldn’t have fallen far. I don’t know how to get it out.”

Katya peered into the giant drum. Nothing sparkled up at her. The top of the collected garbage was littered with sheets of paper soaked translucent with cooking oil. Discarded potato chips, unfinished bites of fried dough, and roasted peanuts nestled in among the pages.

The woman wept into her loose gloves until the man beside her, his own ring glinting in the lamplight, handed her a handkerchief.

Katya took a deep breath and pulled off her gloves. “I’ll find it for you. Hold on.” She passed her gloves to the anxiously watching husband and unbuttoned her jacket. He accepted that, too. Katya rolled her sleeves up and cringed as her bare fingers reached the top layer of trash. She watched her smooth, luminous skin disappear into the refuse, once-desired food items cast aside to turn slimy and lukewarm. Katya dug further, her face twisting at the dozen different sensations that brushed against her from slick oil to rough salt. She tried to erase her disgust for the on-looking couple, knowing full well she would sift through the whole barrel if she had lost a wedding ring.

Katya leaned farther over the rim. The longer she took, the more determination furrowed her face. She would find that ring, and she hoped Irina was watching. How many privileged, lazy busybodies dug through the garbage of countless strangers? Her fingers brushed the sides of the drum and reached deeper. The edge of a paper wrapper scratched at her elbow. Katya stretched her other arm another inch. The tip of her index finger circled a shape it had not found before. She clenched all of her fingers, carefully lifting them up through the garbage to the top.

The woman sniffled, brightening a strained smile as she hung in the balance between drying up and crying new, happy tears. Her husband patted her back.

Katya sighed with relief to see the ring shining amidst the sopping papers. She dropped everything but the ring and brushed as much oil off as she could with slippery fingers. “I’m so sorry. There you are. You should be more careful around the rubbish bins.”

The woman accepted the ring with glimmering and gracious eyes. “I will. Thank you so much. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you.”

Katya looked over her greasy arms. “I’ll clean up all right. I might attract a few stray cats before I do.”

“Thank you again.” The woman slid the ring on and wiggled her finger to test the fit. Despite the shiny trail it left along her finger, she put her gloves on over it. “Can’t be too careful now.”

Her husband raised his eyebrows at Katya, holding up her jacket and gloves. Katya gestured to the food stall. “Would you mind leaving them at the stall for me? I’ll pick them up when I’m clean.”

The grateful couple drifted away, and Katya returned her attention to her hands. She cringed in disbelief, trying to shake off some of the clinging residue. On top of the pile, in the packed garbage Katya had dredged up from the deep, rested a stained, cloth-covered notebook. Katya glanced around, but everyone near the food stall was focused on its numerous treats. They were either speaking with Magdalene or reading the priced menu supported above her. Katya took a soiled finger and flipped the notebook open to a random page. She could hardly believe what she saw, not just a drawing of the Warden wheel, but a technical one. Numbers marked the penciled lines, and other figures had been added in black ink. Katya closed the notebook and carried it with her, being careful to hold it close without brushing it against her dress.

Katya picked her way across the grounds, excusing herself as she hurried around slow-moving patrons. A door to one of the water closets swung open. A young lady stepped out, and Katya quickly claimed it behind her. She latched the door and turned to the white porcelain pedestal sink. A small pump hung above it on the wall, and a bar of soap sat waiting in its tray beside it. Katya ignored them both and spread the notebook open across the front edge of the sink. She turned page after page, her dark eyes scanning the detailed drawings, moving swiftly through the excess of information. She had never seen anything like it. She flipped back to the first page, but no one had written a name or a date there.

“It must be Mr. Warden’s,” Katya murmured. She unrolled a long stream of toilet paper and wrapped it carefully around the notebook. Katya set the mummified blueprints on the toilet seat and began pumping water over her greasy hands. She rubbed her forearms with soap until the oil loosened and left her skin moist but clean. She looked the notebook over while she dried herself, wondering where she could hide it until she could show it to Magdalene. She thought of trying to hide it behind the toilet where none of the patrons would want to touch it, but she did not want to risk the charwoman throwing it out.

Katya stuffed the notebook under her arm and let herself out of the water closet. With her usual air of professionalism, she nodded politely to the patrons as she passed them, crossing the back of the grounds to the food stall. She walked around to the rear of it, where the Englishman was popping corn in an iron skillet of shining oil.

“Did a man give you my things?” she asked.

The Englishman nodded.

“Can you pass them to me, please?”

The Englishman ducked down briefly and extended Katya’s belongings over the counter.

Katya offered her thanks and turned away from him, knowing he was already focused on the popping corn instead of her. She unfolded her jacket and tucked the notebook into the shoulder of one sleeve, pressing it in snugly. She folded her jacket up and raised it to the Englishman. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s such a warm night, and it reeks like garbage. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

The Englishman lifted the jacket from Katya’s hand and set it out of sight. His haggard features betrayed the slightest furrow of annoyance. Katya fitted her gloves on and followed the side of the stall toward the endless sea of patrons. She glanced up in time to see Irina shaking her head at her. Katya gave her the cold shoulder and wove herself into the crowd.

Unlike the night Mr. Warden flared his temper, Katya followed Magdalene’s renewed suggestion to wait for her at the front gate. She held her jacket in front of her as she walked, the notebook still disguised inside its sleeve. She wished the others would hurry up. The carriage would not leave without Irina and the charwoman. Irina would not leave the food stall until every pot and inch of counter had been scrubbed to the highest standard. Katya looked over her shoulder as she passed the Beast. The three cooks remained busy inside the stall, not one of them having stepped a foot outside.

Katya heard a familiar voice up ahead that slowed her pace almost to a stop. She pulled her mind away from the notebook, trying to pick out the words in Mr. Lieber’s terse expulsions. She did not know more than five words in German, but she understood his tone perfectly.

The carriage waited just past the gates, almost centered between them. The driver sat stiffly in his seat, his eyes pained in a blank expression. The whip hung limply in his hands. Mr. Lieber stepped into Katya’s view from where the ticket booth had obscured him. She only saw his face for a flash, but his neck strained with taught muscles.

Mr. Lieber continued his tirade in English. “I’ve seen you look at her. Do you think she even sees you? The driver of a women’s carriage?”

The driver interrupted politely. His English accent was one Katya rarely heard, the vowels loose and slurred between softened consonants. “Mr. Lieber–”

The German raised his hand in a swift jerk. “Mr. Davies, I don’t think I need to argue that I have the more commanding stature. Women’s eyes are drawn more to me than they are to you.”

“I haven’t been–”

Mr. Lieber reached up and wrestled the whip from the driver’s hands. He swept it up above his shoulder, holding it high. “Are you calling me a liar?”

The driver grimaced and raised his arm in self-defense. “No.”

Katya stopped walking, her stomach tightening in a sickening knot. She lingered twenty feet from the ticket booth, hoping that if Mr. Lieber turned, it would partially hide her from him.

Mr. Lieber shrieked at the driver. “Have I not caught you looking at her?”

“Maybe,” Mr. Davies agreed. “She is a human being. My eyes might have fallen on her without knowing it.”

Mr. Lieber screamed at him. “I should think you would know. Do you pay no attention to the things you see? Are you saying she’s unworthy of being looked at on purpose?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you see me now?”

The driver nodded, his voice fumbling. “Yes, Mr. Lieber.”

“Do you see this whip in my hand?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Lieber strode away, disappearing behind the ticket booth and soon retracing his steps. He raised the whip higher, the tips of its falls dangling against his back. “Do you see me whipping your horse?” Mr. Lieber cracked the whip down hard in front of him.

Katya jumped aside so the ticket booth obscured Mr. Lieber’s actions. She shuddered uncontrollably, hunched over the jacket in her hands.

The driver interjected again, desperate and forceful. “Mr. Lieber–”

“Mr. Davies, do you or do you not see me whipping your horse?”

The whip slashed the air and cracked when it landed. The horse whinnied, and Katya covered her mouth to keep from crying out.

“I see you,” the driver hissed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Mr. Lieber cracked the whip twice more.

The driver leapt down from his seat. Katya hid herself completely behind the ticket booth. She could barely hear anything aside from the whip slicing the muggy summer air and the horse reacting in protest. Half a minute pounded past before the whip fell silent. Four boots stomped and dragged in the dirt.

“Give me the whip,” Mr. Davies demanded.

Something or someone slammed into the side of the carriage.

Mr. Lieber’s voice picked up again. “Pay more attention to what you’re looking at, or I’ll whip your eyes out of your head.”

A pair of boots landed nearer to the ticket booth.

The driver called a little louder. “I should’ve known getting me fired was an empty threat. That wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Mr. Lieber’s voice sounded closer to Katya. “Pray it is, Mr. Davies. Pray it is.”

Katya heard Mr. Lieber walking toward her. She tried to catch her breath, knowing he would be rough with her if he thought she was listening. If he found the notebook, clearly Mr. Warden’s property and not hers, very little might keep Mr. Lieber from whipping her, too. Katya stepped out from behind the ticket booth in a smooth motion as if she had been walking the entire time. She tried to lighten the fear tensing her face. She flicked her eyes to Mr. Lieber’s, but he was not looking at her. His arm slammed into her shoulder as he passed her, knocking her a few steps to the right. She stumbled forward, determined not to stop and glare at him.

The driver climbed back into his seat, resting the whip across his knees. He rubbed his head through his curly hair.

Katya did not know what to say to him. She opened the carriage door and boosted herself inside. She sat down on the far side of the bench, feeling through the fabric of her jacket in the dim light. Her fingers followed the squared contours of the notebook, still hidden and still safe.

In a matter of minutes, Magdalene and Irina climbed into the carriage with the charwoman not far behind them. Katya forced a smile at Magdalene, content for once to listen to the silence or chatter of the others, whichever they chose. The Englishman and a few other men – game runners, mechanics, and ride operators – made their way toward the gates as well, but the carriage rolled away before they reached them.

Only Magdalene and Irina talked, carrying on a conversation that moved so slowly, Katya might have preferred the monotonous turning of the wheels beneath them.

“He uses too much oil,” Irina insisted.

Magdalene shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Unless Mr. Warden has a problem with it, I’m not going to argue with him about it.”

Irina leaned toward her. “Oil costs money. When does Mr. Warden ever not care about money? A little oil here, a little oil there. That doesn’t matter. But when it’s night after night, we’re pouring money out into the grass. What if it’s too much money? It could be my job.”

Magdalene shook her head. “It would be his job, not yours.”

“Not with Mr. Warden in charge. Have you ever seen me take money from the customers instead of sweating over the stove?”

“No.”

“And you won’t. He hides me. He would have me organizing the tools and spare parts in the maintenance building if he could. The lamplight is for pretty faces only.”

Katya barely registered that Irina’s remark might have been aimed at her. She could feel the flat cover of the notebook pressing against her thigh as her arm rested on top of her jacket.

Irina continued, her words dropping with resignation. “I would be the first to go.”

Magdalene shifted on the edge of the bench, her skirt and the bustle beneath it taking up the rest of the seat behind her. “I’m sure with your skills, you could find another job.”

Irina cocked a thick eyebrow. “And be asked about the carnival for the rest of my life? I don’t think there
is
a life after the carnival, not that many would know. I think it haunts you. It’s too big to slink away.”

Katya pictured the drawings and plans of it riding in her lap. She wondered how long it had taken Mr. Warden to think of it and sketch all those schematics. It had obviously taken great effort, more effort than most people would pour into their dreams, which only brought her back to her most nagging question. How did the notebook end up in the trash?

Magdalene and Irina’s interminable conversation did not end until the carriage stopped in front of Irina’s house. Katya glanced out the window at the narrow building with cursory interest.

Irina reached over and patted Magdalene’s hand as she stood up. “You’re much too kind. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Irina let herself down from the carriage and started up the sidewalk to the porch. The carriage lurched forward. The charwoman across from Katya let her eyes drift closed.

Magdalene spoke up gently. “I never get over how quiet it is in the city after the chaos of the carnival.”

Katya nodded absently.

“For every engine and instrument and child that screams all night, twice that moves off the street by the time we get out. There’s not even a dog barking.”

Katya rode on, deciding she definitely preferred silence to unimportant words.

The carriage braked, and Magdalene reached across the middle of the carriage to tap the charwoman’s knee. Her eyes flew open, and she offered a sleepy hum of gratitude as she ambled out of the carriage.

As soon as the carriage jolted into motion, Katya leaned her head close to Magdalene’s, unable to keep herself from grabbing Magdalene’s hand. In a low voice, she confessed, “I have something extremely important to show you when we get home.”

Magdalene looked at her with curious eyes, her head dropping to one side.

“It’s about Mr. Warden.”

Magdalene’s expression sobered with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but what I show you must be our secret.”

“Of course.”