He held out a hand. “Mac MacPherson, newly from Edinburgh,” he said, laying the burr on thick. “And from yer speech, ye’re a Glasgow man, or my name’s Tom Thumb.”
The man reluctantly took Mac’s proffered hand. “Aye,” he said. “Come over these twelve years past, but—”
“I’m a barrister, ye see,” Mac interrupted. “Sent by milord the Earl of Airth to escort this good lady to our lovely isle where she is to wed his son, the Viscount Allardice.”
“I don’t give a rat’s furry arse what no bleeding rich bastard—”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Mac cut the man off, slick as egg white as he turned his back on the rest of us to lean in and whisper conspiratorially. “See, I’m with you. Bunch of no-good fancy boys with their fox hunts and their silver-plated ballocks. Got no idea how life is for us hard-working blokes, do they now?
“I’ll tell ye a secret,” he went on, gesturing for the three leaders to come closer. Mac’s expression was mild, though he eyed the largest man up and down as if assessing the quality of his suit. “I’m of a mind to hold that captain . . . and anyone else with a stake in those cattle . . . responsible for our lost luggage.” Still gripping the man’s hand, he pulled him close. “O’ course if I get the lady and her servants out o’ here quick-like, with no trouble, my mind might change on that score.”
The man’s piggish eyes roved from me, in a ruined though clearly expensive dress, to Phoebe, in her dusty maid’s garb. He darted a quick glance at Doug and Collum, braced on either side of us, then nodded.
“Guess ye’d best be on yer way then.”
He jerked his hand from Mac’s. I noticed him massaging the blood back into his whitened fingers as he edged out of our way.
“For your trouble.” Mac flicked a silver coin into the air and motioned us out the door.
Chapter 17
NEW YORK IN THE LATE EIGHTEEN HUNDREDS WAS A CITY IN FLUX. The old-world charm rapidly being overtaken by industry and the birth of commerce. Greasy black smoke belched from a hundred smokestacks, coating the city with a layer of smeary grime. Though we passed a few odd, ramshackle wooden buildings, most had been ripped out to make way for the dense, brick high-rises of six and seven stories that had begun to crowd the sky.
Once out of that horrifying blood-house, we hadn’t waited long for the boys to hail a halfway decent carriage to take us to our first destination, the famed Waldorf Hotel, current residence of one Nikola Tesla. From there, we’d clean up and split into teams. One team would keep an eye out for the physicist—?or, we hoped, his good friend Jonathan Carlyle. The other would reconnoiter Tesla’s Fifth Avenue lab for the same purpose. Our backup plan was to find a way to attend the March 13 Vanderbilt soiree, where firm photographic evidence had placed Tesla.
Even though the sun had not yet risen enough to banish the previous night’s shadows, as our carriage squelched between the tenements of the immigrant district, people were already mobbing the streets.
It was astonishingly . . . painfully . . . loud.
“What?” I shouted to Phoebe over the rumble of carts; the jangle of miles of leather harness; the combined cries of vendors, patrons, and newsboys; and the shouts of irritated wagon drivers in a variety of languages.
“I said,” Phoebe practically yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth, “think I prefer the stink of medieval London to this cacophony.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Nice word choice.”
“Aye, been waiting to use that one.”
I snorted. Phoebe returned my smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey,” I said, “how long is this gonna go on?”
“Not sure. How far away are we from the—?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
She turned toward the window, where we could see the edge of Doug’s fingertips trailing down from his seat next to the carriage driver. “I don’t know.”
I touched the back of her hand. As quietly as was possible over the roar outside I said, “How many times have you told me how it hurts you to watch Doug get left behind time and again?”
One slim shoulder lifted. A hand swiped at her freckled cheek. “Aye,” she said. “But he lied to me, Hope. He—?he’s never done that before, you know? And if something happens to him, I can’t. I just can’t.” She turned. Looked me in the eyes. Hers were full. There was hurt there, yes, and anger. But mostly what I saw . . . was fear.
“I get it,” I told her. “I really do. I—” I snipped off that thread, because this wasn’t about Bran and me, or my worries for him. Or how I can’t stop thinking about him and that impossibly elegant cousin of his. But I understood that sick, helpless feeling so well. How you wanted to protect them. Keep them safe. And the powerlessness that ate at you when you couldn’t.
“But don’t you see?” I said. “Doug is here. There’s nothing you can do about that. And can you imagine seeing his face light up when he meets Tesla for the first time? You’ve been dying to share this with him for so long.” I squeezed her hand. “And you’re missing it, Pheebs. Because of stubbornness.”
She pulled her hand away and dropped her gaze to the dingy carriage floor. She didn’t speak, but I thought I saw the tension in her shoulders lessen. Beneath my skirts, I crossed my fingers that they’d work this out soon.
Doug’s dream of traveling with the rest of us had finally come true. They loved each other so much, and I was eager for Phoebe to share in his joy.
Seated across from us in the carriage, Mac tilted his head toward Phoebe and gave me a quick wink that said we’d set this to rights. I grinned back as I realized that we’d made it. Another trip through the Dim. We were alive and no one was hurt. We’d lost most of our belongings, sure. But those were only things.
On my first voyage, I’d been sick with fear. Fear that we’d never find my lost mother. Fear that even if we did, we’d be too late to save her.
Today, as we passed through each dingy yet colorful neighborhood, I began to relax. Soon I was hanging half out the window in my excitement as I tried to take it all in. Smaller, older structures of graying wood huddled between their larger brick cousins—?the tenements that were sprouting up everywhere, replacing single-family homes. Though here, even these new constructions were beginning to appear fatigued. Faces in every skin tone peeked out of grimy windows, making me grin as the historian in me fizzed to life.