Fiddlehead

The porter was right on time.

He didn’t so much enter the darkened room as appear within it, standing beside Henry’s seat as if he never walked anywhere, only manifested wherever he wished to be.

Maria managed to not look startled, but it took some effort. One minute he wasn’t there, and the next minute … a smallish white man in a brown hat stood next to Henry, near enough that he might’ve stabbed him and walked away without anyone ever noticing. Probably an inch or two shorter than Maria herself, the porter wore woven tweed pants and boots so clean that they reflected what little light came around the window shades. Everything fit him as if it’d been made for him, even the leather gloves and workmanlike gray coat. He was neither attractive nor unattractive, with brown hair and dark eyes. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about him in the slightest.

Just like the men who’d been following her.

For one nervous split second, she racked her brain trying to remember the two men in Richmond … but swiftly concluded that, no, he hadn’t been one of them. It was just something about the breed, about a man who can be present without attracting attention. Maria had spent a lifetime trying to play up her appearance. This phenomenon, or trait, or knack for being invisible was something she’d only noticed—and attempted to cultivate—since starting to work for the Pinkertons.

If Henry was surprised to find himself suddenly accompanied, he didn’t show it. Without looking, he put up one hand and punched the newcomer gently in the shoulder. “Ha!” he exclaimed, and then gri

“And some men do,” he smiled, cataloging Maria from the ground up as he responded to Henry. “Hello there, ma’am. My name’s Kirby Troost. I’d give you a fake one, but that don’t seem fair, since he knows mine already, and I know who you are.” He reached behind himself and drew up a seat, then removed his gloves and rolled himself a cigarette from a pouch he kept in his left breast pocket. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Is it?”

He shrugged. “I meet a lot of shady customers. Not many are women of your stature. Or caliber.”

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Take it however you like; I meant only what I said. I’ve heard great things about you, from a surprising source or two.”

“Oh, really? Care to name your sources?”

“A certain Captain Hainey sends his regards.”

She was pleased, but did her best to keep from letting on. Besides the fact that she didn’t wish to admit he’d surprised her, she didn’t feel like recounting her old adventures to Henry. It’d take too much explaining, and he’d have too many questions.

While she calculated a response, Troost continued, sparing her the trouble. “I must say, I never would’ve pegged you for a pirate queen … but if Hainey says you’re all right, I’ll take his word for it. Now, Henry,” he changed the subject, then paused while he lit his tobacco. “I understand you’ve got something for me.”

Henry looked back and forth between Kirby and Belle with no small measure of confusion, but when no one seemed ready to fill him in on the secret, he produced a thick envelope. “This is everything you ought to need. Next stop’s … well, won’t be Oak Grove, I don’t expect.”

Troost shook his head. “Not doing Indiana. Shooting for Middlesboro instead. It’ll put us up closer to our favorite uncle.”

“How long you think it’ll take?”

Troost considered this while he took a long draw on the handmade cigarette. The paper crinkled, burned, and flicked away to ash. “To Middlesboro? No more than a night or two, assuming nothing goes wrong with the travel arrangements. The rest of the way? Another couple of days. Shouldn’t be too bad, once we’re past the bluegrass.”

“Travel arrangements?” Maria was perplexed. “Middlesboro … Are you going by air?”

“Unless you know a better way to get there in less than a week. The train lines don’t run that way, not since Sherman went barreling through the place in the seventies. But I’ve got a small rig set up on the Georgia side of Lookout. Would’ve rather come with my own crew, but the summons didn’t give them time to make arrangements. So I’m here on my own.”

Henry’s left eyebrow lifted. “Your own crew? You’re not an air captain these days, are you?”

“Captain? Who wants that kind of responsibility? Not me. I ride with a good bunch, though. The kind who don’t mind if I keep my head down.”

“Pirates,” Maria said flatly.

“Unincorporated merchants,” he corrected her. “Nobody worse than anyone you already know, madam. And the Naamah Darling’s gone about as straight as possible, these days. Her captain wants out of the nasty side of the business. Got a lady to impress, and she ain’t impressed with what he was ru

“So what’s he ru

“Supplies,” he said vaguely. “Now, Henry, where will we put our cargo when it arrives? Are we headed for the Land of Lincoln, or does the uncle have other ideas?”

Henry knew he meant D.C. Softly, he said, “Baltimore for now. Details are in the packet. So’s the money and their free papers. Get ’em there safe, and there’s another fifty percent waiting for you. Our good uncle knows you really bent over backwards to get here.”

“I guess he knows how I feel about the District, too.”

Henry cleared his throat. “You might-could talk an extra bonus out of him, considering.”

“Nah. This is what we agreed, and it’s enough. This one’s important.”

Maria asked, “Because of the scientist?”

Troost nodded. “That man’s got a bigger brain than anybody I ever met, and if you knew the crew I run with, you’d know that’s saying something. If it’s true what he says about his toy, and what it’s told him…” His voice trailed off like he was thinking of something else, and he wasn’t very happy about it.

“You know about his machine?” Maria asked. “I thought it was of the utmost secrecy.”

He laughed, and a puff of smoke flowed down his chin. “Secrets ain’t a thing to me, Cleopatra. I collect them like some men collect butterflies, except I don’t put ’em in a case for show. I live on them. They keep me alive.”

“You must have some good ones.”

“I do at that.”

She pushed. “The kind that have kept you away from the District?”

“That kind, yes.” For a moment he looked irritated, but it quickly passed. “And this kind, too. On the house, all right?” he said to Henry, in a voice dripping with conspiracy. “I understand you’ve got Miss Haymes involved in the situation.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “You understand correctly.”

“She’s trouble, that one. Worse trouble than this one.” He cocked his thumb toward Maria, who very nearly took it personally. “Chatting up your Secretary of State in a real friendly way.”

“She wants a pardon,” Henry said. “That’s what our uncle told me. And she’s offering some new toys from her daddy’s workshops in exchange.”

Troost snorted, not quite a laugh but definitely a sound of derision. “That’s not why she’s sniffing around the District. It’s just an excuse.”

“Why, then?” Maria asked. “I thought she was wanted for murder.”

“Murder, war crimes, what have you. She’s got enough money to shake it off. No, that’s not what she wants. She’s gu

“But the war won’t last another five years,” Henry argued. “Everybody knows it—and I thought that was the whole point of letting her come play up north: wrapping up this whole thing all the sooner.”

“Oh, who knows how long it’ll last,” Troost said, coming to the end of his cigarette. He dropped the last coal to the floor and crushed it with his boot. “All she has to do is give the South something to get good and mad about, something they can take the moral high ground on, since they lost that the day they fired on Sumter. Then she can drag out the war indefinitely.”