The station master pocketed the revolver and turned to face Emma. He smiled and extended his arms to suggest Emma and Eddie lead the way to the station house. His face was a mask of calm now, and the haze of murder had vanished. Despite what he’d just done, Emma no longer felt the same sense of terror or violence coming from him, as if he’d snapped his fingers and cast a spell to make it all go away.
Emma looked back down the deck at Otis’ still form. For a moment she let herself feel nothing, but it didn’t last. She turned to the station master, pleading with her eyes that he let them go.
“I might could be troublin’ to you, sure enough,” he said to Emma. “But any man alive know you ain’t familiar with dat dead man and his history in New Orleans.” He turned and walked toward the station house, motioning with a hand for them to follow.
Emma let the man’s words settle like a heavy coat around her. She knew Hardy wouldn’t waste a second if she and her group caused him trouble. He’d just start blasting away because that was how Celestin Hardy solved problems. Emma was familiar with the idea, having solved at least one of her own problems the same way.
And look where it got you.
She held Eddie around the waist and together they made slow progress in Hardy’s wake. Emma didn’t look back to see if the Conroys were following. The mother had gone quiet, and Emma took comfort in that. But only a bit.
“Why’d you kill him?” Emma asked Hardy as they walked up to meet him at the station house door.
“He like to have business here once upon a time. Man been wanted many a year for things he did when last he lived in New Orleans. He takin’ a certain somebody’s property and claimin’ it for his own.” Hardy paused and smiled at them. “All you need knowin’ is Celestin Hardy be workin’ for this certain somebody, and
moi
? I would be remiss to be lettin’ dat sonofabitch walk away from what he been havin’ comin’.”
Hardy flung a dismissive hand at the air, leaving his arm outstretched so that his finger wound up aimed back at Otis’ body like the muzzle of a gun. “Not sayin’ he could walk too good, mind,” he said, chuckling as he drew his arm back to his side. “I might could ask you why da man been given a once over and then once more again. Where you comin’ from?”
“Chicago City,” Emma said before she knew the words were on her tongue.
“You travelin’ long with this one?” Hardy said to Eddie, ignoring Emma completely. He looked straight at Eddie, sized him up, then turned questioning eyes back to Emma. “You do this to the man or you have it done to him? Chicago City no friend to da Negro man. Has no love for what he is or what he do. So tell me, Miss Lily White who flies an airship. Tell me now,” Hardy said, stepping forward to confront Emma. Before she could explain, Eddie spoke up, defending her and letting the approaching man know where the lines were.
“She ain’t done this anymore than I’ll let you do half the same to her. Was a copper back in Chi. Bad copper. Now he’s a dead copper, so now you know why we come down to New Orleans.”
Hardy let out a grim laugh. “I guess I do now, don’t I? Indeed. So let’s get you settled in, and then you can be tellin’ me about da three doves you carryin’ with you.” He stuck a thumb back at the
Vigilance
. Emma turned and saw the Conroys had climbed the ladder. The kid had his head sticking out the cabin door as he watched them follow Hardy into the station house.
Chapter 8
Aiden thought about climbing back into the mechanic’s nook while his folks argued and shouted at each other. But without the motors running, their voices would carry anyplace in the ship. So he climbed down to the mooring deck instead.
The fancy gearboxes were standing to the side, a few feet from the base of the ladder. Another pair stood inside a low-roofed shelter across the deck. Their eye lamps still glowed, so they were ready for anything the station master radioed their way. Aiden wished for a moment that he’d never left Chicago City. Right before it all went bad, Mr. Brand had been hinting that he might have Aiden start working with the fix-it man at the
Daily Record
. He’d be learning to keep the automatons on their mooring deck running tip-top.
Woulda been.
Turning away from the gearboxes, Aiden cast his eyes down the deck. The dead man, Otis, was sprawled out on the wooden planks, draining his life out. Maybe it was memories of what he’d seen that night in Chicago City, or maybe it was just being tired of his folks acting like he was still just a kid, but something made Aiden feel like he should go over to the body. It’s not like he hadn’t seen worse.
The deck lengthened out in front of him in the wispy morning light, making the little station house at the far end look even smaller. Otis was lying midway down the deck, and Aiden thought he could see the pool of blood forming around the body, but it could just be shadows, too. The sun wasn’t all the way up yet. Aiden took a few steps and waited, unsure now if he should keep walking or just go back up into the ship. His mother’s voice came across the air from above, a frenzied shriek and then sobbing. His father’s voice followed, pleading and comforting, or as close to comfort as Al Conroy could ever get.
Aiden took another step, then another. Shadows gathered around the dead man’s face in the weak morning light. Aiden looked back at the airship above him. His folks had gone quiet. He half wanted to go back to them, but his mother’s words came to his mind.
They stay out of our way and we stay out of theirs. That’s how it was back in Chicago City and that’s how it’ll be again.
He turned away from the airship, leaving the ladder behind him, and walked down the deck toward the station house.
~•~
Emma and Eddie waited against the wall just inside the door of the station house. A potbelly stove stood in the farthest corner of the room, giving off warmth that barely cut the chill coming in from outside. To the left of the stove, a long box draped in black cloth sat on a bench under a window. Emma let her gaze wander the landscape outside, and she felt a clutch in her stomach as the sun revealed a wasteland of ruined airships and vehicles by the lakeshore.
Celestin Hardy took his seat behind a heavy desk in the nearest corner of the cramped space, down the wall from where Emma and Eddie huddled together by the door. Hardy lifted a thick black book from a drawer and let it fall on the desk with a
thump
.
Hardy flashed a look at them both and opened the book. He flipped page after page, slowly enough that Emma could tell the book was a ledger.
Money.
What were they going to use to pay this man for berthing the
Vigilance
? Her father’s name got them halfway here, and Brand had helped them refuel in Memphis. But this was different. Emma was almost ready to offer the ship in trade for help finding a place to stay, but the thought of being trapped didn’t appeal to her. She couldn’t shake the feeling they’d gotten in deeper than they’d ever been, and they hadn’t been in town more than a handful of minutes.
Something about New Orleans clawed at Emma, raked talons over her skin. She fought the urge to run and felt her feet winning the argument. No matter how much Eddie had promised her it would all work out, Emma’s doubt grew with every page Hardy flipped until he stopped and looked her in the eye.
We’re sunk. We should have just stayed in Chicago City.
Hardy sat back in his chair and stared at them. His veiled eyes glinted with something like delight or glee. For a second Emma felt the world fall away beneath her feet, and then her old spark lit up inside. She’d stared men down before, and gunned them down when she had no choice. With a breath, she drew herself up and did what Emma Farnsworth always did when comfort went out the window and made room for nothing but tension.
“What kind of payment do you need, Mr. Hardy?”
“Oh, it ain’t be paying Mistah Hardy you gotta worry about, Miss Lily White and Short Hair. You in Metairie now, and you say your destination be New Orleans proper. You gotta travel around, so you gotta pay up to Papa Lebat. Give him his rum, or his coffee. Maybe a cigar for smoking.”
Emma gave a slight shake of her head without even trying. They had nothing.
“Well, you got a key? A cane? Something he can lean on when he walks? The man is old. He bein’ older than New Orleans. But he still gotta walk around everyday, helpin’ people make their way in and out. You come in. If you wanna go out, then be pleasin’ Papa Lebat with what you offerin’ up to him.”
Hardy waved a hand at the cloth draped box and moved out from behind his desk. He crossed the small space in one stride and pulled the fabric aside. Emma gasped and put a hand to her mouth as Eddie’s grip on her shoulder tightened. The fabric fell away, revealing a casket beneath it. Hardy opened the box and Emma steeled herself for the inevitable.
She let out a deep sigh and almost laughed when she saw the offerings jumbled together in the box. Cigars poked up from among the items. Here and there a small bottle or jar of amber liquid in amongst steel cylinders. Emma read the brands of coffee on the cans.
“Did you think we had the man inside, Miss Lily White? Did you think this box is bein’ for you? Is that what goin’ through your brain when Celestin Hardy show you the offerin’ box?”
He leaned back on his heels and laughed deep and rich, like he had when he’d first greeted them.
“N-no,” Emma said, letting out a nervous chuckle. Eddie stiffened beside her and she pulled herself up again, standing tall as she could against her lover, still sheltered by his embracing arm.
“Mr. Hardy, we don’t have any of those things. We’ve just come from Chicago City, and—”
Eddie interrupted her with a squeeze of her upper arm, and she happily let him try to smooth things with the station master.
“Got family in the Easy. Gonna get back with them, but we ain’t got your offering needs. Got nothing but that ship outside, and that ain’t for trading. So what else we can do here to make our passage safe?”
Hardy stood back and regarded Eddie. Emma’s eyes darted back and forth, watching the two men for signs that either would start swinging. Eddie still had one arm around her and the other held his sides. He’d be easy pickings if the station master wanted to play rough.
Tension hung between the two men, and Emma shifted her weight so she could jump in front of Eddie if Hardy threw a punch.
A knock on the door split the silence apart.
“Come on inside then,” Celestin Hardy said, breaking eye contact with Eddie, but not before letting his grimace fall into a warm smile of greeting once more.
The door opened and Emma turned to see the Conroy kid standing there. Aiden’s eyes said he’d rather be anywhere but New Orleans, and his hand shook as he held out a can of coffee.
“Um, I heard you all talking and thought this would maybe help. I hope it’s enough, Mr. Hardy. It’s all we had up in the galley. We’d have more if I hadn’t made some up when we was flying down from Memphis, but we was all tuckered out, and . . .”
Hardy’s smile had gone, and his face fell into a mask of suspicion. The kid trailed off and squeezed his lips together to keep them from trembling off his face. He turned and handed the coffee to Emma.
“Thanks, Aiden,” she said. “Thank you.”
Emma passed the can to Hardy. He accepted it with both hands and deposited it into the open casket. With a tender movement, he closed the lid and replaced the shroud. Then with a flourish of his left hand, Hardy produced three tin badges from a pocket or maybe thin air, Emma couldn’t tell which because his hands seemed to move every way at once.
“These be your markers of safe passage in New Orleans,” Hardy said, handing the badges to Eddie, then Emma, and finally Aiden.
“Put them on your shirts or keep them in your pockets. But always have these on your persons when you outside. On the street, day or night. You be found in the wrong part of town without Papa Lebat’s blessin’ token, and is nothin’ can be done to help you.”
Emma fumbled with the badge, trying to pin it to the thick wool of her coat, but gave up and settled for tucking it into her pocket. Eddie struggled to fit his into a pants pocket until she helped him out. Aiden managed to work the clasp and had his pinned just below his collar. Hardy chuckled and clapped his hands.
“You do fine here, little dove. Just you count on it. You do fine in New Orleans.” He chuckled once more before he touched a hand to Emma’s wrist and ushered the three of them outside.
The Conroys stood against the wall of the shack. The mother had been crying, and the father seemed about ready to snap out of his own skin with either fright or rage, Emma couldn’t tell which.
Hardy came around her and aimed his welcoming smile at the white couple.
“You got nothing to be worryin’ about. But . . .” Hardy paused to jab a cautionary finger into the air in front of their faces. He had warning eyes for Emma, too, before turning back to the Conroys.
“You raise your voice, lift a hand, or, blessed mama protect you, a weapon against a one of us, and the Devil hisself be a kinder man than any you will find in New Orleans. You be comin’ down from Chicago City way, and that way is not our way. If you wantin’ to survive, you believe me this is true.”
As if on cue, a trio of men, two dark-skinned and one white, appeared a ways down the mooring deck. Emma couldn’t tell if they’d been there all along or if they’d just popped into existence. Either could have happened, she knew, and that knowledge gave her no comfort at all. The three men strolled down the deck like they owned the place, and judging from the fur-trimmed coat the middle one wore, and the gold rings on his fingers, they probably did.
The man in the middle, one the dark-skinned men, stood only as tall as Emma herself, but he made up for it around his waist. His footsteps thunked down onto the mooring deck with a force that Emma felt rattle her ankles. To either side of him marched one of his boys, big and making no mystery of the fact that they packed all the heat their boss would need. Emma had no trouble identifying them. A torpedo was a torpedo, no matter if you were in Chicago City or Timbuktu.