"Donnelly."
"Would be happy to lock them up in the jail until you can arrange to take them back to New York." Sampson gave a crooked smile. "I can't imagine he'd have much business over Christmas."
"Probably not," Mitch agreed. He looked up at the tower, and suppressed a groan at the thought of taking it all apart. At least it would be warmer working down in the lab.
"Not you, Sorley," Sampson said, and Mitch started. "You and Segura have done your share — done a damn good job, in fact, given what you're dealing with here. Not to mention that you're beat. Why don't you take the ladies and head back into town?"
"Thank you, sir," Mitch said. "I won't say no."
Sampson turned away, frowning up at the tower, and Tesla edged closer. "I appreciate your assistance last night," he said quietly, "but I am very curious as to how you did it."
Mitch hesitated, not at all sure what he wanted to say. He didn't really feel like telling one of America's leading scientists that he'd actually used magic, and he wasn't going to think up anything technical that would have a snowball's chance in hell of fooling Tesla. "You were throwing that lightning yourself. How'd you do that?"
Tesla's back stiffened. "That would be a trade secret, Mr. Sorley."
"So's what I did," Mitch answered.
Tesla's eyebrows rose sharply but then he smiled. "I'll speak to Mrs. Segura, then."
"That would be best," Mitch said.
"Dr. Tesla," Sampson called, and Tesla turned away.
Alma and Stasi emerged from the tunnel sharing Alma's mink, Lewis following with the faint smile he'd worn since the night before, and Jerry limping at his heels.
"If you'd drive me and Al to the clearing," Lewis said, "we'll get the Frontiersman home."
Alma seemed to struggle for a moment, then shrugged out of her half of the fur coat. "You'd better have this," she said. "It's a longer drive back."
"Oh, thank you, darling," Stasi said, and a wicked smile flickered across her lips. Somehow she'd managed to repair her lipstick, and the scarlet was brilliant against her snow-white skin. "I think I'll be all right, with two gentlemen to keep me warm."
I'll keep you warm any day
. Mitch swallowed the words as inappropriate, especially since Jerry would be riding with them, and nodded to Lewis. "Sure thing."
"It'll be good to be home," Jerry said, and they made their way toward Alma's truck.
Chapter Sixteen
December 24, 1932
Colorado Springs
L
ewis was finishing up reading for Stasi, a nice easy practice reading on what she was doing the coming weekend, perfect for learning to use Tarot cards. He turned the last card over carefully, just in case it was something dreadful. "Two of cups?" he said doubtfully. The picture showed a man and a woman toasting each other with big goblets. This must be one of those where you could just look at the card and tell the story. "You're going to a party and people are going to drink and make toasts?"
Stasi smiled. "That doesn't take much prognostication, darling, since we're all going to the dance at the American Legion tonight. I'm assuming there will be drinks!"
"So this card means a party?" Lewis asked.
"That's one thing it might mean," Stasi began.
Alma came in frowning and laid the newspaper Mitch had brought back from Salt Lake on the table. "This is really disturbing," she said. "I've been reading through the whole thing."
"Yes," Jerry said, coming through the kitchen door with Mitch behind him. "But it makes a lot of sense to people who are desperate." He looked like he was searching for words, leaning heavily on his cane, gold-rimmed glasses catching the light. "A couple of weeks ago I was in the Automat," he said. "And there was a man and a woman and a little girl about six. The little girl and the woman were splitting one plate between them while the man-made soup out of hot water and ketchup. The problems are real, Al."
"Do you think Roosevelt can fix it?"
Jerry took a deep breath. "I think he'd better. If we don't fix it soon, things are going in a very bad direction. Pelley's going to start seeming reasonable to a lot of people who aren't crazy or evil."
Lewis frowned. "If I had to see my child in want like that, with no job or way to make a living…."
"Extreme solutions would start seeming reasonable," Jerry said.
"They always do," Stasi said quietly. "And then the things that the consumers will do to hang on to the status quo get more extreme in turn."
"We're not there yet," Mitch said. "And maybe we won't be."
Alma didn't take her eyes away from Jerry. "And you think Nostradamus is right that there's going to be a war bigger than the Great War in 1939?"
"I don't know, Al," Jerry said. "I don't know if it's truly inevitable, or just possible."
Alma turned around. "Can you read on it?" she asked. "Stasi? Is that possible? If it's as big and inevitable as all that, it ought to be like reading to see if a mountain is there."
"I can try." Stasi took the cards back from Lewis, and he watched her shuffle. Knowing more, he understood why her face went blank, eyes closed as her hands moved. He could almost feel the ripples spreading out, her question radiating from a center point like radio waves from a transmitter.
What will happen? Will there be war?
Her eyes were still closed when she turned the center card, the wheel of fortune. Stasi opened her eyes and touched it with one forefinger. "Anything can happen. Nothing is inevitable. Everything is in motion, everything up in the air."
She turned the second card. "The chariot," she said. "The chariot of state is driven by the king, the white horse and the black harnessed together. It is his decisions that prevent the chariot from wrecking."
"It's up to Roosevelt," Mitch said, nodding. "It depends on what he does."
"I'd say so." Stasi turned the card for the past, the man dangling upside down. "There have been sacrifices. The Great War."
And on a personal level, Lewis thought. Stasi was reading this as though it were for nations, but it was also for them.
"In the present, the nine of wands," she said. "A pause in the struggle. The calm before the storm." Her long fingers flipped the next card and laid it out.
A skeletal knight rode a white horse, a black banner held before him with a white rose upon it.
"Death," Lewis said.
"It doesn't mean literal death," Stasi said. "It means change. Lots and lots of things will change, darling."
Alma let out a deep breath. "I think this reading is too general," she said. "Lots of things will happen and lots of things will change. I think we could all guess that."
"I agree," Stasi said. "There's not much point in me going on, darling. I don't think it's possible to read on something as big as this. All I can get are generalities. Nothing specific enough to do any good. We all know Roosevelt is the new president and that it will matter what he does. That's not news."
"I suppose not," Jerry said.
Mitch was frowning. "There's going to be a crisis, but we can't prevent it. The problems are already here. And so we just do our part as best we can. That's all we can do, and all anyone ever can."
"Exactly, darling," Stasi said chipperly. "I'm afraid that's all I've got, Alma."
Alma nodded. "I suppose," she said. "Thank you for trying, Stasi."
"You're welcome."
Lewis got to his feet. "I'm going up to shave and get cleaned up for the dance tonight. If you still want to go, Al?"
"Yes," she said, and he watched her face relax. "Of course I do."
"Ok," Lewis said. "Let's go and have a good time. We've earned it."
"We have," Mitch said. "You coming, Jerry?"
"When hell freezes over," Jerry said, deadpan, and Mitch laughed.
"You mean an American Legion Christmas party isn't your idea of fun?"
"It's my idea of a circle of hell," Jerry said.
Lewis scooted around the table, passing behind Stasi as he did so that he could see the final outcome card in her hand, never laid down and never read. Beneath a full moon a long, white dog lay beside a tombstone, its head upraised in a mournful howl.
Stasi looked up at him, her lips creasing in a forced smile. "Not a very useful reading," she said.
Lewis squeezed her shoulder. "Nothing I didn't know," he said quietly.
T
he Torpedo pulled out from behind the house, the motor complaining at the low gear. Mitch had the top up, Jerry saw as he peered out between the living room curtains, not that it would do much good in this weather. He'd looked remarkably pleased with himself at supper, and Stasi had been smiling like a cat in cream — they'd put both politics and the Tarot reading behind them, and good for them. Whatever was coming —and Jerry couldn't fool himself about that, he had a bad feeling that Pelley might have a handle on the relevant quatrain — whatever was coming, they couldn't stop it. And so they might as well seize the good things while they still could.
Alma's truck followed more sedately, Lewis for once in the driver's seat, Alma bundled in her mink over the ivory dress she'd worn for Henry's victory party. It fit a little differently now, the sleek bias-cut fabric falling in a new pattern. Most of the men would think she'd just gained a little weight, but the other women would note and wonder. And, God willing, in June there would be a child, hers and Lewis's, not to replace the one she'd lost, but entirely their own.
Alma had left the drinks tray on the sideboard, the good glasses and the ice bucket and the bottles of acceptable whiskey that Mitch had taken in part payment for some job or other, and he poured himself a stiff drink, chipping off a few pieces of ice to mellow the liquor. He turned and his eyes fell on the mantle, where Gil's picture still stood. It was the best one taken after the war, Gil's hair streaked with gray, his face more heavily lined, but the indomitable grin unmistakable, and Jerry lifted his glass in silent toast. Only Gil would have tried a stunt like that, and it had damn near worked, too. There was no one like him.
A shadow moved in the hall, and Dr. Tesla came into the room, blinking in mild surprise. "You're not going to the dance, Dr. Ballard?"
Jerry shook his head. A year ago, he thought, he would have gone. He'd have enjoyed daring anyone to say anything about Stasi and their broken "engagement," and then he'd have used his leg as an excuse to sit in a corner and get quietly drunk, but after New York, he couldn't bring himself to pretend. He'd go back to the city, he thought. There was no one like Gil, no, but there was, at worst, congenial company, and at best there was work and the promise of Alexandria to plan for. "Would you like a drink, Dr. Tesla? It's bootleg, but not bad."
"Yes, thank you." Tesla settled himself in the armchair by the window, where Gil's chessboard was still set up. They'd have to move that when the baby came, Jerry thought, and busied himself with the bottles.
"Ice?"
"Please."
Jerry brought the drink across, the floor and the pattern of furniture familiar enough that he could manage without his cane as long as he moved carefully, and Tesla accepted the cut-crystal tumbler.
"Ah, thank you." He nodded to the board. "Do you play?"
"Not so much anymore," Jerry answered, and lowered himself into the armchair opposite. "But I'd be glad to give you a game, if you'd like."
"A pleasant way to pass the time," Tesla said. He was sitting in front of the white pieces, and Jerry wasn't about to argue.
"Your move."
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Ballard."
They traded moves, pawn, knight, bishop, the pieces deploying across the board, fanning out in a pattern at once unique and familiar. Jerry lit a cigarette, rested both elbows on his knees as he considered the board. Tesla frowned thoughtfully, sacrificed a pawn and then his king's bishop. Jerry eyed that uneasily, knowing he was being tricked, but could see no other response. A dozen moves later, he saw the trap, but it was too late. Tesla drove him back across the board, fighting a desperate rear guard action, and at last he tipped over his king.
"I concede."
"Well played," Tesla answered. "Another drink, perhaps?"
"Yes, definitely." Jerry started to get up, but Tesla was quicker, collecting both glasses. He poured them each a fresh drink, adding the ice with fussy care, and nodded to the mantle.
"Is that Mrs. Segura's first husband?"
"Yes. That's Gil — Gil Gilchrist." Jerry set his fresh cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, and accepted his glass. "How are you planning to get back to New York, Dr. Tesla?"
"Well, I have to arrange to ship the Silver Bullet first, and I expect that will need to go by train. I may talk to Colonel Sampson about perhaps arranging for some sort of guard on the crates, if Pelley is this eager to obtain the device."
"I'd hope you'd scared his men badly enough that he'd have trouble getting anyone to take the job," Jerry said.
"So do I. But I don't want to rely on it."
"Probably wise." Jerry took a long swallow of his whiskey, and picked up his cigarette again. "If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do with it?"
Tesla leaned back in his chair. "Lock it up safely for a start. Then I'll approach the government and see if they'd be willing to fund further research. It's certainly effective, but — indiscriminate."
Jerry grinned. "Presumably that can be fixed."
"Possibly. Or possibly not. I won't know until I have more time to examine the system, run a few tests of my own. And, to be honest, that depends on funding."
"So much of science does," Jerry said.
"Indeed so." Tesla considered him for a moment. "Dr. Ballard, may I ask a possibly indelicate question?"
"You can ask," Jerry said, warily.
"By any chance, is Mrs. Segura expecting?"
Jerry allowed himself a smile, and told himself it wasn't relief. "Yes. Though she's not told more than family yet."