Jack Kane and the Statue of Liberty (7 page)

Several implements in partial assembly covered his bench. All would serve him in his nightly romps around town, but not until they were complete. Those finished were either in the pockets of his coat—that he still wore, such as his mask, spyglass, and winch—and the rest were in his satchel. He took a few minutes to grab a few electrical cells and put those into his pockets. All his gadgets needed electrical cells. Some more than others.

The shop had multiple floors, and for the most part was nothing more than a mountain of items dropped off at the yard and fitted together to form a waterproof barrier to protect him from the elements. He’d built the various floors, but rarely strayed from his shop. Larger works were stored in separate rooms, and his biggest work to date he kept in a sub lair he’d dug. From the outside, his workshop could be just another of the other gigantic heaps of broken devices, but to Jack, it was home.

He put on his hat and tried to think of something he was forgetting. Tapping the side of his neck with two fingers, he surveyed the interior. What was it? Ah. He had to speak to someone about the ship that’d been sunk. That was it. He needed to get over and talk to Betsy.

A hat on his head, thin leather gloves, and multi-filter sunglasses and Jack was almost ready to head out except he had to reach back in and grab his satchel. He slung this over his head and was on his way.

The sunglasses automatically applied filters to block the correct amount of sunlight. Now that the sun was above the skyline, half the filters rolled up and out of the way while the others stayed in place.

Being that it would be a terribly long walk to Betsy’s place, Jack decided it best to hop on to a scooter. He pulled a fresh electrical cell from his pocket and dropped it into a slot much like putting a coin into a penny arcade viewer; those things were so quaint. With a pull of the plunger to engage the cell, the scooter hovered about a foot off the ground. Then, with a twist of his hand, a magnetic coil in the chassis engaged a flow of air. The scooter started, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he moved along. Soon he was traveling at a respectable five miles per hour. He’d be able to cover the couple miles over to MacDougal Street in no time at all.

Now that the sun had been shining for over an hour, people, horses, carriages, and mechanicals cluttered the streets. Jack had to make use of not only the streets, but the sidewalks to weave in and out and around everything in his path. If he’d been able to move in a straight line, the trip to Betsy’s store would have only taken a couple minutes. As it was, he took several unexpected turns and went down streets he never intended to go down.

On one, he nearly collided with a pair of horses hauling a massive cart. The horses reared as he came up on them. He veered aside to avoid a mechanical walker and continue on his way. The walker smashed into the cart, and it tipped precariously, but he didn’t stop for he needed to concentrate on his own course. Why weren’t people more careful on the busy New York streets?

He arrived at Betsy’s store at 27 MacDougal Street at ten of seven. He pocketed his chronometer, tied up his scooter, and removed the electrical cell. No sense in leaving the scooter sitting and hovering on the street. Back in the yard he built a generator that used wind power to create a static field in his shop so any cells in the area would automatically be recharged without needing to be hooked up to a source. This made his life far more convenient, as he often forgot to recharge and that led to disastrous results on more than one occasion.

When he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. Amid the swarm of gray and brown clothes that littered the street, much like Jack’s own drab garb, strode a woman in a maroon dress, obviously made from the finest silk. Men fell over themselves to keep from bumping into her while some paused and held their arms out to stop others. All heads turned as the woman walked in such a confident manner as to demand their attention. In the wake of her twirling parasol and bouncing, flame-red hair, men not dragged off by jealous spouses, who’d been admiring the woman continued on their way.

She went straight to Jack. Setting a hand on a trim hip, she cocked her head. “What do I owe the pleasure of your early morning visit, Mr. Jack T. Kane?”

Jack smiled, took off his hat, and bowed deeply with a sweep of his arm. “My lady Elizabeth P. Wilkes. It is an honor to stand before you.”

“Stand up before you make me blush,” Betsy said, closing her parasol and tapping him on the back with it.

He settled his hat on his head. “I would have brought you a fine breakfast were I not in a hurry.”

“You? In a hurry? Surely you jest.”

They both got a laugh from that.

“I promise to make it up to you,” Jack said with a slight bow.

“And I’ll hold you to that promise.” Betsy produced a key from a tiny silk purse.

He backed up as she unlocked the door. “I require some information I’m sure you’ll be able to help me obtain.”

“You think I can get this information because…?” Betsy asked, pausing with her hand on the key.

“Because your father is the man who I am sure would have this information.”

“And you didn’t go to Father because?”

“Must we visit this again?” Jack glared at the ground.

“Oh, please humor me.” She gave a girlish giggle as she swung the door open.

“Can I at least retell you the story once we’re inside?”

“Oh, very well, Mr. Kane, but you better tell me everything.”

There really wasn’t that much to tell, but for some reason she seemed to love to hear this story about Jack and her father every time they met. She had no love for her father, but Jack didn’t understand why she needed to hear the embarrassment of the story over and over again.

He held the door for Betsy and followed her inside. The building had once held a newspaper. Her father, in order to try and keep her out of trouble, bought the paper for her to run. Unfortunately for Mr. Wilkes, Betsy had other ideas. Her idea was that the paper would investigate and root out the British conspiracy to once again take over the United States and bring the country back into the Empire.

The printing press had been running all night and hundreds of pamphlets had been stacked in neat bundles ready for delivery. Because her view for the newspaper had changed dramatically, not only had circulation dropped, she didn’t have enough general news to print an entire paper. She now sold pamphlets for a penny each. That was barely enough to keep her going, but it was enough to keep her from going under, which Jack was sure was her father’s hope.

She turned and pushed the tip of her parasol into Jack’s chest. Her eyes held a dark humor that came with each telling of the story. “Tell me.”

With a sigh, Jack began. “I was working on the docks for your father. I had invented a new mechanical crane that would speed up loading and unloading of the ships. I wanted to demonstrate it to him. He waited on the dock near the crates I was going to pick up and move across from one pier to another. At first your father seemed impressed as he watched and gnawed away on his cigar. That was until I started the crane. As it reached to pick up the first crate, it overshot and picked up your father. While he was being hauled into the air, kicking and screaming, something else went wrong and a spring broke free and lodged into the gears.”

Betsy howled with laughter. “How long? How long?” She swatted him with her parasol.

“He was stuck up there nearly all day as I tried to fix the machine and rescue him.” To Jack the story wasn’t funny at all.

He’d lost his job that day nearly three years ago and began working for Felonious Fenduke Filcher the Fourth. Jack almost spat the name out in his mind. Even though he had a good supply of raw material to work with, he longed to be back on the docks building things that would change people’s lives, not just silly toys he tinkered with.

Once Betsy got control of herself, she hugged Jack and kissed him on the cheek. “Anything you need today is yours, Mr. Kane.”

“Please, Betsy, call me Jack.”

“You’re no fun. You know I love the formality of a title.”

“I know, I know, but really, I have pressing business.”

“So serious. Why Jack, is there a mystery afoot that requires our combined attention?”

“I don’t want you to put yourself at risk. If something is happening, I don’t want you getting involved.”

“Well, it’s too late for you to tell me that. If you want information, I want to know what’s going on.”

He swallowed hard. Even though Betsy was of the fairer sex, she could certainly handle herself in a scrape and had done so on many an occasion. “Well…”

“Well nothing. You’ve got your satchel, and I know what that means. I’ve kept your secret identity all these years. Let me in on what’s happening. Are the British up to no good? I need a good article for tomorrow.”

“This isn’t about an article. This is about someone sinking a ship in the harbor.”

A slender brow rose. “What? I hadn’t heard about that.”

“The explosion was quite early this morning. I was out, heard the explosion, and went to the docks. I need to know what that ship carried so I can understand why it was sunk. I don’t think this was an accident.”

“Why don’t you think it was an accident?”

“I saw a second smaller ship sinking with the bigger ship. I interviewed the sailors on the
Isere
, a French ship coming in at the same time, and they confirmed my suspicions.”

“So someone sunk a ship in this harbor? Oh. Father must be furious about that one.”

“I don’t know about your father, but Officer O’Malley certainly did shoo me off in a quick fashion.”

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow higher and stared at him intently. Her smile said more than she did.

Jack flushed. “It doesn’t matter, I wasn’t allowed to stay and ask any questions. I need to know what was on that ship.”

“Very well. I can access my father’s records from here.” Betsy shut down the printing press and tugged a cable from its main frame then plugged the cable into what looked like a large typewriter. “What was the name of the ship?”

“It was the…hmmm… What was it called again? Oh, yes, it was the
Manuel Llaguno
.”

“Oh you’re kidding? It couldn’t have been something easy to spell like the
Grand
or the
Royal Mate
. How do you spell that?”

It took them several minutes to spell the name of the ship correctly, and once they did the typewriter spat out a manifest for the ship.

Betsy whistled.

“What is it?” Jack leaned over Betsy to get a better look.

She pointed to the ship’s log. “The ship was returning from Africa. They’d been gone for nearly four months. This captain must be really upset. I hope they can recover his ship and his shipment.”

“What was he hauling?” Jack asked.

“It says here he had a huge shipment of ivory.”

Frustrated with Betsy giving only small bits of information, he waved his hand for her to continue. “Who ordered it?”

She leaned her chin into her hand and continued reading. “It was headed to Sohmer and Company.”

“I don’t know who they are. Why do they need a big shipment of ivory?”

“Jack, you need to get out more.” She shook her head as she looked up at him. “They’re the biggest manufacturer of pianos in New York. They do some wonderful craftsmanship. My father owns one of their baby grands. I learned how to play the piano on that one.”

It didn’t make sense that someone would destroy a shipment of something so seemingly inconsequential. “So why would someone sink a ship full of ivory intended for a piano manufacturer?”

“Maybe they sank the wrong ship?”

Jack barked a laugh. “Who would go through so much trouble to sink the wrong ship?”

“Perhaps they’re trying to drive up the price. I mean, ivory is really expensive.” She ran her finger down the log.

“There must be more to this. I need to go back to the docks and ask some more questions.”

“Not without me you don’t, Mr. Kane. And you’re going to help me fill up this skid and sell some pamphlets along the way. The morning is the best time for me to get out there and inform the masses about the British conspiracy that’s going on right under our noses. I wouldn’t put it past the British Royalty to be behind something like this ship sinking business.”

She handed Jack an apron. He could hear the jingle of change in the pockets. His groans of protest went unnoticed as they loaded two skids. At one point Betsy had children from the neighborhood sell the pamphlets, but she discovered men were more than happy to part with their pennies to her versus the children. The skid, one of Jack’s designs, was really a walker that would spyder its way along the street. This made it easier to start and stop, and it didn’t roll down hills.

“But Betsy, I don’t want to waste any—”

She held up one hand, used it to open her parasol, and sauntered down the street. “Come along, Mr. Kane. We have much work to do if I’m to help you solve this mystery.”

He sulked along behind her.

Five

Pier 26 looked like any other pier on the harbor, except it was absolutely teeming with people. Lenny had to get Squiggy to walk in front of the carriage, or ‘Plan B’ as it was called, to actually make any headway. The fact they weren’t supposed to draw any attention to themselves made it even more difficult for the habitually taciturn Squiggy.

Instead of the normal throwing of haymakers and uppercuts Squiggy excelled in, he was trying to politely maneuver people out of the way, referring to Lenny in the vehicle and explaining that a very important person rode in the back who needed to arrive at the pier on time for the ceremony.

Oddly, that worked, especially when Squiggy was mysterious about who the important person was. They left a trail of whispering people who formed groups to speculate on the identity of the passenger.

A person on foot could have walked the final block in under five minutes. As it was with the milling crowd, the car took more than twenty minutes before it arrived. Lenny parked the vehicle right beside the French ship and slipped out from behind the wheel. He nonchalantly stepped away from the vehicle, whistling and smiling at anyone and everyone who would make eye contact with him.