Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

I made the mistake of reading the rest of the pamphlet. It went on for many pages, Thrace Pike describing me so well he all but printed my name. I felt humiliated. I told Tony I felt unwell and spent much of two days in deep melancholy.

I brought trouble on my Family, offended two of my friends, and three others were dead. A scoundrel followed me, my husband was hurt, Air’s brother was missing, my maid had been tortured. And I could do nothing about any of it.

A house maid drew my bath while Amelia was “indisposed.” I was careful not to let the maid see my midsection. The corset’s boning pushed into me when I fell against the chair after Roy’s attack, leaving a purple mark.

It would be difficult to blame that on a wasp.

During this time, a copy of the Golden Bridges arrived, and I almost threw it in the fire. A whole day I feared those men’s biting scorn. But I realized I needed to know what people said, so one day, after Tony left, I opened it.

As it turned out, there was very little there. The Golden Bridges had a column called, “Hog Scrapple,” and halfway down the column, it read:

GB: Item three — the pamphlet.

IR: Methinks our young Bridger protests too much.

GB: My thoughts exactly. Any ideas as to who he’s talking about?

IR: Well, Goldie, my boy, I’m always up for a bit of fun, but a night in a torture room isn’t my idea of a good time.

Perhaps I had done better than I imagined.

I wondered how Mr. Pike learned about our bribes to his editor. The fact that Mr. Pike’s editorial was published at all seemed surprising, when I considered it.

The third day, Amelia stormed in and threw open the drapes.

I squinted at the sudden light. “What’s this?”

Amelia began beating the chair cushions with a vengeance. “I worked too hard and suffered too much to have you take some other maid.”

I sat up. “I didn’t know you were ready to return.”

She faced me. “I will never be ready. But life would be no better somewhere else, and Mr. Roy hurt you as well.” She began to cry. “I should have let him kill me.”

“Oh, Amelia.” I got up, put on my robe, and went to her, taking her into my arms. “Come, sit here with me.” I brought her over and we sat on the side of the bed, although she sat gingerly. “I was wrong to do what I did. I put our whole Family in danger, and I put you at terrible risk.” I took her hands. “But I must ask: what exactly did you tell him?”

“I told him about your instructions for the corset, and the events with Mr. Pike.” Her eyes widened. “But nothing more, I swear! Only what was asked about that day.”

I sat for a moment, wondering if I could believe her, then nodded. “What time is it?”

“Half past six.”

I chuckled. She must have been brooding about this for hours already. “I must tell you about my dress …”

I lay in bed waiting for my morning tea and listened to Amelia fuss and fume over the great rip in the waist of my dress.

Amelia would probably never talk to Roy again. But sooner or later, she would talk to someone, given the right incentive. I had to be more discreet.

When Amelia finished pinning my dress, she said, “Oh! I must fetch your tray!” She made a second trip for the newspaper, a package, and my mail.

Amelia reached in her pocket. “I think this is also yours.” Amelia handed me a note addressed to her, but addressed from Madame Biltcliffe’s shop.

Inside were two notes.

The first was in Madame Biltcliffe’s hand:

My dear lady, I found this in my post box and thought it might be for you. If not, I apologize. — MB

The second was scrawled on a wrinkled paper:

To Amelia: I must speak with your mistress on a matter of much urgency.

I turned the paper over, but there was no indication as to who it might be from. “Perhaps it would be a good day for me to visit the shop. Kindly send a message to Madame Biltcliffe as to which time would be best for me to arrive.”

I opened the Bridges Daily with dread, but there was still no news article about the pamphlet. I wondered if Roy had something to do with that.

In with my package, which contained a new copy of the Golden Bridges, there was a flyer:

To-Night!

Learn The Truth About Party Time!

Tent Meeting, 9:30 pm

Market Center Plaza

All Welcome

I sighed. So it had begun, just like in the stories. First the tent meetings, then the protests, then the marching, then the storming of buildings thought to house places where Party Time was made or sold, armed with axes.

Could the attacks on Tony’s men be Bridger work?

Tony had never considered the Bridgers as suspects, but sent a message to his men when I raised the subject at breakfast. “It’s nice to be back in the Business. I was beginning to feel caged.”

I chuckled. “I can picture you pacing like one of those fabled East Indian tigers, growling.” I raised my fingers curled like claws.

Tony smiled.

Pearson, standing by the sideboard, raised an eyebrow.

“I heard an interesting tale yesterday,” Tony said. He had been most attentive to me during my melancholy, often telling me amusing tales. I think he felt unhappy with himself for his part in our argument the other day.

“Oh?”

“Mr. Julius Diamond was displeased with the performance of Master Jack Diamond at the Grand Ball, and threatened to cut off his funds if he causes further trouble.”

I laughed.

“The truly amusing part: when my father heard about Master Jack’s outburst, he told Mr. Julius Diamond at the Grand Ball that a further insult to any member of our family — or yours — from a member of the Diamond Family would be taken as a personal attack on him.”

Roy threatened Julius? “Oh, to be present at that meeting …!”

Tony chuckled, wincing at the end, and the maid giggled. Even Pearson had trouble keeping himself from a small smile, which felt most gratifying.

After breakfast and the morning meeting (which Tony did attend), I finished my kitchen inventory with the maids and sat with Amelia in the parlor as she mended my torn dress. I pretended to do needlework, but in truth, I pondered the situation at hand.

The letter was likely from Mrs. Eleanora Bryce. I wondered what calamity had struck for Eleanora to contact me in such a disjointed manner.

Could this man who followed me and Stephen have frightened her? I should have warned Eleanora when the man in brown began following me. I didn’t think she was in much danger with her son there; Herbert was only sixteen, but tall as a grown man. Surely his presence would deter an attack. Wouldn’t it?

* * *

Clouds covered the sky, and the wind blew chill. When I arrived at Madame Biltcliffe’s dress shop, Mrs. Bryce stood outside wearing mourning garb.

Mrs. Bryce didn’t acknowledge me until I changed into Tenni’s uniform and met her in the back alley. Then she clutched my hand and began to weep. “I’m so grateful you came. I didn’t know who else to call.”

She moved away and I hurried to keep up. Tenni wore a half size shoe smaller than I did; my feet soon began to hurt at the rapid pace.

We went through an unfamiliar maze of half-lit alleyways, stopping in front of the Spadros quadrant morgue. The building, a sad shade of gray, stood apart, a few mourners holding each other in the street outside.

Since I played Mrs. Bryce’s maid, I opened the door for her and curtsied as she went in. The room was the same gray, and the attendants wore bone white. The smell of death lay in the air.

Mrs. Bryce would have told me if David were dead, so I felt puzzled. Not knowing what happened or who died, I waited as she gave her name and information. In a few moments we stood in another room, cold and gray, at the side of a body.

The attendant lifted the sheet: Herbert Bryce lay on the slab.

I felt astonished. Not three weeks ago, the young man sat in his mother’s shop, very much alive.

Mrs. Bryce burst into tears.

I glanced at the attendant, who left. “What happened?”

“After your visit,” Mrs. Bryce sobbed, “he wondered if he raised money, you would change your mind and find David. He went to our neighbors, but no one would help us. After we saw the story of you feeding the poor in the paper, he said it seemed you had no time for us. The next morning he was gone. The constable contacted me yesterday: they found him in the Diamond slums, dead. Strangled.” She stared at his unmoving face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Diamond. What was he doing there?

Then I saw the blue finger-marks on the young man’s neck.

More people lingered in the intersection than seemed normal for that time of night. A large crowd waited in the alleyways, doorways, and driveways, behind rusted clockwork machinery and broken-out windows, but quiet, hoping to see something happen.

Roy Spadros and Peedro Sluff stood in that intersection, separated by several yards, facing each other.

Peedro was a foul-smelling drunken addict, with a temper to match. The wisps of black hair on his balding head were as thin as the rags on his filthy thin body. His glazed eyes told me he had taken a lot of Party Time already.

Roy Spadros said, “I trust you have what we agreed on.”

“Yeah, I do,” Peedro Sluff said, in his whiny voice.

“And where is she?”

“She’ll be here. If not, I can show you where she lives.” If anything, though, Peedro’s body tensed even more, as if preparing to act, but afraid to try. He took a deep breath, and his right hand twitched.

A brown-haired man dashed towards us from the right, several blocks away. Another money-man, but not so old as Roy Spadros, maybe eighteen or so. I liked him at once. A block away, he shouted urgently, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Peedro Sluff froze uncertainly as the younger man raced towards them. Then Peedro whipped out a revolver from behind his belt and fired, the motion smoother than I could ever have imagined. People shrieked, scurrying behind fallen beams and broken hulks of steam automobiles.

Something drew me from the alley like a magnet. I should have been frightened, but at the time it felt like a dream. I had seen men shot before. This made no sense; the younger man shouted a warning, not a threat.

Where did Peedro Sluff get a gun? Where did he learn to shoot?

Roy’s men dashed up from the street behind him, guns out, but Roy waved them off.

Peedro Sluff dropped his arm to his side and spoke to Roy Spadros, his breath steaming. “He meant to kill you.”

It didn’t seem that way at all. The man tried to warn someone, yet got shot for it. It seemed so unfair.

Roy Spadros gave a slight smile, as if he found the whole thing funny. “Then you have my gratitude.”

What a world we lived in. Young men murdered attempting to save a life, their valor used to further a villain’s scheme! Why did Herbert, or that friend of Jack Diamond’s … why did they have to die? A poor decision, a few minutes haste, a wrong turn down a street, and life disappeared.

My eyes fell on a card lying on the table near Herbert’s slab, the sort used for business. But instead of a name and location, it had a stamp of a dog on it, all in red, with a note next to it: “Found on the body.”

Would taking the case have prevented this?

I made the right choice not to take this case. I helped people pay their rent and find their cats. I had no experience in solving a kidnapping. It was a police matter.

Why would Herbert leave his mother alone? How — and why — did he go to Diamond?

Finding Herbert in the Diamond quadrant did explain why Stephen hadn’t heard of a boy being held. Even if his “ace” was as tight-lipped as Stephen said, there should have been some rumor or indication of a young boy held against his will in Spadros.

Across the river, though, anything might be happening and no one in Spadros would know. Foot traffic wasn’t allowed over the bridges. The river was too cold and fast this time of year to swim. Few uppers had reason to cross into another Family’s territory unless invited. To a lower like Stephen or his ace, Diamond quadrant might as well be another city. “I’m sorry about Herbert. He seemed like a good boy.”

“He just wanted to find his brother. Now they’re both gone.”

I shook my head. “I’m sure the police will find David.”

Her eyes never left her son’s body, but her face screamed that she had lost all hope.