The Serpent's Curse, page 49
“You lived behind the wall?” Harte asked.
“I was doing a solo act at Sam’s club back in ’39—before I met Paul. But after Pearl Harbor, things changed fast. Once the authorities found out another one of the other girls was actually Japanese, they took her away. Took her right off the dance floor one night, and I think it really shook him up, you know?”
Esta could tell by the blank confusion in Harte’s eyes that he didn’t understand, but Dottie didn’t seem to notice.
“I’d been pretty good friends with Mina before she passed, and Sammie already knew what I was… I mean, other than Japanese.”
“Japanese?” Esta asked, her stomach sinking. She understood the implications of Dottie being Japanese during the Second World War. “I didn’t realize…”
“Occidentals don’t usually know the difference,” Dottie said with a shrug. “A lot of the girls in the Chinese clubs aren’t Chinese. Toy is just a stage name. My given name’s Takahashi, but I haven’t used it in a while.”
When Esta had discovered that Sam owned the Dragon’s Pearl, she also learned that it was only one of many clubs spread throughout the city that featured Chinese performers. Most of the other clubs, like the Forbidden City, were owned by Chinese proprietors and had completely Chinese casts, but Sammie’s seemed to employ a mix of performers. The clubs all catered to white audiences, including the Dragon’s Pearl.
“Anyhow,” Dottie said, “Sam figured it was only a matter of time before the authorities found me, too. But he knew the stakes were a lot higher for me.”
“Because you’re Mageus,” Esta realized.
Dottie nodded. “There’s no way I could have hidden what I was in one of those camps. He bought this place and outfitted it. They never did find me. Now he keeps it in case someone needs to lie low for a while.”
“It’s too bad Ellie Wong didn’t use it,” Gracie said. “Did you hear that she disappeared last week?”
“No,” Dottie said, her mouth falling open in uneasy surprise. “Was it the Committee?”
Paul grimaced. “From what I heard, there was a raid on the Forbidden City. Everybody split, like they do, but after, no one could find her. She hasn’t been seen since.”
“Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, waiting things out,” Dottie said, a faint hope tingeing her voice. “Or maybe she got the papers she needed to leave. A lot of people have been going north.”
“Maybe…” Gracie didn’t sound all that convinced. “But that’s not what most people over at the Forbidden City think. Ellie hadn’t been talking about leaving, and they’re all nervous.”
“They’d be stupid not to be,” Paul said. “Every time things get too quiet, the watchmen get bored and people start disappearing. I don’t know what the Committee is going to do when the Reticulum is finally finished. There won’t be anyone left to harass.”
“Oh, I doubt that’ll ever happen,” Gracie said dismissively as she returned her attention to the tea she’d been preparing. “If they were ever going to finish it, they would have by now.”
But Esta didn’t miss the nervous tremor to her voice, and from the look Harte gave her, neither did he.
“What’s the Reticulum?” she asked, almost afraid to know the answer.
Suddenly an uneasy silence descended over the room that had the hair on Esta’s neck rising as three pairs of eyes swiveled to her.
“The Reticulum,” Dottie said, like Esta should already know this.
But when Esta simply shook her head to indicate she didn’t understand, Gracie’s brows drew together. “Who did you say you were again?”
“Friends of Sam’s,” Harte supplied. “Old friends. We’ve been away for a while.”
Gracie’s expression was doubtful, clearly suspicious. “You must’ve been on the moon,” she said, but neither Esta nor Harte responded to the implied question. Gracie frowned as she glanced at the two dancers, who both gave a kind of shrug, but in the end they must have decided they trusted Sammie enough to let the impossibility go. “The Reticulum is President Grew’s number one priority. Has been for years.”
“He’s used the promise of finishing it to keep himself in office,” Paul said darkly.
“But what is it?” Esta pressed.
The three exchanged glances, almost like they were nervous even to talk about it. Finally, Dottie spoke. “It’s a kind of magical net they’re building over the entire country—from sea to shining sea, as they say. If they ever manage to finish the network, they’ll be able to eliminate the old magic once and for all.”
PAST FEARS MADE PRESENT
1952—San Francisco
As Gracie described the Reticulum in greater detail, Harte listened with a kind of horrified detachment. All at once he was both there in that tiny, cramped studio apartment and also back in a warehouse in Manhattan where Jack Grew had boasted to him about a machine that would eliminate magic better than the Brink ever could.
Harte had done what he could to destroy that machine before he’d left the city, but he should have expected that something like this would be possible, especially since he’d been stupid enough to literally hand Jack the Book. Even with all he’d experienced, though, Harte was having trouble imagining something on the scale of what Sammie’s friends were describing.
“You’re saying that the Reticulum could kill every Mageus in this country,” he said, his voice sounding as hollow as he suddenly felt.
“I’m sure there will be places where a person could go,” Paul said. “Remote, out-of-the-way places, but who can go live in the wilderness? Who would want to?”
“The Brotherhoods would probably just build another tower there once they found out about it, anyway,” Gracie said dourly.
“The rest of the country has really accepted this?” Esta asked, sounding every bit as horrified as Harte felt.
“They haven’t told people the truth,” Paul explained. “According to all the official statements, the mechanisms in the towers simply detect and neutralize unregistered magic. If those who have the old magic turn themselves in and give up their power willingly, they wouldn’t be affected at all.”
“After what happened in San Francisco, people must know that’s a lie,” Harte said, thinking of Sammie and the mother he’d lost.
“Individual people might know,” Gracie said. “But people in general? Crowds don’t care about the details.”
“Oh, people know,” Dottie said bitterly. “People always know. But they don’t care enough to stop it. The internments of American citizens during the last war certainly didn’t concern them. Why should this? For most people, it’s easier to look away. Even good people can convince themselves that something so terrible could only happen if the victims deserved it. ‘If they had simply turned themselves in,’ they’ll say. ‘If they had only given up their magic,’ they’ll say.”
“It doesn’t help that the Brotherhoods know how to keep the country scared,” Paul agreed. “Anytime people in a community start questioning the need for the Reticulum, the Brotherhoods simply do a raid and show exactly how many unregistereds there are hiding in plain sight. They round them up and cart them off, and the community settles down.”
“It’s enough to keep everyone quiet,” Dottie said.
By now the tea Gracie had been preparing had long since been forgotten. The discussion of the Reticulum and the danger they were all in had been enough to make the already-somber mood in the apartment practically funereal.
“There has to be something that can be done,” Harte said.
“Oh, plenty is being done,” Paul told him. “The Antistasi dismantle the towers almost as fast as the government can build them.”
“They’re still around?” Esta asked, sounding almost breathless.
Gracie nodded. “Of course. There’s also the Quellant, if you can manage to get ahold of some. If there is a raid, it makes your affinity impossible to detect.”
Harte glanced at Esta. Her lipstick had worn away, and she looked more tired than he’d first noticed. But her eyes had a new brightness, a hopefulness that he understood. After all, if they had more of the Quellant, he could protect Esta from Seshat. He could buy himself more time.
“How hard is it to find?” Harte asked.
“You can only get it on the Nitemarket,” Paul said. “Though it’s damn expensive these days, from what I’ve heard.”
“It was a little easier to come by during the war,” Dottie explained. “Sammie always made sure we all had a good supply of it, just in case.”
“Do you still have some?” Esta asked, but the three performers shook their heads almost in unison.
“Sammie might,” Gracie said. “I can ask when he gets here.… It sure is taking him a while, isn’t it? He usually comes fairly quickly.”
They all seemed to look at the clock on the wall at once, and suddenly it did feel like it had been a long time. Not long after, though, Sammie finally arrived, looking more than a little harried.
“I think I lost them,” he said as he locked the door behind him, making sure to secure the extra latches.
“You always do.” Gracie welcomed him back with a kiss, but Sam’s posture didn’t relax at all with the greeting.
“It wasn’t as easy as it usually is,” he told her. Then he turned to Dottie and Paul. “It should be safe enough now, but maybe take the long route home?”
“Will do,” Paul said. “It’s been… interesting,” he told Harte and Esta with a quizzical smile. Then he turned to Sam. “You want us to drop Gracie off too?”
“Sam can take me home later,” Gracie said, curling into Sam’s side.
He gave her a quick squeeze but then released her. “I think it’s better if you go with Paul and Dottie tonight, sweetheart.”
“I thought you said you lost them?” Her nervousness was apparent, even to Harte. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but better not to take chances, right?” Sam chucked her affectionately on the chin. “You have two shows tomorrow, anyway.”
Gracie frowned up at him. “But you’re still coming by later?”
“I can’t promise anything. Not tonight,” Sam said, his expression faltering a little as he glanced in Harte and Esta’s direction again. “I have a couple of things that need to be taken care of first.”
Harte didn’t like the sound of that at all. Neither, it seemed, did Gracie, but she didn’t argue any further. A few minutes later, they finished saying their good-byes. Once the others were gone and the door was locked behind them, Sam located a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard above the stove and took a couple of long swallows before offering it to Harte.
Harte shook his head. “What happened after we left?”
Sam’s expression was bleak, like he’d been wrung out and put up to dry. “The watchmen were on a tear, all right. They questioned me for a long time, and not particularly nicely.” He took another long swallow straight from the bottle before pinning Harte with a knowing gaze. “They specifically wanted to know about you two.”
Harte could feel the exhaustion of the day creeping over him, but he willed himself upright. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing,” Sam told Harte, lighting a cigarette and loosening his cuffs as he talked. “People always think that giving up information will save their sorry asses, but I’ve been around too long to make that kind of mistake. If you tell the Committee anything, they usually make sure you don’t talk again.”
Harte felt some of the tension drain from him. “Thank you,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with all the sincerity he could.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sammie said. “They’re still looking for the two of you. They know you’re in town, and they’re not going to stop until they find you. As good as it is to see you again, the faster you get out of town, the easier it’s going to be on everyone.”
“We can’t leave without the Dragon’s Eye,” Harte said.
“That’s the thing.…” Sam took a long drag on the cigarette before expelling the smoke in a slow, steady stream. “Like I told you, I don’t have it. I sold the crown at the Nitemarket years ago—back in ’38. I needed the funds to start the Pearl.”
“Who did you sell it to?” Harte pressed, thinking that maybe they could find the buyer.
“Who knows,” Sam said. “No one uses real names when they’re buying or selling at the Nitemarket. It’s safer for everyone that way.”
“But you know when you sold it.” Esta gave Harte a look that made his stomach sink. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
“No, Esta…”
“Think about it, Harte. We know where Jack will be now. If we go back to 1920, we could get the Dragon’s Eye, and we could take back the Pharaoh’s Heart and the Book as well. We could stop Jack from taking office, and we could make it so this Reticulum nightmare never existed.”
“You’re talking like you have some kind of time machine,” Sammie said, trying to laugh off the idea, but he grew serious when they didn’t join him. “You’re not actually talking about a time machine?”
“I think that the less you know, the safer you’ll be,” Esta said, choosing her words carefully.
The amusement drained from Sammie’s expression. “You’re not going to explain?”
“Esta’s right,” Harte agreed. “You’ve dealt with enough tonight. You’ve already put your business—your whole life here—in danger because of us.”
“I’m more than strong enough to withstand whatever the Committee dishes out,” Sam said, indignant. “I managed well enough during the last war. Dottie’s still here, isn’t she? Plenty of others, too.”
“Yes, and we’re going to make sure that you stay here too,” Harte told him. Then he turned to Esta. “Say we do go back. Even if we can get the Book and the dagger from Jack, we only have one tablet of Quellant left,” he reminded her. They would need that to get back to 1902.
“Maybe that doesn’t have to be a problem,” Esta said, glancing at Harte’s brother. “Not if Sammie could find us some more.”
“These days, the Nitemarket can be a little dodgy,” Sammie hedged. “But if it’s important—”
“No,” Harte said. “You’ve done enough for us. I’m not having you take any more risks for our sake.”
“He’s not supposed to be president,” Esta said softly. “This Reticulum they were talking about? It’s not supposed to exist. None of this was supposed to happen.”
“You’re sure?” Harte asked, even though he knew already that Esta wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t.
“Jack Grew isn’t supposed to be anyone important. You said he’s been in office since Prohibition?” she asked Sam, who was looking more than a little confused at their conversation.
“He was Harding’s vice president,” Sam explained. “He took office after Harding died, but he’s won every election since.”
“So much should have happened since then,” Esta murmured. “Wars and a depression and presidents who changed the country and the world.”
“Oh, we’ve had wars all right,” Sam said, stubbing out the cigarette on the edge of the sink. “A depression, too. But President Grew has been at the helm the whole time, for better or for worse. A lot of the time, it’s been worse.”
“This Reticulum he’s building,” Harte asked Sammie. “How much of a reality is it?”
“It’s getting close to completion, even with all the Antistasi have done to delay its progress,” Sam said. “It’s close enough that I keep telling Gracie to go—a lot of Mageus have already gotten false papers and left. I got her some too, but she won’t leave without me, and I have too many people here depending on me.”
“Harte, we can stop this,” Esta said softly. “Jack. The Reticulum. All of it.”
“How are you possibly going to stop it when an entire network of Antistasi hasn’t been able to?” Sam wondered. “There are towers in every state and in every major town, and with television stations needing places to broadcast, they’ve only grown faster. There’s no way you can dismantle the network now—I don’t care how powerful you think you are.”
“We can if the network was never built in the first place.…” Harte let out an unsteady breath, then turned back to Esta. “Just so you’re aware, I hate this idea.”
“I know,” she told him. “But it could work. We could get the Book, the artifacts, and make sure Jack Grew never has the power to hurt anyone again.”
TRAPPED IN TIME
1952—San Francisco
The next morning, Esta woke to the sound of rain. She pulled the window coverings back far enough to see that the sky was an impenetrable gray. The heaviness of the rain and overall gloom of the day might have seemed like some sort of premonition if Esta had been the type to believe in signs. She wasn’t, but the weather cast a pall over her mood nonetheless.
Harte began stirring on the couch, where he’d insisted on sleeping. He needed the rest more than she did, but he’d refused to take the bed out of some kind of misplaced sense of chivalry, the idiot. His dark hair was sticking up in all directions like a disheveled chicken, and though Esta couldn’t help but smile at the sight, she didn’t miss the circles beneath his eyes.
They’d stayed up late into the night planning for what needed to be done. From what Esta could see, there was one place where they knew for sure they could find Jack in the past: the Republican National Convention of 1920. If Esta and Harte could get to the convention, they might be able to stop Jack and steal both the Book and the Pharaoh’s Heart, all at the same time.
From what Sam explained, the event had been a turning point—the First World War had recently ended, and everyone had their opinion about what kind of nation the country should become. That year, Jack hadn’t really been seen as a serious candidate, but the Antistasi had launched an attack on the convention, and Jack had seized the opportunity to activate a tower in retaliation. People weren’t as horrified as they had been with his first tower in San Francisco. Instead, the success of that little exhibition allowed the Brotherhoods to rally the party and push Jack’s nomination through for the vice presidency. Once Harding died unexpectedly in 1923, Jack took over.
