The Jacq of Spades Read online

  “Diamond. My mother and I just moved here. She’s next door getting her permits.”

  “Ah, yes.” The gold band on his left ring finger glinted as he turned pages one by one. “These pages show the city quadrants, or you can look at the whole city, with the countryside and all, over at the dome-table.” He gazed through me. “You look as long as you like. If you need anything else, let me know.”

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. I promised my mother I would draw for her.” I saw the factory at once, with the number 3123/67, and a building near it. “Where might I find the blueprint area? She needs to rebuild …” What was the name? I peered at the ancient map. “The Omaha building. I’m to make a copy.”

  “Right this way.” He shuffled along the long row of ancient books. At the end of the row, he turned, his arm out. Five stacks down, he turned right, into a row of black-bound volumes. “It’s not often we get newcomers to Diamond. I was born there in Diamond, way back when old Caesar Diamond and his pack was shooting up the area, back in Eighteen and Twenty-Seven.” The old man cackled. “Big Cassino and the Beer Card Boys, that’s what his men called themselves. You ever hear of them?”

  “No, sir.” A newcomer wouldn’t know about them.

  “I remember running after their carriages as a lad, when they rooted out the Wheelcard Gang. Those was exciting days.”

  He moved along, his hand running across the books. “Here we go, Plat 3123/66, the Omaha building. All the blueprints you need.” He took out the book, shuffled back the way we came, and set it on a large table. A row of quills and inkwells sat in the center. “The paper for your copies is there.” He pointed to a shelf past the table.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s what I’m here for.” A bell rang, far out front. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He shuffled off. Once he was out of sight and sound, I hurried back, got out the book for the factory, took it to the table, and scanned through the pages, listening for the old man’s return.

  I pulled a small notebook from my handbag and made notes and drawings.

  Canisters of materials … supply rooms …

  Entryways … front, back, side …

  Locker rooms …

  Various levels … the layout of the building …

  The basement … where the boy was kept. The most likely place, anyway.

  I heard brisk footsteps, from far down the hall and around the corner, coming closer. Not the old man’s.

  I returned the factory blueprint book to its place and myself to the table, but intuition told me not to stay there. I hid behind the bookcase just in time. Jack Diamond’s shaved head peered around the corner with a concerned, inquisitive expression on his face. He looked so much like his twin brother Jonathan that for an instant I forgot to be afraid.

  What could Jack possibly be doing here?

  “You’re sure?” Jack said. The old man’s shuffling footsteps came closer.

  Alarmed, I hurried to the end of the first set of stacks, across an aisle, then past another long set, looking for an exit, but there was none. A short, thick bookcase of oak-stained wood with more quills and paper blocked my path, and I crouched behind it.

  “Yes, sir, she was right over there at the table. She pretended to be a girl, but my eyes ain’t that bad, sir. A full tall woman she was, wearing red like all the ladies are these days, and one of them feather hats. Something didn’t seem right.”

  The footsteps began to move to the table, which would put them in view.

  I needed a distraction. I took off my hat, which held two feathers in it, and pulled one of the feathers off, sticking it in the books so its top peeked up past the edge. Then I put my hat back on and moved out of sight.

  “Any idea who she was?”

  “No. She said she was new to Bridges, just moved into Diamond. Her accent was a bit like from Dickens … but her coloring, she looked like a Hart to me. And she knew the Omaha building. Most everyone in Diamond calls it the Smith building, on account of the bank that was there before your daddy shot Mr. Plafond Smith dead back in ‘87. No one’s called it the Omaha since the Bloody Year,” he gave a short laugh, “long before you were born. The Harts captured that part for a while there.”

  Oh, no. No wonder he became alarmed.

  “Well, isn’t that an old book? She could have just read the name off the page.” Jack chuckled. “We’re not in the old days anymore, Swan. There’s going to be outsiders here.”

  “I suppose you’re right, sir, but I didn’t want to take chances. Not with all that’s going on.”

  “You did right. Lucky I was next door.”

  “I smell her, she went this way.” Swan shuffled along my trail.

  I was gathering my skirts to move on when Jack said:

  “What book is this? It was out farther than the others.”

  “That’s the Mayer building, sir, right next to the Smith one. It’s gonna be tore down soon.”

  I took off my hat again and peered between the top of the books. Jack stood frowning, book in hand. On his small finger, a silver ring with a clear stone glinted. “What could she have possibly wanted with this?” Then he glanced my way. “Look!” He patted Swan’s arm. “There she is!” He rushed towards me.

  I glanced to my right, appalled. I forgot about the feather! Gathering my skirts, I crawled along the long thick bookcase until I reached its end. I hurried past the gap to the bookcases just in time to avoid him, and was hidden by the bookcases between us.

  I heard whispering at the far end, then, “Got you!” A sound as if someone leapt forward, then, “Damn!” A pause, then Jack let out an exuberant, approving laugh. “She’s tricky!”

  Swan laughed. “Most are, sir.”

  I rushed on tiptoe to the archway. Jack’s voice came from the far end of the stacks, “Hey!”

  I heard the click of Jack’s white patent-leather shoes coming towards me as I fled the map area, panting. I ran down the hallway past the little boy, who waved at me and giggled.

  I hurried down the stairs, through the front lobby and out the front doors, putting on my hat as I pushed past a host of ladies wearing various shades of red.

  I forced myself to walk down the front steps, heart pounding. Just before the last step, I glanced back.

  Jack opened the front door, peering around as the sun broke through the clouds. I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my face … and immediately bumped into someone.

  “My apologies!” the man said.

  “Master Blaze Rainbow.” I kept my back to the door as people streamed past us. Clouds darkened the sky.

  He took a step backwards, off the stairs. “Mrs. Jacqueline Spadros. Fancy meeting you here!”

  I glanced at the door; Jack Diamond was gone. I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  “A pleasure to see you too! What are you doing here?”

  “My husband is at City Hall, so I thought I would amuse myself by looking at the paintings in the lobbies.” I stepped off of the stairs and moved around the corner towards City Hall.

  Morton followed. “So what did you think?”

  “Dreadful. Most disappointing.” They truly were, unless new ones appeared since the last time I viewed them.

  He moved beside me. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you happen to visit any offices while you were here?”

  “Why, Master Rainbow, I would almost think you were garnering information. But a gentleman like yourself would never be so crass.”

  “I have offended you.”

  “Never. Rather, you have impressed me with your tenacity. I’m sure it was no accident, us meeting here.” Clearly he had people notifying him of my whereabouts, which meant spies either at the Spadros bridge, or more likely here on Market Center.

  I changed my assessment of him: perhaps he was one of the men following me, either he or an associate.

  Morton tipped his hat. “You’re most perceptive, madam. Then do
you now know where the boy is held?”

  I stopped in front of a large floral display, where we could be seen from neither the Records Hall nor City Hall, and faced him. “I believe I do.”

  “Would you be willing to share that information?”

  “Why should I do that?”

  Morton looked exasperated. “My employer will only pay me if I rescue the boy myself.”

  I smiled. “You have an interesting dilemma.”

  “As do you. The carriage-search. You can’t get into the Diamond quadrant again unnoticed.”

  I hadn’t considered that. “Are we to take another ride in your yacht, then?”

  He smiled. “You have given me the quadrant. I will give you a ride in return, but I must accompany you.”

  I felt irritated at myself. “I might let you do that, for a percentage of your fee. But Zia must be aboard the yacht, and I will hire the carriage.” I didn’t trust a man who grabbed women in alleys, and I certainly would not get into any carriage that he hired, maid or no maid. “You’ve already admitted my information has value.”

  He chuckled. “Damnable woman,” he whispered. “Very well, ten percent.”

  “Sixty.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Fifty.”

  “Thirty.”

  I felt amazed that the man bargained with me. “Forty it is then.” He must have been either desperate or had no intention of giving me anything. At the time, I gave a fifty-fifty chance of the latter. “When shall we take our adventure?”

  “I’ll send another invitation in the post tomorrow.”

  “Splendid.” I gave him my hand, which he shook.

  Just then, Tony came walking up. “Master Rainbow! So good to see you.”

  Morton gave Tony a handshake, and tipped his hat to me. “A pleasure to see you as well.” He checked his pocket-watch. “I’m afraid, though, that I’m late for an appointment — I must be off.” He moved down the street and disappeared into the crowd.

  “What was that about? I saw you shake hands.”

  I chuckled. “Apparently I made a fair impression upon Mrs. Helen Hart, and Master Rainbow has agreed to suggest another meeting with her.”

  “Really? How kind of him. I’m glad that you and Helen Hart are getting on so well. We should invite her to tea. I’ve thought our families should become better friends.”

  I took Tony’s arm as we strolled along past the Records Hall. “Did you get your work done?”

  “Most of it. One of the men I wished to see has fallen ill. I made an appointment with him for later this week.” It began to rain, and he opened his umbrella over us. “But now, it is high time for luncheon.”

  While we ate, I thought about Jack Diamond, back in the map room. He sounded, acted … normal, even reasonable. But Gardena said Jack had his lucid days.

  I shuddered to think of such a horrible malady. But I couldn’t let sympathy for Jack’s plight cause me to let my guard down.

  When we returned home, I sent a note to Master Rainbow at the address on his card, asking him to arrange a meeting with Mrs. Helen Hart for tea at the Spadros Women’s Club, which like the others, had a boathouse.

  I also sent notes to my contacts, inquiring after this Frank Pagliacci. I wished I had men of my own, as Tony did, to keep watch on Jack Diamond’s whereabouts. That encounter was much too close.

  The Question

  After dinner, Tony read in his study by the fire, while I sipped sherry and thought.

  There were too many questions.

  Why were people so interested in my activities? Morton practically confessed to following me. Mrs. Clubb had lookouts for me. Jack had the map room watched.

  Although … Jack Diamond didn’t know it was I in his map room, or he wouldn’t have stopped searching so soon.

  I smiled, wondering what he did think. Some woman from Hart quadrant sneaking around, pretending to be an outsider, asking about a building next to his Party Time factory.

  Oh, dear. Sooner or later he would make the connection. I hoped Jack didn’t increase the guards around the factory.

  Having the blueprints would help a great deal. But even assuming Morton was serious about accompanying me, we knew nothing about the guards and their number.

  These blueprints fascinated me, yet I knew nothing about the mechanisms they held. This led me to a second question, which perhaps Tony might answer. “How is Party Time made?”

  “Hmm? Oh, it’s a series of chemical steps.” Tony put a bookmark in his book, then went to his desk for paper, taking a fountain pen from his vest pocket. “It begins as a plant: its leaves are crushed and treated.” Using his book as a base to write upon, he began to draw, and I peered over his shoulder in excitement.

  But he began speaking of things I didn’t understand. He drew lines and letters as he talked, making many shapes, and arrows which went from one shape to another. I wanted to know, so I felt discouraged and frustrated at not understanding his words, which gave me little insight. Neither Roy nor Molly gave me this information, or even knowledge of the notations Tony made.

  “I’m impressed with your knowledge.” I felt mortified by my ignorance of something so vital to the Business. Perhaps Roy considered a Pot rag too ignorant to learn this.

  My eyes stung at that thought, but I took a deep breath and forced the feelings away, keeping my voice light. “It looks quite complicated.”

  Tony put the paper aside, then capped his pen and returned it to his vest pocket. “I’ve never made it myself, but I must know how it’s made, so I can oversee the workers and give advice if needed.” He paused for several seconds. “A few of these reagents can be explosive if mixed in large amounts.”

  “Why do you mention that?”

  “If the men who attacked intended to kill me, they could have set the factory to explode when we entered. Or shoot me in that ambush, now that I think of it. Six men, aiming at me … one of those bullets would have hit true.”

  I felt horrified. “So why attack with pipes instead?”

  “That is the question. To distract us?”

  To distract us. From what? What were they really doing?

  The fire crackled. It struck me how quiet Roy had been these past weeks. “What has your father been doing?”

  “I sent him to find our missing guards,” Tony said, “with strict instructions to torture no one, but to bring any suspects to me.”

  My heart began pounding in fear at the prospect of speaking to Roy in that manner. “You have courage.”

  Tony shook his head. “I almost died the other day.” He paused, then spoke slowly, gazing at the floor. “I can no longer allow my life to toss in the wind, as if I had all eternity.”

  He straightened, staring straight ahead. “And I refuse to be dictated to by a man who holds neither love nor respect for me, but enjoys finding ways to cause me pain.” He turned to me with determination in his eyes. “If my father wants me to become his heir, he must pay me heed. Otherwise I will take you and leave Bridges, and he can find another heir. I will no longer be treated like a child in my own home.”

  Tony risked his life … confronted Roy Spadros … for us?

  A burden lifted from my heart, and I felt as if I saw my husband for the first time. Tony was no longer a boy frightened of his father, who I must protect out of fear for his life. Somehow, without my knowing it, he became a man, with the strength to stand up to a man who terrified an entire city.

  I took his face in my hands and kissed him, my heart full. Then I gazed into his eyes; this was the first time I felt real love for him. “I have never felt such pride in you. You are truly a man worthy of respect.”

  Tony took my hands and drew me to sit upon his lap, and this night, I don’t recall thinking of Joseph Kerr once.

  * * *

  When I woke, I regretted that. I felt I had betrayed Joe.

  It made no rational sense. Yet I wasn’t happy. Joe wasn’t happy: I could see it in his eyes.

  I didn
’t want to love Tony.

  I never wanted to love Tony, and when the servants left me alone for a moment, I wept in frustration at the cage I was in through no fault of my own.

  Why couldn’t Tony be repulsive, or cruel, or evil? Why couldn’t I hate him for what his father had done to me?

  There were two notes in my mail. The first read:

  Mrs. Helen Hart presents her compliments to Mrs. Spadros, and will have much pleasure in accepting her kind invitation to luncheon at the Spadros Women’s Club on the 30th of January.

  Which was two days from now.

  The note was, again, not quite Mrs. Hart’s writing, so I took it to be from Morton and Zia.

  The second note had no return address and read:

  Dock 21

  This appeared to be in Morton’s handwriting, on the same paper as the first note. I put the notes in my dresser and locked it, then returned to my seat and pretended to read the newspaper.

  So we were to rescue David Bryce, if possible, in two days.

  This was bigger than any case I had ever done, and much more dangerous. I took a deep breath and put the paper down, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

  Morton planned to sail across the river to the Diamond quadrant. Putting on Zia’s uniform would be a good disguise. Getting to the Party Time plant would be easy, once I was in the Diamond quadrant proper. Getting into the plant itself would be more difficult.

  David Bryce might be injured, or afraid, and we had not met since he was two years old. How might I win the child’s trust? How would I get him out of the building if he couldn’t walk? What doctor could I bring him to — if he needed medical attention — that would be discreet? What would I say to Mrs. Bryce if he was dead, or so badly hurt that his life was in question?

  Not knowing Morton’s true motive frightened me. Could I trust he merely wanted to rescue the boy? What if his goal was to put me in a compromising situation?

  Jacqueline Spadros, captured infiltrating the Diamond Party Time plant. That would send ripples through the city even Roy wouldn’t be able to solve.