A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) Read online

  On arrival, I went off toward the lumber mills that lined the canal and saw a number of boats taking on loads. There was no sign of the Sophie Arnould. But I did locate the mill that sent lumber to the Steinway company. Mr. Clapsaddle, the foreman, was just finishing his lunch.

  “Have you sent out a shipment in the last two days?” I asked.

  “Not to Steinway. Have one ready though.”

  No sooner had he finished eating than he’d taken a big jaw-full of tobacco. From then on I had to stay on my toes. Either Mr. Clapsaddle had horrible aim or an exceedingly perverse sense of humor.

  “Is that to go on the Sophie Arnould?”

  “That’s right. The she-boat, I call her.”

  “Captain Stanton’s?”

  “Her and her daughter, and her little boy.”

  I went and ate a large lunch myself, bought a newspaper, and then sat reading beside the mill. It was a warm afternoon and I had just dozed off when I was woken by the sound of a tug. It was coming from the north, so I was about to turn over and try for another bit of sleep when I noticed a Chinaman standing on deck.

  The tug docked a little further on. I hid behind a stack of boards and watched as the canal boat it was towing coasted to the wharf beside the mill. There was a middle-aged woman at the tiller. As soon as it came to shore, a young boy jumped on the bank and began tying it up, with the help of two young women on deck. One of whom was Emmie.

  Another Chinaman had emerged from the tug and walked back to the canal boat and just sort of stood guard there. Mrs. Stanton spoke with him.

  “I need to send one of the girls into town for supplies,” she told him.

  He clapped his hands and the other Chinese fellow came over. He was given instructions and then he and Emmie went off toward town. I followed, but from well behind. At one point Emmie started drifting away from the fellow. He pulled her back, flashing a rather impressive dagger as a warning.

  They went into Mrs. Gregor’s grocery. After a bit I followed and tried to just hover about unobtrusively, lifting things and setting them back down. Now and then glancing over my shoulder to see what the others were up to.

  Unfortunately, my behavior aroused the suspicion of the proprietress, who evidently was a woman of action. She picked up a broom and jabbed me in the midsection with a fairly substantial blow.

  “Jeez,” I cried.

  “Harry?” Emmie had recognized my expostulation.

  The Chinaman pulled her away, and I made sort of a half-hearted lunge at him. My heart, always chivalrous to a fault, started out fully invested in the program, but then my always-more-cautious cerebellum reminded it of the dagger. The lunge was enough, however, to distract the fellow. Emmie exploited the opportunity by walloping him on the head with her usual aplomb. But also with her usual ignorance of even the most basic principles of physics. Her weapon of choice was a sack of flour. It achieved little beyond blanketing the three of us in a powdery snow.

  I had no alternative now but to finish the job with a jar of pickled lambs’ tongues—a delicacy previously unfamiliar to me, but whose bouquet we were all three destined to know well. The brine splattered every which way and made a very effective paste wherever it encountered the flour coating. But at least the Chinaman was out cold.

  Mrs. Gregor, however, had no intention of withdrawing from the fray. Just as I was dispatching the Chinaman, she gave me another blow. This one a jab to the kidneys from behind. I fell to my knees and only narrowly missed the follow-up shot to the head.

  “I think we should probably be on our way,” Emmie suggested as she helped me to my feet.

  “Yes,” I muttered. “I’m not sure I want to patronize this establishment after all.”

  We stumbled out with Mrs. Gregor just behind.

  “You can’t leave your Chinaman here!”

  “I suggest we find a safe place to formulate our strategy,” Emmie said.

  “I suggest we do it on the run. Mrs. Gregor is drawing attention.”

  We sprinted in the direction opposite that of the canal, passing through a few blocks of houses, then crossing a large field, and finally collapsed in a copse of trees on the bank of a small brook. We washed ourselves as best we could, but the water seemed less than pure. It was then I noticed the herd of dairy cows a few hundred yards upstream from us.

  “What did you get yourself involved in, Emmie?”

  “It’s rather a fantastic story, Harry.”

  11

  I was well used to Emmie’s fantastic stories, but having her describe one as such struck me as novel.

  “I take it Lou Ling is on board the Sophie Arnould?” I asked.

  “He was. But perhaps it would be better if I recount all that has happened since we separated. By the way, Harry, where did you wander off to that evening at the Chinese farm?”

  “I went to a meeting of the White Rats. It turns out the meeting place was Erbe’s casino in North Beach, at the other end of the bay from the farm.”

  “When did you learn that?”

  “That evening. There was a sign in Steinway for the casino. I would have told you, but Erbe’s doesn’t welcome women.”

  “Well, it’s just as well, or we would have missed seeing Lou Ling.”

  “Aunt Nell told me how he came by the farm. And how you followed him to the Sophie Arnould. Then you went back and signed on as a crewman?”

  “Yes. Captain Stanton was surprised to see me, but she was quite agreeable to my joining her for the voyage.”

  “How exactly is it you know this lady canal boat captain and smuggler of Chinamen?”

  “She provided me certain illustrations for the inaugural issue of Psi.”

  Psi was a literary magazine Emmie had tried to resurrect. I say tried because the inaugural issue was also its last. Why one would consult a canal boat captain for illustrations suitable for a literary magazine was a question I thought best left unexplored for the present. I responded with a simple “I see.”

  “I made no mention of having seen Lou Ling come aboard, merely told Captain Stanton I wanted the experience. She raised her eyebrows, but said it would work out fine, because the men hiring the boat had stipulated no males could be aboard, only her son, who’s just twelve. ‘Why is that?’ I asked. She said she had her guesses, but wasn’t willing to confide them. On the second day, while we were with the tow on the Hudson, she told me about Lou Ling. She said the police were after him and she had agreed to help him slip out of town unnoticed. ‘Where to?’ I asked. ‘Well, someplace he can find his lady crickets.’ Remember, Willie told us that was Lou’s special expertise.”

  “Yes. But I thought they catch the crickets for their songs?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, the females don’t chirp.”

  “No, but apparently by finding the right female, you can induce the males to chirp very readily. Then they fetch a higher price.”

  “Do the males ever get what they’re after?”

  “If they did, they wouldn’t chirp as hard afterward.”

  “So they’re just teased?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. But I need to go on with the story. When we arrived in Troy, we were met by the tug, the one you saw this afternoon. We were taken all the way up to the middle of Lake Champlain. There we stopped and for the first time saw the two Chinamen on the tug. They were brought to the Sophie Arnould in a dinghy. It was already dark, and an hour or so later, a sloop approached and tied up to us. Then it transferred its cargo….”

  “Chinamen?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing so prosaic. Chinese girls! Seven altogether. They were taken to the compartment in the hold used for smuggling, where Lou Ling was still hiding, unbeknownst to the smugglers. That was how he was reunited with Xiang-Mei Chen.”

  “I think I missed a chapter….”

  “You see, as a boy Lou Ling was betrothed to a distant cousin, Xiang-Mei Chen. They were very much in love, but were forced to separate when Lou was told by his fathe
r that he must come and work here for a period. He was promised that when he came home Xiang-Mei would be waiting. A marriage ceremony was held, and the next day Lou caught a steamer for Vancouver. But something happened back in their village. There was some sort of upheaval and Xiang-Mei was separated from both their families and ended up in the care of American missionaries. She actually speaks English rather well.

  “Then a month or so ago, she heard about a man who was arranging to send girls to America. She hoped she could in this way find Lou Ling, so she pursued the matter without letting the missionaries know. It wasn’t until they were on the ship that she realized the circumstances. The other girls had all been sold to the man by their very poor families. They landed in Canada and were carried in a freight car across the continent. Then they were transferred to the sloop that tied up to the Sophie Arnould.”

  “And by sheer coincidence, Lou Ling was on the canal boat waiting?”

  “These things do happen, Harry. Happily, Lou Ling and Xiang-Mei Chen managed to escape last night to Plattsburgh.”

  “How’d they get away?”

  “Mrs. Stanton and I helped them. The Chinamen haven’t noticed she’s missing yet, but when they do, Mrs. Stanton will be in trouble. That’s why we need to act quickly.”

  “I suppose we could try explaining it to the police.”

  “Oh, that would just get her in more trouble with the tong. I already have a plan, Harry. I was hoping you’d show up in time. But I expected to see you before now. Where have you been for the last few days?”

  “Well, do you remember passing Poughkeepsie? It was early Friday morning.”

  “You saw us then?”

  “We saw the Sophie Arnould. Got within fifty yards of her.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Nell and I. We would have boarded, too, but we encountered our own pair of Chinamen.”

  “From the tong?”

  “No, from the farm.”

  “And they threatened you?”

  “Only later. Evidently they had the same objective, but their seamanship was lacking. We had to fish them out of the Hudson. By then, your tow had gotten way ahead of us.”

  “Why didn’t you meet us in Troy?”

  “Well, mainly because we were waiting in Albany. And from there we made our way to Weedsport.”

  “Weedsport?”

  “Yes, on the Erie Canal. Why didn’t you tell Nell which canal you were headed for?”

  “What canal were we on?”

  “The Champlain.”

  “I thought that was a lake.”

  “Never mind. What’s your plan for saving Mrs. Stanton from the tong?”

  “It’s perfectly simple. You’ll love it, Harry.”

  “I think I’ll reserve judgment. And it had better not involve me battling those two fellows on the tug.”

  “That’s what’s so perfect about my plan. We just outmaneuver them. You see, they’ve been instructed to ride on the tug. They aren’t allowed to ride with the girls. All we need to do is tie up Mrs. Stanton and her children, then free the girls—making it look as if it was done by a rival tong.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “By dressing as Chinamen, of course. Mrs. Stanton and I have worked it all out.”

  “What if I hadn’t shown up?”

  “Well, I was sure you’d show up sooner or later. And you did.”

  “Not with any help from you.”

  “You always seem to resent it when I help. But let’s not harp on past failures. We need to go over our plan.”

  “Your plan.”

  “Oh, I’m perfectly willing to accept credit for it,” she said. “Here it is. Tonight we don disguises, and somewhere along the canal surreptitiously board the Sophie Arnould, tie up the Stantons, free the girls, and then cut the boat loose from the tug. When we drift to shore, we take the girls off.”

  “And then where?”

  “I was hoping you’d be able to answer that. Aren’t you from around here?”

  “No, not really. Won’t it be a little conspicuous traveling the countryside with half a dozen Chinese girls?”

  “That’s why we’ll need a hideout. But first we need to get in position for tonight’s raid. Somewhere down the canal.”

  “When are they supposed to leave?”

  “The lumber will be loaded this afternoon, then they’ll set off in the evening.”

  “We could go down to Fort Edward—that’s about thirty miles from here.”

  “Good. They should get there well after dark.”

  “We can take a train down, maybe get a hotel room so we can wash up.”

  “Yes. Thank goodness I thought to bring a change of clothes when I left the boat.” She picked up the satchel she’d been carrying. “Where’s your bag?”

  “Back at the lumber mill. I’ll go back for it and meet you at the depot.”

  “All right. But do be careful, Harry.”

  I snuck back to the lumber yard, but saw at once that I was too late. One fellow was wearing my favorite vest, and Mr. Clapsaddle himself had on my new silk tie. My bag, and what remained of its contents, was lying behind a pile of woodchips. I decided to make do with this and went off to join Emmie at the depot. Neither of us was looking our best. And we both smelled a good deal worse than we looked.

  It’s difficult to explain how I allow myself to get drawn into Emmie’s schemes. In retrospect, I can think of a dozen more reasonable plans, none of which involved a possible confrontation with the fellow harboring the dagger. I guess the main reason I go along is that she can get so disagreeable if I demur. Emmie was a master at stretching a resentment into a three-week funk. Her chief weapon was the cold shoulder, and she used it pitilessly.

  Of course, much as I’m loath to admit it, it’s also true that she’s her most alluring when she’s scheming. I’m not sure why exactly. It’s not at all intentional on her part. Though I sometimes suspect she’s aware of it.

  It was only after we’d found a room at the Fort Edward Hotel and bathed that we discussed our financial situation. All the meals, train tickets, hotel rooms, boat rentals, and wires had started to add up. I had only eight dollars left of what I had borrowed from Nell just the day before.

  I’d been counting on Emmie having a stash with her. She keeps two sets of books, so there’s never much point in my trying to guess her true financial position. Usually when we’re in a real pinch, she reveals some hidden reservoir we can tap to tide us over.

  “I’ve just the three dollars Mrs. Stanton gave me for the groceries,” she told me. “I had to give all I had to Xiang-Mei. How would they have been able to get to Brooklyn otherwise?”

  “They went to Brooklyn?”

  “To our apartment, of course. Where else could I send them?”

  “It might be a little crowded. Assuming Nell’s turned up.”

  “Turned up from where? Where did you leave her?”

  “I didn’t leave her, she left me. She got off the train in Syracuse, but didn’t get back on in time.”

  “Didn’t you go back for her?”

  “Sure, but she wasn’t there. So I assumed she caught the next train to Albany. When she didn’t turn up there, I figured she’d just gone back to Brooklyn.”

  “Or home to Buffalo.”

  “I doubt that. She seemed to be enjoying our little adventure.”

  Emmie produced a full change of clothes from her cornucopia-like satchel. And the yardmen had found enough of my wardrobe wanting that I too looked reasonably presentable. Though the aroma of our adventure in Whitehall lingered.

  “Now we must procure supplies,” Emmie told me.

  Her shopping list included two broad-brimmed straw hats and a long length of sackcloth. When we returned to our room, she fashioned capes for us from the sackcloth. They were meant to look like the robes you see Confucius and fellows like that wearing. Next, she let down her hair and started snipping. She left herself one long length down the back, which she q
uickly braided into a queue. Then she fashioned another using what she had snipped off.

  “This is for you, Harry. I can pin it in place. And we can use some of the leftovers for moustaches.”

  When she was done, we put it all in a bundle and snuck out of the hotel, having agreed we would remit payment at the first opportunity. As surety, we left our brine-infused apparel.

  On finding the canal, we strolled along looking for a suitable location from which to launch our ambush. A few miles above town we came to the intersection of the Champlain Canal and the feeder canal from Glens Falls. There we encountered the Anything But, a smallish canal boat captained by a man named Mr. Polley. Emmie complimented him on the originality of his boat’s name and then entered into conversation with him. He was headed to Albany from Glens Falls and hoped to find a passing tug willing to add his boat to its tow at minimal expense.

  We went on our way and a little further on found a place where the canal narrowed, making it an easy matter to board the passing boat. Then inspiration struck.

  “I’ve got it, Emmie.”

  “Got what?”

  “The problem with your plan is that when we cut the Sophie Arnould free, the tug will start moving along much more quickly. Its crew will certainly notice the change in drag. But what if we at the same time attach the Anything But? It’s smaller, but Mrs. Stanton’s boat must be running light with one of her holds given over to Chinese girls.”

  Emmie greeted the idea with enthusiasm. Not because she appreciated the straightforward logic of it, but rather because it added another level of complexity. To her way of thinking, straightforward equated with pedestrian, and logic was of no consequence whatsoever.

  We went back to negotiate with the good Captain Polley. Not only was he agreeable, but he paid Emmie four dollars for the tow. I suppose it goes without saying that we neglected to mention the two knife-wielding Chinese gentlemen.