Part 14 (2/2)

They were in Mama Jack's Cave. Come not by the entrance through the hidden tunnel at the end of Was.h.i.+ngton Square Mews, but through a saloon on Eighth Street. Tickle had led Josh along a long, narrow taproom, paying no attention to the many pairs of eyes that followed them. More of the same when they walked through the storeroom at the back where they kept the kegs of beer and ale until they were wheeled to the front to be tapped. Tickle ignored the lot and led Josh down the stairs to a deep cellar lit by pitch torches that cast flickering shadows. And finally, into this remarkable drinking establishment where everyone Josh saw was queerly made one way or another, and a truly enormous woman, her bulging and sagging flesh draped in satins and jewels, sat on a throne raised above their heads, watching over everything that happened.

”Mama Jack,” Ebenezer said, nodding his head toward the raised dais. ”Used to be with Barnum. Fat lady in his freak show. Got fed up and started this place.”

”Were you with Barnum?” Josh blurted the words and was sorry as soon as he said them, but Tickle seemed not to take offense.

”Never. Got me a skill as can be done if you're tall or small. My daddy seen to it I'm an iron man like he was. Don't need to put myself on display to eat. Some here ain't the same.”

They were walking through the throng as they spoke and a path, Josh noted, was being made for them. The talk meanwhile was all around them in waves. It abated as they came close, then rose again behind them, so Josh couldn't catch hold of what was being said. Only an occasional word. Murder, he heard. Higgins.

They came to a corner with a low table and stools that were dwarf-sized, and Tickle dragged over another, full-sized, for Josh. When they'd settled themselves a woman appeared and deposited two mugs of ale on the table. She was exceptionally tiny, Josh noted, half Tickle's size, and with no hint of his disproportion. Her hair was long and yellow-blond, like a doll his sister Goldie had when she and Josh were children. The same big blue eyes as well, but not painted on a head made of china. Those real blue eyes looked at him intently. Taking his measure, Josh thought.

”This here,” Tickle said, ”is Maude Pattycake. She's going to marry me.”

”Keep your tongue in your mouth, Ebenezer. I ain't said yes yet.”

”You will,” he said, no hint of doubt in his voice. Then, ”Keep us filled up. I got business to talk with Mr. Turner.”

Maude said she'd do that and moved away. Ebenezer took a long swallow of ale, then said, ”You been wanting to know about Trenton Clifford. Guess it's time I told you.”

Josh was conscious of the attention of everyone in the room. ”Why here?” he said. ”You were afraid of being overheard at the foundry when it was only Obadiah and Israel, but here there's-”

”Ain't no one here going to take Clifford's part in anything.”

”But-Which one?” he demanded as a possible explanation came to mind. ”Who don't you trust? Your cousin or McCoy?”

”Going to tell you a story about steel before we get to Clifford,” Tickle said, waving the question aside. ”You remember who Bessemer is?”

”Fellow who owns the patent on the steelmaking process. I remember very well.”

”Like I told you, he claimed he made steel back in England same time as Kelly was making it in Eddyville. Did it the same way as well. Had the identical process down pat according to him, and already had a patent over there. So he didn't have to pay but a pittance to get Kelly's patent. Wasn't worth all that much to him, Bessemer said. Just might be a small nuisance if he didn't have it. Bought it for next to nothing. Didn't even bother to s.h.i.+p Kelly's converters over to London. Said he had the same already. Made locally over there, so why pay for s.h.i.+pping.”

”Why did Kelly sell to him if he was offered such a dismally bad deal?”

”'Cause he was broke. Like I told you, Mr. Kelly was a scientific type, not a businessman. Been to school to study what's called metallurgy. Spent years experimenting until he got to understand about taking out some of the carbon-not too much and not too little-and how cooling down the molten pig iron would make it hot. Everything like you seen us do to make steel.”

Josh nodded and took a drink of ale. It was good brew, just bitter enough to be refres.h.i.+ng.

”Mr. Bessemer,” the dwarf said, ”he didn't go to school to study metallurgy. Didn't know nothing scientific about iron and steel. Course he knew steel was much stronger than iron, and how everyone wanted an easy way to make it. Something better 'n the old open-hearth way as takes days and days. But you could stop ten strangers on a street and find six or seven as knew that. How to do it? That's a different matter. So I'm asking you, Mr. Turner, how did Bessemer figure it out? The way he told it, he just came up with the process. Overnight like it were. Figured it out and built himself one converter and it turned out to be exactly the right one, did the job perfect first time. Presto change-o like they say in Barnum's show.”

Tickle leaned in. Josh lifted his ale to his lips and the dwarf waited until the other man took his swallow and set the tankard on the table between them. ”Best guess how it happened,” Tickle said, ”is somebody told Bessemer how to do it. Somebody as worked for Kelly and seen how it was done told the tale. That's how Bessemer knew what to do and how to do it.”

”Did Clifford work for Kelly?” Josh asked.

Tickle had his pipe going and he sucked on the stem while he shook his head. ”Nope. Never. Trenton Clifford, he's a real proper Southern gentleman. Ain't never going to be soaked in his own sweat in a foundry. But Captain Clifford did some business with Mr. Kelly. Had him make a steel door as would take two tons of dynamite to blast apart. Big wheel on the outside and you had to know which way to turn it and how many times in each direction in order to get it to open. Last big thing them Kelly brothers made, that special door. Captain Clifford, he watched the making of it. By then the Kellys was broke and Bessemer was in Eddyville nosing around, getting ready to make his offer for the patent. Seemed like that was two lucky-for-some things happening together and there was questions. Clifford said he didn't know Bessemer. Said he never met him.”

The dwarf paused long enough to tap the ash out of his pipe and set about refilling it. ”Thing is,” he said, ”Captain Clifford on his own, he didn't know enough about how steel is made to explain it to some Englishman. All the same, Clifford was in London a year and a half before Bessemer showed up in Eddyville.”

”How do you know that?”

”I heard him say so.”

”Where? When?”

”Getting there.” Tickle refused to be hurried. ”First, you got to understand what sort of a man Trent Clifford is.”

”Trust me,” Josh said. ”I already do. He was in charge of the rebel prison on Belle Isle. I was one of the prisoners.”

The dwarf considered that for a moment, then nodded. ”So it seems like you got a good idea about the kind of bad he is. It's not the usual sort, Mr. Turner. There ain't no pa.s.sion in Clifford's evil. It's just the way he sees the world. Like it's set up for his convenience. n.o.body else's. The other part of him is that he finds things out. Knows how to get people telling him things he finds a use for.”

”I know that as well. How else did I find you? Though I've yet to see the advantage to Clifford in the arrangement.”

”That,” Tickle said, leaning forward, ”is what's been on my mind right along. I almost didn't agree to work for you because of it. Talked to George and Israel about it right here. We decided to take a chance. Guess you did the same.”

”I'm not sure I follow,” Josh said.

”You were willing to take a chance on me, even though it was Clifford as put us together.”

Josh nodded. ”I was. I judged you were worth the risk, Mr. Tickle. Frankly, I'm glad I did. But it appears George has been considerably less fortunate in the arrangement than either you or I.”

Tickle lifted his hand and signaled to Maude Pattycake and she brought them two more tankards of ale. ”That's what I'm trying to tell you about. George's bad luck. How it might o' happened. Like I said, no doubt in my mind it was Clifford gave the information about making steel to Bessemer. Told him what Mr. Kelly figured out after years of studying and experimenting. But somebody had to have told him first. Clifford wouldn't get enough information just by watching. Not unless somebody explained about the temperatures and such, and how to build a converter.”

”And you think those details might have come from either Obadiah or Israel.” There seemed no other explanation for the dwarf's reluctance to tell the story at the foundry.

”I don't,” Tickle said. ”For one thing, Obadiah and me, we got the same grandma and grandpa. Same blood. And Israel . . . It's just not his way. I guess I just feel more comfortable talking about all this here. With my sorts of people.”

Josh knew the other part of the story was coming. The thing that had made the dwarf's face go dark with rage the day they first visited the foundry together, when Josh demanded to know if Tickle and Clifford were somehow partners. What was extraordinary was that the people around him seemed to know as well. Their talk first quieted, then died away. Until finally Ebenezer Tickle's voice was the only sound in the place.

”That door Clifford had Mr. Kelly make for him back in Eddyville, it fit a cave in the woods near the lake. Not outside where it could be seen, door was halfways in. So's you only knew it was there if you already knew about the cave and you was inside. Even then, you couldn't open it unless you knew how the turns of the wheel went.”

”Which you did.”

”Yes. I helped make the door. So I knew.” After that the other man sat silent, puffing on his pipe.

Josh waited, but Tickle seemed to have run out of words, seemed to be sinking into his thoughts. Maude Pattycake had moved closer to their table and Tickle reached over and took her hand, then raised his head. ”There was a wide open s.p.a.ce behind that door,” he said. ”All stone, hollowed out kind of. Big waterfall at the far end. A sort of flat place in the middle. And sloping walls all around. Lots of rocks and such jutting out here and there. Sort of like benches. Folks sat on them rocks so they could watch what went on down below.”

”A natural amphitheater,” Josh said. ”That's what you're describing, isn't it?”

Tickle nodded. ”I think that's the word, yes.”

”In cla.s.sical times,” Josh said, ”among the ancient Greeks and Romans, an amphitheater was meant for shows. Performances. Like the Colosseum in Rome.”

”Place they fed the Christians to the lions,” Tickle said.

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