Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

In the morning, I opened the invitation Morton had given me the night before.

Inside the invitation was a note:

Mrs. Spadros,

I presume you are alone while reading this. If not, do not show any level of surprise or alarm.

Mrs. Helen Hart did invite you to a luncheon, but it is next week, and you have declined because of a prior engagement. She is neither alarmed nor unhappy by your decline; the invitation was a formality urged on her by her father-in-law.

Since I don’t know the outcome of our meeting tonight, I can’t advise you further. If you require assistance tomorrow, travel to the Hart quadrant at the appropriate time and go to the Ladies’ Club. Enter, but do not sign in. Ask directions to the boathouse and visit the gate to dock 36. A maid of your size will be there. She is deaf and mute, but reads lips, and will bring you to a place where you can exchange clothing.

Interesting. He knew I changed clothes to perform my cases. Was he the man who followed me? No, I decided; the man I saw was much taller, more slender. Master Rainbow might be an excellent disguise artist, but no one could change their body to that degree.

The invitation will allow you to cross the bridge into Hart quadrant. I trust you understand what should be done with this note.

Your servant, BR

I smiled at the last line: I was female, not stupid. I threw the note in the fire. Try deciphering that!

Even without the note, and without having seen Helen Hart’s writing before, I should know the handwriting was not hers. A bit heavy for a woman’s. An excellent imitation, though: Morton was to be commended.

Amelia came in with my tray, paper, and mail, and I had her pick out a luncheon dress for me. I asked her to choose a color many ladies were wearing, suitable for visiting another quadrant, that had a hat with a veil.

She was very good at fashion; at first, I had chosen poorly and been reprimanded or embarrassed. Then Roy picked Amelia for my lady’s maid, and her understanding of such niceties came in handy at times.

“Will you be needing me to accompany you?”

“No, spend time with your family. I may be delayed past tea — I’m not sure what Mrs. Hart has in mind for us!”

Amelia smiled. “It must be grand, going to luncheon parties and such.”

I understood her feelings perfectly. “It must seem that way, but these are not friends. The invitation was a way to show off their wealth and status, and I must take care with every move I make. One wrong word could cause a great deal of trouble.” I paused. “It will be a tiring day.” Every word true, just not the way she took it to mean.

“I’m sorry, mum. Of course, I don’t understand your life the way you do.”

“I took no offense. I remember feeling as you do, until I saw the reality. There are trials with every form of life, they only differ in kind and severity.”

“Yes, mum. I’ll go draw your bath now.”

Of course, she didn’t understand. Who wouldn’t prefer jewels, lavish meals, your own carriage, and a maid to care for your every whim? What could possibly be wrong with that?

I gazed out of the window at the overcast sky. Sometimes I wished I were back in the Pot. Even though survival hung on the edge, life was less complicated. How people felt about you was plain; their words, while harsh, were straightforward; and there was honor among those thieves.

* * *

The Bridges Daily held a surprising tale. A regulation was introduced to the city council overnight making it a crime for citizens to refuse to speak to the police, subject to a fine. If proof came later that they had knowledge of a crime, they could be jailed. The backer of the bill was Pike and Associates; it was introduced by an apprentice law clerk, Mr. Thrace Pike.

I laughed. Mr. Pike’s regulation would not make him popular, but the Diamonds would be quite pleased. More prison inmates meant more money for them.

The Golden Bridges had as its top story:

YOUNG MAN FOUND DEAD

A body in the Diamond section of the under-tunnels on Market Center was identified as Stephen Rivers, age 15, of the Spadros quadrant. Master Rivers died of strangulation, says the coroner.

The young man, involved with the Red Dogs street gang, was questioned earlier as part of an investigation into the disappearance of David Bryce, age 12. Master Bryce’s brother, Herbert, age 16, was recently found strangled in the Diamond slums. Could the three crimes be related?

I stared numbly at the portrait of the young man who so happily took my half-dollar. Did I send him to his death? I wondered if the man in brown who frightened him so caught up with him in the end.

Stephen and Herbert. Both searched for David Bryce, and both strangled.

Had they found David, and died for it? Did they discover some secret deemed important enough to kill in order to hide? Or did they run afoul of the scoundrel Tony’s men described as loving nothing more than torment?

Cold dread crept along my spine. What was I involved with?

* * *

Honor helped me out of my carriage in front of the Hart Ladies’ Club, and stubborn woman that I am, I thanked him for it. “Mrs. Hart will arrange my return, so you may enjoy the hospitality if you wish before returning home.”

Each club had facilities for the coachmen while they waited for their personages to complete their business. I'd heard that the Hart quadrant amenities were quite good.

He smiled. “Thank you, mum.” Then he glanced at the sky, which as usual, was overcast. “Wishing you good weather.”

The Hart Ladies’ Club had red doors edged with silver, and silver railings lined the brick steps. A man in red Hart livery with silver buttons and piping opened the door for me.

I entered the expansive red-carpeted lobby. Another man in Hart livery stood behind a podium of red-painted wood. Behind him lay many tables set for luncheon, some with ladies dining. “May I help you?”

“Would you direct me to the boathouse?”

“Certainly, mum. To your right, down the hall, then through the doors out to the docks. The boathouse is a brief walk, but straight on. Shall I call an escort?”

“No need. Thank you.” I gave him a big smile.

He tipped his hat, cheeks reddening, and studied the papers he held.

The walnut-paneled hall was inlaid with the Hart Family symbol — red, edged in silver. The glass doors at the end of the hall held the same symbol on them. A man in livery opened a door for me at the end of the hall.

The walkway was smooth-cut, closely placed red brick, wide enough for groups of four to pass each other with room to spare, and lined with budding red roses on both sides. Silver-toned fencing stood to the right, far enough away so I saw just the tops of carriages passing by.

We were well protected: the only goal or dream high-class women were allowed to have.

The stories of women going on adventures seemed a myth of the far past, like the stories of travel to stars. Some said women even journeyed into the high aether.

But they also spoke of other cities and other ways.

One day, I would take the zeppelin, travel to other cities, experience these other ways of life.

I glanced at a movement outside the fencing to my right. Had someone been watching me?

I began walking faster, feeling uneasy.

Docks appeared to my left, the roses parting at each silvered and numbered gate, with walnut-stained benches trimmed in silver across from them. I approached the boathouse and passed it, continuing on until I reached gate 36.

A red-haired maid sat on the bench doing needlework, who smiled when she saw me.

I followed her out onto the white wooden dock, which had white railings topped with silver at each support. At the end of the dock sat a white yacht with white sails.

Morton, or I should say, Blaze Rainbow, wearing a light brown yachting jacket and tan trousers, appeared on the deck. “Welcome to the Finesse.”

* * *

I hesitated to step aboard a stranger’s yacht without an escort, especially — and the thought chilled me — the yacht of a man who only wore brown. But the well-turned boat and the presence of the maid, Zia, won me over.

He invited me indoors, offering me a seat in the oak-paneled cabin, which I accepted, and a drink, which I declined.

I recalled my mother’s instruction: “Never take nothing, food nor drink, unless you trust the hand who gives it.” Those words probably saved me more than once. Even if I did trust Morton, a man who wore disguises and tried to grab me in an alley, I had neither the time nor the inclination to dally over drinks.

“Master Rainbow —”

“Please, call me Blaze.”

“Master Rainbow, I would like to express my condolences.”

Morton blinked, as if surprised. “I don’t understand.”

I glanced behind me, but Zia gazed forward placidly. “Stephen. I read about him in the paper.”

Morton frowned and shook his head. “How … Where did you come to meet him?”

“I fear I sent him to his doom. I asked him to look for the boy, and now he’s dead.”

Morton stared at the table for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

The boat creaked as we sat in silence.

“If you knew the boy was being held in that warehouse, why didn’t you retrieve him?”

Morton avoided my eye. “The building was guarded; I was alone. I sent messages for help, but you were the first to arrive.”

He obviously felt ashamed of his inability to rescue the boy. “Master Rainbow, I appreciate your generous offer. If that offer still stands, I need transport to Market Center in such a way to neither attract notice of the Hart Family nor the attention of my servants, who are still on the premises.”

He nodded, rose, stood pondering this for a moment, then exchanged gestures with the maid Zia.

Morton's plan was to travel directly across the river to the Clubb Men’s Boathouse, then hire a carriage to Market Center.

“If you could bring me around to the Clubb Women’s Center instead, I can make my way to Market Center from there without your help. If that is acceptable, we can proceed,” I said.

The two spoke in their hand language again. Morton said, “I don’t have a berth at the Clubb Women’s Center, but I can leave you at the pier.”

“That would be quite satisfactory.”

After Zia and Morton cast off, Morton took the wheel, moving the boat into the river. He turned the boat to the left, to sail around the Clubb Pot. Then we passed the stubs of ancient bridges which used to connect the old downtown areas of the Pot.

The Opposition dynamited all four of those bridges at the start of the Alcatraz Coup 100 years ago. They say the destruction kept the Kerr loyalists from reinforcing, but it seemed a pity.

We rode to the Women’s Center in silence, and I bade Morton and Zia farewell at the pier. Morton’s eyes seemed haunted, as if Stephen’s death hadn’t felt real until then.

The Clubb Women’s Center’s pier, railings, and benches were beautiful polished oak, the wood trimmed in brass. Yellow roses lined the walkways, and the glass doors bore the Clubb Family symbol. I walked down an oak-paneled hall carpeted in gold to a podium like the one in the Hart Ladies’ Club, painted yellow.

I descended the gold-carpeted, polished oak steps. To my surprise, Mrs. Regina Clubb came up the other side, followed by two of Regina’s many granddaughters.

“Why, Mrs. Spadros!” Regina Clubb said. “How did you — I mean, how are you?”

Ah, so she kept notes on me. “I’m quite well, and you?”

“We’re well, thank you. I was bringing the girls here for luncheon, and we were delayed.”

“I won’t keep you then.” I curtsied smoothly, feeling glad to have an excuse not to chat. “Have a wonderful time.” I continued down the steps, passing by her oak carriage trimmed in brass and its beautiful gold champagne horses.

Mrs. Clubb called, “You too!”

A full stagecoach passed, with “Casino Tours” marked on its side, and I smiled.

Around the corner, I found a taxi-carriage to bring me to the Plaza at Market Center. Clubb quadrant’s lamp-posts were tipped with brass, as were their public banisters and street signs. The storefronts were all polished oak; the cobbles and walkways, made of sandstone.

As I rode along, I imagined Regina Clubb was wringing her brains like an old dishcloth trying to deduce how I got past her checkpoints.

* * *

When I alighted from the taxi-carriage, I saw two people I never expected to see. “Good afternoon.”

“Why, Mrs. Spadros,” Thrace Pike said, color rising in his cheeks. He wore the same threadbare brown suit, and did not meet my eye. “A pleasure to see you. Let me introduce you to my wife Gertie.”

The stout woman who spoke at the tent meeting wore the same gray dress, but she looked better in the light of day, especially when she smiled. “Nice to meet you, mum.”

This dress surfaced every few years due to the Cultural Correctness Committee’s insistence that women actually wore the thing. No matter how often the CCC brought out historical documents and exhorted the populace, the dresses languished on racks and ended up at poorhouse sales.

Gertie Pike had a wide face and lank blonde hair. Her teeth, uneven, her eyes, too close together. But she moved like a woman in love, and seemed quite taken with her child.

I came round to look in their pram. Fortunately, the child took after its father. “You have a lovely baby.”

“Thank you,” Gertie said, blushing.

“Congratulations on your new position, Mr. Pike.”

Thrace Pike looked startled. “Thank you.”

Gertie said, “It’s so wonderful; the rooms for law clerks with family are much nicer than ours before.”

Her finger missed its ring too. Hard times indeed, if those dank sunless servant quarters seemed so much better than their previous ones. “How lovely for you.”

Thrace Pike didn’t meet my eye.

I smiled. “It was nice seeing you. Have a fine afternoon.”

The poor lambs. So the stories ran true.

The Bridgers had many odd practices; the oddest, the way they arranged their marriages. Rumor had it that each chose the person they found the least attractive physically, so their relationship grew free from the distractions of lust.

It seemed a disaster waiting to happen, but I never once heard of a divorce amongst the Bridgers.

I was almost to the carriage-house when I heard feet running up from behind. A girl appeared beside me, hat in hand, auburn hair flying.

“It is you!” Katherine said. “I knew it was you!”

* * *

I had a most unladylike expression in mind. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Mama and I were shopping, well, she is shopping and I was bored, so I asked if I could promenade the plaza, and Mama said yes, and then I saw you! So I had to come see you. What are you doing here? Tony said you were to luncheon with the Harts.”

Hmm.

I began walking again, and Katherine followed, putting her hat back on as she went.

“I was going to luncheon with the Harts, but I don’t like them very much. They act as if I am not there.” I leaned over to speak in her ear, “So I gave Honor the slip and came here instead.”

Katherine clapped her hands. “Splendid! We can have secret fun together.”

“Indeed, it must be secret, for Tony would be vexed if I didn’t keep an invitation.”

“Tony needs a kick in his pants. He’s much too far above himself. But I don’t want you to be in trouble. I won’t tell.”

“How long do we have before your Mama worries for you?”

Katherine shrugged. “I told her I was to promenade, but I go much faster than the rest. Probably another half-hour at least.”

“Very good. I want to see the carriages.”

“Hurray! I love horses. Daddy won’t let me have my own.”

“The sooner we get there, the more we can see.”

Katherine squealed with delight at seeing the stabled Hackneys. Soon the stable-man arrived, a middle aged fellow wearing a white shirt and brown cotton overalls, probably wondering at the noise. “Can I help you, mum?”

“Yes. My friend and I rode in one of your carriages yesterday and she lost her mother’s locket. Her mother just passed, so she is distraught. I told her I would look for it.”

“Do you remember the carriage-number?”

“Why no.” I felt dismayed. “But the left wheel seemed unbalanced. In fact, I asked the driver to let us out early, because I feared for our safety.”

“Well, I’ll be busted. So that’s what it was all about.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had this one carriage stolen two days ago, then it reappeared last night. I thought it was kids, but it sounds like they was running a false taxi. Probably didn’t realize the carriage was broke.” He walked off, and I followed. Then he turned back to me. “Who all was driving?”

“Two gentlemen, one in brown, the other in white.”

He shook his head. “I knew those two were up to no good. Came skulking around, said they wanted to buy a carriage. When I told them they weren’t for sale, they left, but something didn’t feel right. I went on a walk-around and they were standing across the field back there smoking cigars.

“They didn’t seem to be doing anything other than smoking so I went on my way … then when I went back a couple hours later, the carriage was gone.”

I frowned. “They didn’t say who they were?”

The man shrugged. “The one in brown said his name was … something odd … he gave a card or I would have called the constable right off. I did call when the carriage went missing, and when it appeared, but they said the name on the card was fake.” He took a pile of business cards from his chest pocket and began sorting through them. “You want to talk to the constable too?”

“No.” I took a step back. “I don’t want police involved; I’m a quadrant-lady. Please, all I want is to look for my friend’s locket.”

“Never you fear, mum, I’ll help you.” He paused, then said, “Here it is!” He fished out a card. “Frank Pagliacci, it says … never heard a name like that before. The constable called on me this morning, said there’s no one in Bridges registered by that name.” He glanced over at Katherine. “You, girl, keep away from them horses. Stay with us.”

“But I like horses,” Katherine said.

“Yeah, well, they don’t like you. They’re not puppies, they’re work animals. Come on, now, come along.”

Katherine came along, pouting.

The stable-man brought us to where the carriages were being repaired. A large, newly-mowed field of straw lay next to the repair area, and a stand of trees lay beyond that.

“That’s the one.” I pointed at a carriage. “See how the wheel is leaning?” It had a divot out of one wheel, just as the driver said.

“Well, good luck to you. If you need anything else just holler.”

When the man had gone, I told Katherine, “Keep watch, and tell me if anyone comes by.”

“Why?” Katherine said.

“It’s a game my Mama used to play with me. Tell me what you see, all the people who walk past, any birds, animals, everything. I’ll tell you what I see, and whoever sees most wins.”

“You won’t see anything inside that old thing.”

“Yes, well, it’s true, you’ll probably win. Let’s play anyway; it’ll help pass the time. Maybe I’ll find my friend’s locket, and maybe you’ll see something good.”

I opened the door to the carriage. From my handbag, I took out a cylindrical case, much like a tiny hat case, which held nested circles of brass and glass an inch in diameter and in height. I unfolded it by sliding the nested tubes so that it looked like a small spyglass, several inches long. When you turned it, the lenses gave magnification of a variable degree, to the thousandth power. The magnification spyglass cost a great deal. But it came to good use in cases like this.

I inspected the door frame and the footplate. A white powder lay on the footplate and inside the door frame. When magnified, tan flecks lay in the powder.

“I see a red bird, and a string of ants,” Katherine said.

“What kind?”

“The little black ones.”

“I see brown carpeting.” I laid the spyglass aside, opened my handbag, and took out a small envelope which once held buttons. I also took out a stiff eyebrow brush, which I used to brush as much of the powder as I could into the envelope.

Picking up my spyglass, I climbed into the carriage and examined the cushions. Several hairs lay there: brown straight hair and black hair; but not black and curled, as one might expect from a Diamond, but black and straight. Could these be David’s? I took out a second envelope and put the hairs into it.

“I see a tabby cat.”

“I only see cushions. You’re ahead!”

A gray string lay on the floor of the carriage; I put it into the envelope with the hairs. Then I lifted the cushions, finding a penny but nothing more.

I walked to the driver’s area. A button lay on the floor of the foot rest: wooden, carved with an eagle’s head, a wisp of brown thread attached to it. I put the button and thread into the envelope with the hairs.

“A boy is walking far off by the trees,” Katherine said.

The mechanisms underneath the carriage were marvelous: springs and gears which made the ride perfectly smooth. They reminded me a bit of the mechanisms under the rusting steam automobiles back home. Air loved to look at them.

I scanned the ground around the carriage, but found nothing. “You win!” I folded the envelopes and the magnification spyglass and returned them to my handbag.

“You didn’t find the locket?”

I acted dejected. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

“Let me look.” She climbed all around. “I don’t see it either.”

“I bet she dropped it before we got in the carriage. I guess I’ll have to go look there.” I smiled. “Come, I’ll get you a sugarplum.”