Witch in the White City: A Dark Historical Fantasy/Mystery (Neva Freeman Book 1), Nick Wisseman [best novels for students .TXT] 📗

cinder-flecked soot. We have clean water; the Black City has cholera. We have a pristine lake; the Black City has dead animals in the Chicago River, and every rain washes greasy plumes into Lake Michigan.”

“You also have a town laid out according to rank: executives get dibs on the freestanding homes, skilled workers settle for row houses, and common laborers pack into tenements. Rent is so high that wages come to almost nothing. And even if they didn’t, there are no taverns to sluice your gob in after a day of breaking your back for the Duke, because drinking isn’t civilized: it’s dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty.”

“You sound like a parody of a labor agitator.”

This made Wiley snort. “Do you know how Pullman made his first money?”

Derek looked wary but still answered. “He developed a process for raising Chicago’s business district out of the swamp it was built on.”

“Now he’s trying to do the same to workers—raising them out of their ‘muck.’ Because he thinks the issue of capital versus labor is an issue of labor alone. And you’ve let him become your master.”

Momentarily speechless, Derek turned to Neva again, but she only raised her eyebrows. “If you hold such views,” he finally said to Wiley, “then why guard the White City? Isn’t its design—with its ambulance service, its electric streetlights, and its daycare center—just Pullman Town writ large? A vision of a planned urban ideal?”

“It’s a conundrum,” Wiley agreed before turning to Neva. “I need you to come with me.”

Derek muttered something that might have been “Unbelievable.”

Neva simply said, “Oh?”

“To see Miles Copeland—the Pinkerton.”

She thought of Bat Wiggins and the other ghouls at the White Chapel Club. Had they decided last night wasn’t a drunken hallucination? Had someone believed their story after all? “What about?”

“He didn’t say.” Wiley had a dour air now. “But he wanted to see you first thing, and I’ve spent half the day trying to find you. We need to speak with him.”

Derek put his hand on her shoulder.

She removed it gently, glad that touching him didn’t incite murderous tendencies in her. Was that because he didn’t have the rashes? “I should probably go.”

“Can I escort you?” he asked.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Meet me at Manufactures? The French restaurant in the northwest corner is good. If you wait there, I’ll be along as soon as I can.”

He acquiesced with a nod to her and a glare at Wiley.

“You’re in a pleasant mood today,” Neva noted as the Boer led her out of the Transportation Building and into the Court of Honor.

“Ja, well, searching fruitlessly for hours does wonders for my disposition.” He studied her a moment. “Where have you been? I looked for you yesterday too, but no one saw you after your little escapade on the Ferris Wheel. Even that old ogre in the Algerian Theatre didn’t know where you’d got off to.”

Neva’s thoughts were turning back to the necklace, but she retained enough presence to ignore the jab at Wahib and detect the anxiety underlying Wiley’s voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you or cause you trouble with the Guard. I’ve just been trying to figure out what happened to Augie ... And what’s happening to me. Is that what this is about?”

“I don’t know.” Wiley frowned. “Copeland doesn’t exactly confide in me. I guess we’ll find out.” He regarded her with unease.

Belatedly, she realized he was worried she might reveal—or have already revealed—Quill’s plans to “emancipate” the Wheel. “I still intend to meet you and the others at ten tonight; Brin told me I should come.”

“She mentioned that.” He didn’t sound enthused, but they were approaching the Administration Building, and Neva wasn’t ready to be more explicit within earshot of the Columbian Guard station. Wiley would just have to grapple with his insecurities a little longer.

Cassie, the receptionist from a few days ago, was working the desk again, and she waved them into the same conference room. Bonfield and Commandant Rice weren’t waiting for them, though. This time it was just Copeland.

“Close the door,” he said to Wiley once they’d entered. “Sit,” he added once Wiley had complied.

Neva did so slowly. The walls—previously plain—were now covered with newspaper clippings about the killings. Descriptions of the victims. Theories about Jack the Ripper’s involvement and/or influence. Speculation about the “bloodthirsty” porter’s motives and methods ... And a few articles about “wild Negresses” scaling the burning Cold Storage Building and calming a crazed passenger on the Ferris Wheel.

Copeland followed her gaze. “Bold women, to be sure. Do you know them?”

Neva considered lying, perhaps by offering something along the lines of “We don’t all know each other.” But Wiley’s peers had seen him on Cold Storage. And even if he hadn’t reported her name, it wouldn’t have been hard for Copeland to put two and two together. Yet what she’d done for Wherrit on the Wheel wasn’t a crime. “It was me.”

“Really?” Copeland didn’t sound at all surprised. “Well, while I admire your courage, may I ask why you decided to pursue someone who’d just torn off a man’s leg?”

There was no good answer. But if she was lucky, Wiley hadn’t said anything about Augie. “The man the porter ... injured—”

“Killed,” Copeland corrected.

“Yes. He had the same marks I do, the ones caused by the insects. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to listen, and when the porter ... did what he did ... I don’t know. He ran, and I ran too.”

Copeland considered this for a moment. “All right, but why not leave off your pursuit once he cleared the Pier, or caused a stampede in the Court of Honor, or—I don’t know—climbed a burning tower?”

There was still no good answer. “The porter wiped his lips with a handkerchief I recognized: it matched that of a boy whose mother had just disappeared. Dob was his name—Wiley spoke with him. I feared the worst ... And at the same time, I just wanted to stop being afraid. I know