“No one’s going to be paying her any attention,” Julien said, nodding toward the entrance across the street. “Not with the wonders that await them within.”
“What wonders are those?” Esta asked, apparently enjoying herself. If she was mad about the night before, she hadn’t said anything. Which meant she was definitely mad about it, and eventually he would have to face the consequences.
Not that he blamed her. He’d taken advantage of her and then he’d walked out on her. He deserved whatever she meted out.
Julien tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and rocked on his heels. “In there? Only the largest and most impressive fair the world has ever seen,” he said. “Within those walls lie the evidence of our civilization’s brilliance and the wonders of the wide world—all the innovations and discoveries this age has to offer.”
“You can cut the drama any time now, Jules,” Harte said, bristling at the way Esta’s eyes were laughing at Julien’s words. She won’t even look at me. “All we want is the necklace. You said it was here?”
Julien shot Esta a conspiratorial look. “Patience, Darrigan.” Then he started across the street, leaving them to follow.
“He’s a little insufferable, isn’t he?” Esta asked, making sure to keep her voice low enough that Julien wouldn’t hear.
“More than a little,” Harte said dryly.
“But I still like him.”
Harte glanced at her. “Most people have that reaction. Try not to fall for it. Okay, Slim?”
“Slim?”
“Just trying it out,” he told her with a shrug. “I need something to call you if you’re going to insist on this getup.”
She glared at him, and he felt almost relieved. “Well, it’s not going to be Slim.”
It was the way her cheeks flushed that sealed the deal for him. “I don’t know,” he said, his mouth twitching. “I think the name’s already growing on me.”
She started to argue, but he simply picked up his pace to walk next to Julien, leaving her to catch up with them.
They paid their entry fees and followed the crush of people through the ornate arches that acted as gateways into the fair. The crowd around them moved slowly, in part because directly in front of them was a bandstand where a full brass band was playing a bouncing march. As the three of them pushed their way through the crowd that had gathered to listen, Esta pointed to the big bass drum painted with the band’s name.
“It’s Sousa?” Esta asked Julien.
The band’s conductor was dressed in military blue and his baton snapped out a pattern with almost mechanical precision to keep time for the music. Harte had heard of John Philip Sousa, of course—who hadn’t?—but he wondered what it was about the bandleader that put a look of such serious concentration on Esta’s face.
“I told you, they have the most famous performers, the most astounding displays from countries all over the world, and the most magnificent grounds ever built,” Julien said. “The Society wants this Exposition to put St. Louis on the map—make it as important as Chicago, maybe even as important as Manhattan.”
Esta glanced at Harte, and the look she gave him indicated that it wasn’t going to happen. But the moment their eyes met, her expression faltered.
Harte’s stomach sank as she turned away from him again. “I just want the necklace, Jules. Can we get to it?”
They had to push their way through the crowd around the bandstand. To their left, a tree-lined alley led deeper into the park, and Harte could see the sun glinting off a body of water. Julien continued to follow the path past administrative buildings and then onto an area with signage declaring it THE PIKE.
“Here we are,” he said, gesturing toward the brick-paved path before them.
The wide boulevard led into a kind of surreal fantasy world. At the entrance, mountains at least ten stories high dwarfed a small alpine village, which sprouted up next to the replica of a castle that could have come from the stories of King Arthur. As far as the eye could see, the street was lined with a jumble of buildings painted in colors too bright to be real. In the distance, Harte heard the echo of gunfire again.
“What is that?” Esta asked.
“Probably the reenactment of the Second Boer War they stage twice a day,” Julien said, checking his pocket watch. “Ah, yes. Nearly ten thirty, when the cavalry is usually set to attack.”
“The cavalry?” Harte asked, wondering where the hell they were.
“Actors, mostly, but some were actually in the real fighting.” Julien gave him a wink. “Welcome to the Pike. There’s nothing that’s ever been built like it. Here, you can take voyages anywhere in the world without ever leaving the city. You can travel to Hades or into the heavens. You can meet a geisha or ride to the North Pole and back. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“It’s something,” Harte said doubtfully as he studied the wide boulevard in front of him.
He’d dreamed his whole life of escaping the city, and now it seemed that he had an opportunity to do more than escape—he could be transported—but somehow none of it felt right. Harte had never been anywhere but the island of Manhattan, but he knew at a glance that nothing they were about to see was real. Every building was too brightly painted and too perfect. With the electric signs and lampposts—lit even though the sun was overhead—and the noise of the barkers, each shouting to entice the fairgoers into paying another twenty-five cents to experience some new wonder, the Pike had a carnivalesque feel to it that he knew meant it was a poor approximation of the real wonders the world held.
Actually, the exhibitions of the Pike felt a little like the dime museums in the Bowery. The popularity of those tawdry little storefronts had always made Harte uncomfortable with the way they paraded people as oddities, as nothing more than objects to be viewed for a couple of coins.
From the half-horrified look on Esta’s face, Harte could tell she must have felt the same.
The Pike was lined with strangest combination of buildings. A Japanese pagoda was the neighbor of a building meant to represent ancient Rome. A large man-made cavern with the words CLIFF DWELLERS stood butted up against a building that could have been something from St. Mark’s Square in Venice.
“Those aren’t actually Native Americans?” Esta asked Julien as they passed the Cliff Dwellers building and she noticed a pair of dark-haired women standing silently and offering beaded bracelets for sale.
“They’re Indians, if that’s what you mean,” Julien said, giving her a strange look. “What else would they be?”
“Actors?” she asked, but Harte couldn’t tell if it was hope or fear he heard in her tone.
“What would the point of that be?” Julien asked, and from the look of surprise on his face, he seemed legitimately confused.
“I don’t know,” Esta said vaguely. “Do they live here, on the grounds?”
“Who knows,” Julien said dismissively. “They seem happy enough, don’t they?”
But from the look on Esta’s face, Harte could tell that she wasn’t convinced. Her brows were furrowed, and there was concern—maybe even dismay—coloring her expression. “Do they force them to be here?” she asked.