“In the beginning there was only the sea, dark and infinite. . . .” The oarsman’s voice came to them, deep and overly dramatic. “This primeval sea was made only of chaos. . . .”
The oarsman’s voice fell silent again, leaving them to float along in the murky darkness, but Harte couldn’t relax—not with Esta so close and not with the power inside of him stirring in the darkness.
Though they were out of the heat of the midmorning sun, the attraction felt close and muggy, almost like breathing through a blanket of dampness. The air tasted of mold and dust, like it might in an ancient tomb. Harte wondered if that effect was intentional as he swallowed against the tightness that had risen in his throat and fought the urge to loosen his collar.
He didn’t need to see Esta to know how close she was, and neither did the voice inside of him. The darkness seemed to embolden it, and he struggled to ignore its echoing and unintelligible chorus, which was damn difficult when the oarsman was droning on about something behind him.
“The chaos was endless and it held no life until the waters split and the sun god Ra emerged to bring forth order and to create the world.”
Ahead, a pinpoint of light appeared, which seemed to grow as they approached, until their boat passed into another room. The next chamber was painted in gold so that, with the light reflecting off the domed surface, it looked as though they were within the sun itself. The voice retreated, just a little, but it was enough that he felt like he could breathe again. Next to him, Esta’s face was turned away. She was taking in the sights of the chamber they were passing through—or maybe she was still avoiding him, he couldn’t tell.
Harte regretted ever touching her, and yet he couldn’t regret it completely. Even now, even hours away from those stolen seconds when he could feel every inch of her body, strong and capable and soft beneath him, even in the bright, cleansing light of day, his lips still remembered the taste of her and his fingertips still held the memory of her skin’s heat. If all he ever had of her was that memory, he would gladly take it.
He couldn’t help but use the opportunity to study her: the graceful line of her neck where it met her shorn hair, the lips that were too pink and too soft to belong to any boy, and the shape of her legs—long and lithe and strong—outlined by the trousers she’d insisted on wearing. The oarsman was going on again, this time about the adventures of Ra and Osiris, Isis and Horus, and other deities Harte had learned of when he was preparing his old act, but he wasn’t listening. Not really. He knew these stories already—had learned them as part of his so-called training in the occult arts. Instead, he ignored the oarsman and let his mind replay the handful of minutes from the night before when his world had felt unmoored and dangerous and perfect all at once.
As if responding to the memory of it, the power inside of him seemed to rouse itself, swelling until Harte could barely hear the soft swish of the water, and the oarsman’s narrative was a sound coming from far off in the distance. Considering he hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours the night before—and in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, no less—it took every bit of his strength to press it back and keep it from growing. He was barely aware of the rooms they passed because his attention was focused on the power threatening to erupt within him. And on Esta, less than an arm’s reach away.
After the boat passed through the third chamber—one filled with a makeshift temple—they entered a chamber lined with shelves filled with different tablets and piles of rolled parchments. All at once the voice inside of him went quiet. But it wasn’t an easy quiet. The power that had been bunching and flexing within him seemed to fade until all he felt was a silent emptiness.
MAPPING THE FAIR
1904—St. Louis
North was watching the gondolas glide across the lagoon toward the Festival Hall, making notes about their timing, when he saw the guy. At first North couldn’t figure out why he looked so darn familiar, but then it came to him. It was the same guy who’d been standing outside the theater the night before—and he’d been with the Thief.
Curious, he tucked away his notebook and started following from a distance.
Since he’d left Maggie at her building an hour before, he’d been doing what he did most days as he waited for her—learning everything he could about the Exposition. It was an enormous place, filled with people and passageways that could mean trouble, and they were running out of time to make sure they knew everything they could. So far he’d mapped out the entire eastern side: the display of the villages from the Philippines and most of the agriculture and forestry exhibits. He’d been slowly working his way westward, through the offering from Morocco and the replica of Jerusalem. He knew where the entrances and exits were, where the Guard often congregated when they were supposed to be watching the crowd, and when they changed shifts. He knew all the places where they could be exposed and all the places where someone could lie low if need be. Little by little he’d accounted for all the dangers, because Ruth wanted him to determine everything that might cause them trouble. North figured that this guy certainly counted—especially since he wasn’t alone.
When the guy and his two companions turned onto the Pike, North used the noise and confusion around him to get a little closer. There was a pretty big crowd of people waiting to get into the Hereafter, which was a damn idiotic thing to want as far as North was concerned, but he used the cover they provided to maneuver around and get ahead of the three he’d been following. He cut across the boulevard to the deep overhand of Creation, where he could wait without being seen. A moment later they came through the crowd, and North barked out a laugh of surprise that startled a woman standing next to him.
One of the other guys wasn’t a guy, after all. It was the Thief. She looked different in the suit and cap, and her hair had been chopped to just above her collar, but anyone with two eyes in their head—or at least anyone who was paying attention—would have known who it was.
But what’s she doing here?
It was one thing to have the girl that all the papers called the Devil’s Thief appear in town at the same time Ruth was close to the biggest—and most dangerous—deed the Antistasi had ever planned. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But having her appear at the fair—the same venue that Ruth had been eyeing for months? And just when everything was about to come together?
North didn’t like it.
With his hat pulled low over his forehead, he kept as close as he could and followed the three down the Pike, until they came to the Streets of Cairo. He didn’t like how they’d gone directly to the Society’s attraction, passing everything else with barely a look.
Maybe he should have followed them in, but he’d already mapped it out—there was one way in and one way out—and he’d been through the darn boat ride enough already. There wasn’t any reason to take the risk of being seen or recognized, because the last thing the Antistasi needed was for the Guard to start paying attention to North. He still had about a third of the fair left to map out, after all. Instead of following them into the attraction, he found a place under the Chinese archway across from Cairo to wait instead, watching for the three to exit.
Most of the fair didn’t bother him, but North didn’t much like the Pike. Everything about it was too big and too loud and too brash. Though, he had to admit, the horse they called Beautiful Jim Key had been a sight, all right. Smartest damn animal North had ever heard of, much less seen with his own eyes. But that was the fair for you—unbelievable. Above him, the arch was something to see too, painted in a red brighter than blood and gleaming with gold. Strange symbols in black and bright blue covered the surface, and at the tip of every roofline was a fanciful curlicued dragon, looking down upon the crowd like guardians.