I Went Down (NaNoWriMo Read-Along)

7 Cal

The evening’s show was just kicking off when there was a commotion at the door. Cal waited for Harlan to quell the disturbance but it did not subside. He exchanged a look with the barkeep, who raised an eyebrow towards the entry hall and shrugged.

Cal left his spot at the bar and walked down the hall. If it was some emissary of Baccarat’s come to convince Cal to be the next in a line of witless men who had thought to transfer their loyalties, and profits, to the railman, he would be disappointed. The “dues” collected from the businesses in the Torgove and other waterside districts might be heavy, but there was no wisdom in running over a cliff to escape from a wolf.

There was already a whisper slipping down the hallway. “…the dining room…” “…table hit the ceiling…” “…ambulances carrying away bodies…”

At the door one of the waiters from the Hotel di Ferello was next to Harlan, leaning against the wall. The young man’s fine uniform was torn and dirty and he twisted his hands together nervously. When he saw Cal approaching he started up to stand straight. “Mister Delanton,” he said, “Is Mister Primrose here? Or any of his men?”

Cal shook his head. “No. What happened?”

“There was a bomb. Somebody got something in and put it under one of the tables in the dining room. Where Mister Primrose usually sits, him and Dapper Jack. Only they weren’t there yet when it went off and we got to find someone to say we didn’t know it was there.” He took off his hat and then put it back on. “We didn’t know anything about it,” he repeated, “and the kitchen’s all smashed up. It’s horrible.”

“I don’t know where Mister Primrose is,” Cal said. “He was here last week, but not today. Were people hurt? What about the Vincent?”

But the young man only shook his head and turned for the door. “I got to find them,” he said. “We didn’t know anything about it.”

Harlan opened the door without a word and Cal followed the waiter out onto the street. “What about the Vincent?” he asked again.

“The ambulances are there,” the young man said. “I already went to Club 413 and to the Wave Theater and I didn’t find them yet.”

“Try the Arromax,” Cal said. He hailed a cab as the waiter took off down the street at a trot. The hansom’s driver pulled his horse to stop as Cal clambered aboard. “The Hotel di Ferello,” Cal said. “And quickly.”

The coachman nodded. “You got it.” He turned his horse away from the dark waters of the Torgove Canal and headed towards the Lew on a direct route that brought them to the front of the Hotel di Ferello. This was the not the back alley entrance to the kitchen; this was the main entrance which faced onto the square. Normally it was a scene of quiet elegance, where horse drawn carriages or the newer automobiles pulled up to allow visitors to the hotel to pass through the wide glass doors set in glittering brass frames. In a nod to the mainly Pelagoan clientele, there were even two large palm trees set in pots on either side of the doors as huge vegetable sentinels alongside the uniformed doormen.

Now, instead of cabs there were several ambulances in front of the hotel. The fine doors were cracked and one of the doormen was trying to sweep up the broken glass. It was a difficult task as there were a great many people trying to get in or out of the broken doors and the doorman kept having to step aside to let a pair of medics carry in a stretcher, or a firefighter haul out a hose. Just beyond the ambulances stood a great crowd of people, all murmuring together and staring. Only the potted palms stood impassively in the scene of panicked action.

Cal paid the cab driver and got down. He didn’t try to approach the main entrance but went instead around towards the alley where he usually entered the hotel’s kitchen. There were more onlookers here, though, and another ambulance. He pushed through until he could see into the alley. The street lamps had just been lit and the tiwlight glow showed that the back wall of the kitchen was spider-webbed with cracks; new brickbats lay among the refuse in the narrow space. The heavy metal door to the kitchen was off its hinges and lay bent on the ground. A pair of medics carrying a stretcher stepped over it as they carried their burden towards the ambulance. Red was already seeping through the sheet draped over the body which lay unmoving on the stretcher.