I Went Down (NaNoWriMo Read-Along)

18 Dapper Jack

Dapper Jack stepped aboard the boat with a sigh. Howser gave him a sympathetic look to indicate that he was not pleased to return by sea either. The exchange went unnoticed by the Pels, who were in an opposite emotional state. Reinhold was loudly proclaiming his joy at leaving the horses behind and setting foot on the decks again. “With nothing between my legs but what I was born with,” he said.

“Well, that’s little enough,” Jimmy said. He was smiling too, watching the stocky crewmen cast off the lines and prepare for the short jaunt back down the coast to Delta Mouth.

“It’s been more than enough for all the women I’ve known,” Reinhold said.

Dapper Jack went below decks into the small cabin. They wouldn’t miss him in their conversation. He wedged himself into the bench by the tiny galley table—everything on a boat was so cramped, so starkly in opposition to the open space on the Plains—and lit a cigarette. After a minute Howser joined him. Jack lit the other man’s cigarette and they smoked in silence.

Two long days of riding just to get back into this sardine tin. But Jimmy was so elated by the success of their mission that he had hardly complained about the horses, and his mood had kept Reinhold from grousing too much.

It had been a success, with the whole spur line to the copper mine riddled with holes and not a bridge left standing. Young Andin had ridden partway back with them and spent the evening reconnoitering all the way up to the ramshackle collection of bunkhouses and outbuildings around the mine. Most of the Plainsmen working the mine, he reported, had already left by whatever means they could find, leaving only an angry cadre of Pelagoan supervisors to huddle together in one building, wondering what would explode next and how long their food supplies would last them before a connection to civilization could be reestablished.

“We could have blown up the mine, too,” Reinhold had suggested.

“Nah,” the scout had replied quickly. “We’ll requisition the copper ourselves and resell it.” Which was a sensible plan, and would provide them with plenty of funds for more explosives. Waddell might be the one to seek out Dapper Jack soon enough, looking to keep the connection open between the Angiers Liberation Army and the dockside Pelagoans who sided with Jimmy Primrose. Less railroad and more ship cargo, and that was well enough. If only sailing were not such a miserable experience. That was some small positive for trains; they made for a much more pleasant trip, where you could sit in a full size seat and look out the window. His knees bumped against Howser’s under the galley table. The only way to stretch out fully on a boat was to lie down, and the only time a man ought to be stretched out in a windowless wooden box was when he no longer cared if he was floating in earth, air, or water.

When the sloop finally bumped the docks in Delta Mouth, Jimmy was for immediately returning to the Princess Carylla. Dapper Jack and Howser stood on the pier and looked longingly up the ramps toward the relatively dry land of Darl Island and the bulky warehouses that lined its shore.

“Suppose I take a walk around and see how things have been while we were gone,” Jack said. “Check in with our friends.”

“Sure,” Jimmy said immediately. “The first thing I want is a hot bath, and then a fine dinner. Find out if they’ve got the kitchen rebuilt at the Hotel di Ferello, and tell Rutha that I’m still among the living.”

After a week’s unexplained absence, of course, Jimmy didn’t want to be the one to face his formidable wife.

“Perhaps we should have brought her a present,” Jack suggested.

Jimmy Primrose frowned into his mustache. “That might have been wise. But I had other things to think about. Tell her I’ll take her out to dinner. If not at the Hotel di Ferello, then at Club 413. She likes that one.”

Jack tipped his hat and walked up the creaking dock to the lovely dry land. It was not, strictly speaking, dry, for a light rain was falling and had been for some time—it might have been falling for weeks, considering the climate of Delta Mouth—and once he stepped off the wooden planks of the pier there was a thin layer of mud, even between the cobblestones. Howser followed him and disappeared quickly down a side street.

Where to go first? To the Ornette, the first place where any dissent during their absence would have been festering? To the Lew and the Hotel di Ferello?  He had hardly gone half a block when someone recognized him and clapped a friendly hand on his arm, holding out the other to shake Jack’s hand vigorously.

“Congratulations,” the man said. He was a weather-beaten old Pel and Jack had the general idea that he ran one of the shipping lines that Jimmy had an interest in. Long residence in the city had made him more friendly than most to the Plainsmen of Delta Mouth.

“Thank you,” Jack replied. “I expect you’ll see some new business.”

“Without a doubt,” the Pelagoan said. “Without a doubt.” He released Jack’s hand and continued down the street.

The news had already reached Delta Mouth, then.  And Baccarat would be as aware of it as anyone else. He would likely draw the same conclusions that the old Pel had: if Jimmy Primrose wasn’t directly responsible for the damage to the railroad and the prospects of the mine, it was damn obvious that Jimmy Primrose was the one who stood to gain the most from it. Which meant that for every happy Pel in the harbor districts, there was an unhappy one on the islands closer to the new railroad station.

Dapper Jack turned up his collar against the cold rain and tugged at the wrists of his gloves. They were already growing disgracefully shabby, having been designed for the gentle life of the city rather than horsemanship. He turned into an alleyway and began to make his rounds.

The news he brought back to Jimmy was much of what he had surmised even before he found his contacts around the city to confirm. The whole of Delta Mouth was buzzing with the story of the railroad bombing; Baccarat was furious. The news had only reached the city the night before, however, so no one was certain yet what Baccarat’s next move would be.

“Let him wait and wonder what will go next,” Jimmy said. He had had his bath and his dark hair was slicked back from his shining forehead. “And I will enjoy my city again.”

Enjoying his city meant taking dinner at the Hotel di Ferello, where the chef had assured Dapper Jack that everything was in working order again. He brought out their food himself, setting the plates down with a flourish. “Grilled lamb shanks in a pomegranate and port reduction, with pomegranate seeds and pistachios,” he said, pointing to red and green items within the savory sauce. “Complements of Mister Baccarat, who has enabled me to rebuild my kitchen to the very highest standards.”

Jimmy fished out one of the red things with his fork and inserted it into his mouth. “Pomegranate, eh?”

“Yes, Mister Primrose. There was a shipment of them that came down from Ibai earlier today. I believe they make a great compliment to lamb.”

“From Ibai.” Jimmy took another bite and smiled across the table at his wife, who was still primly arranging her napkin in her lap. “There are some lovely things that come from Ibai, don’t you think my dear?”