Griffin
“How many to a bed, did you say?” Whyborne asked, sounding a bit faint.
I put an expression of mild concern on my face, although in truth I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Having been to many a frontier town—albeit never one so damnably cold—I’d guessed our accommodations would be a far cry from our hotel in Threshold, let alone Shepheard’s in Cairo. But, as with the scurvy, I’d neglected to mention the details when discussing it with Whyborne.
Not to suggest I’d truly wished to deceive him. Nor had I omitted things because I feared he would otherwise refuse to come. But Christine and I quietly agreed that this way, we would only have to listen to Whyborne’s complaints once we actually arrived, as opposed to the entire trip here.
“Four,” Iskander replied, rather apologetically. We stood in the cramped front room of the hotel, which doubled as a saloon and restaurant. Men sat at rough-hewn tables, and a few of the town’s women circulated among them. The air stank of wet wool, raw lumber, and unwashed bodies.
“Four,” Whyborne repeated.
“The beds aren’t narrow—they’re made extra wide,” Iskander offered. “They aren’t what one would call comfortable, and of course there’s the danger of lice, but they’re quite warm at least.”
Whyborne paled at the mention of lice. The color looked particularly bad when paired with the puce scarf.
“We’ve roughed it before,” I said, patting his arm. “Egypt was hardly a pleasure jaunt. And it is only for one night.”
My reminder didn’t serve to cheer him. “Not that I’ll sleep a moment of it. I don’t mind living rough, but...”
“Don’t you worry,” Jack said. He gave Whyborne a bright grin. “St. Michael might be rough, but it’s no Skagway. None of these fellows will try to rob you in your sleep, I promise.”
Ival’s look of alarm confirmed my guess he hadn’t even considered the possibility until now. “Oh, do stop complaining, Whyborne,” Christine said. “We’re all exhausted, and standing about isn’t going to change things.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. Christine would of course be bunking with the two or three other respectable—or mostly respectable—ladies who had come on the steamer with us. I suspected their small room in the back of the hotel would be far more comfortable than ours, if only because it wouldn’t be packed to the rafters with snoring men.
“Perhaps we should turn in,” Iskander suggested. “An early start and all that.”
“Yes, quite.” Christine looked as if she wished to say something further to him, but felt constrained by our presence. It must have been difficult, having been separated for so long, but unable to touch or speak openly without inviting scandal. At least Whyborne and I could slip away alone without causing comment.
Of course, once they married, Christine and Iskander would be expected to sleep in the same bed, and do so openly. I pressed my thumb against the heavy band on my left hand, the gold warm from the heat of my body. There was no reason to resent Christine; it was hardly her fault, and she’d been nothing if not staunchly loyal.
Still, it meant this trip would probably include an extended interlude of celibacy, unless we were exceedingly quick and discreet about things. Another fact I hadn’t mentioned to Whyborne.
Jack turned to me. “Would you care to get a drink before turning in?”
“Of course.” I tried to tamp down on a mix of both excitement and trepidation. I’d searched for my brother for so long...but there were so many things I could never share with him.
“Good night,” Whyborne said. He didn’t look any more pleased than before.
I longed to touch his hand, but such a fond gesture was impossible in front of Jack. I only said, “Sleep well.”
He shot me a glare, before following Iskander to the rickety stairs leading to the second floor.
“He’s a bit grumpy, isn’t he?” Jack observed when we were alone.
I chuckled. “A bit.”
“And the scarf is...interesting.”
“A gift from an admirer,” I said, although Whyborne would never have agreed with my assessment. Poor Miss Parkhurst.
Jack led the way to a pair of empty seats at the end of one of the long tables. A Yukon stove lent a pleasant warmth to the air. “Two whiskies, Madge,” Jack called to one of the girls. Judging by her dress, buttoned up to her chin, she was there to serve drinks and food and nothing else. Even so, I found her more attractive than the prostitutes; she had a stern set to her chin and a gleam in her eye.
I preferred the company of men, but women appealed to me as well. I’d slept with more than a few, usually in service to one of my cases when I’d been a Pinkerton, and enjoyed the experience. Still, I’d never really considered marrying and having a family, like many of the men I’d met in the bathhouses did.
“Do you play poker?” Jack asked, reaching into his coat for a pack of cards.
“I’m a fair hand,” I replied. “Shall we play for pennies?”
Jack laughed. “Gold dust is the currency of the North, brother. But I have a few pennies left in my pocket.”
The serving woman brought our drinks. I lifted mine in salute. “To family,” I said.
Jack grinned and clinked his against mine. “To family,” he agreed.
The whiskey burned going down, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the rotgut I’d imbibed over the years. Jack only sipped his, then set it aside, rather than drinking the entire shot at a go as most would have done. Was he the sort of man who liked to keep his wits about him?
As Jack considered his hand, he said, “How well do you know Dr. Whyborne?”
I hadn’t expected the conversation to enter dangerous territory so quickly. Keeping my face neutral, I shrugged easily. “Well enough,” I said. “As I mentioned in my letters, we’re close friends. Why do you ask?”
Jack studied his cards, then raised the bet by a penny. “I noticed your rings during dinner.”
Damn it. Should I have taken mine off? Or asked Ival to remove his?
Shame washed through me on the heels of the thought. How could I even consider such a thing? I’d chosen him, and I’d never regretted it for a moment. I only regretted the split with Pa.
“We belong to the same society,” I replied, drawing three cards. “Widdershins is full of clubs and secret societies. Some of the more powerful families are members, which means most of the cases that come my way have a certain monetary benefit to them.”
“I see.” Jack discarded a single card. “I assume the different colors of the pearls indicate a different rank in the society?”
“Astute.” I needed to turn this conversation from my fabricated life. “You should have been a detective yourself, instead of mining for gold.”
Jack finished his drink and beckoned for another round. “I’ve done well enough.”
“And now you find yourself in possession of an archaeological find instead of gold.”
“Oh, there’s gold in the claim, too. But Nicholas thought the stele might be more valuable.” Jack settled back.
“I’m glad you decided to send it my way.” I upped the ante by another penny.
“As am I.” For a moment, Jack’s smile faltered. Then he shook his head and smiled again. “I imagine Dr. Whyborne showed quite the interest in it from the beginning.”
“He is a scholar,” I said cautiously. What did he mean to get at? Or did I read too much into harmless remarks? “An unknown, possibly ancient, system of writing was impossible for him to resist.”
“I expect it was.” Jack frowned slightly and discarded another card. “Still, he isn’t of the usual...type...one tends to find in the gold fields.”
The men seated at the tables around us were lean and tough as whips, their skin rough and features hardened from the demands of frontier life. Whyborne, to be charitable, was not the most athletic of men. I looked at him and saw the brave man I’d fallen in love with, not to mention a powerful sorcerer. But a stranger likely wouldn’t see anything beyond his bookish appearance.
I smiled ruefully. “I can’t argue with your assessment. But don’t worry. I won’t say I think he’ll enjoy our expedition, but he’ll endure it well enough.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Jack laid down his cards. “Straight flush.”
“Curse it,” I said good-naturedly. “Four of a kind. Shall we play again?”