Jack

Seattle, WA—Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition

Tuesday, June 1, 1909

I WAS GOOD at a number of things—learning new languages, reading, slipping restraints, picking locks, lying; you get the idea—but I was best at two things: stealing and running. The first was an innate talent I’d discovered after my mother died and I found myself homeless and hungry. The second was a skill I’d developed out of necessity, because even the best thief gets caught with his hand in the wrong pocket every once in a while. Which was exactly what had happened and why I was running.

I dashed across the walkway in front of the Government Building and tore down along the Cascades to the honor circle, dodging and pivoting around the eager folks who’d turned out for the exposition’s opening day. Nearly ninety thousand of them. Gentlemen in suits and hats, ladies in gowns, parasols shielding them from the sun, children and young people and every sort imaginable crowded and mixed together. They strolled along the paths lined with rosebushes and pansies, explosions of rhododendrons and scarlet geraniums. There were a hundred acres of gardens and swaths of green lawns, watched over by magnificent fir trees and the towering presence of Mount Rainier. Impressive buildings in various architectural styles boasted a variety of exhibits to educate and inspire. I was surrounded by a million wonders I was desperate to explore, but I sprinted right past them all.

“Stop!” A balding man in a crisp uniform, who was startling athletic, yelled at me from a hundred feet behind, but he was bananas if he thought I was actually going to slow down. A thief who gets caught isn’t much of a thief.

I tried to lose him in the throngs of attendees, ducking low and weaving in and out of larger groups before peeling off toward the Pay Streak, the amusements area of the exposition, which was likely to be even more congested and offered my best chance to hide.

“Stop! Thief!”

Pumping my legs as hard as I could as I raced along the thoroughfare, I put on a burst of speed, running through the Chinese Village, past the squawking spielers desperate to draw attention to the attractions they were being paid to advertise, toward the Streets of Cairo, narrowly avoiding running into a surly camel. There was no way the exposition guard could’ve kept up with me, which was a good thing because I was out of breath and sweating. I did my best to blend into the working-class crowd while still keeping my eyes peeled. Evangeline would strangle me with her trick handkerchief if I got myself arrested before our first performance.

I’d been on my way to meet Lucia at the Beacon—the theatre where the Enchantress would perform—to help her inventory the equipment and make sure everything had arrived and was in working order. Our first show was that night, and nothing could be allowed to go wrong. But instead of heading straight to the Beacon, I’d been lured to the opening of the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. President Taft himself kicked off the day by sending a telegraph signal all the way from Washington, DC! The rest had been little more than tedious men giving tedious speeches, and I’d gotten bored. My hands tend to wander when I get bored, and they’d wandered into the pocket of a man just as he was also reaching in. The nerve! He could have waited until I was done. He’d stared at me in shock before shouting for the exposition security officers. That’s when the running began.

Damn! I spotted the exposition guard, flanked by two others, making his way through the crowd. They hadn’t seen me yet, but there were few places to hide. I spied a narrow alley and moved toward it slowly, trying to remain inconspicuous.

“I wouldn’t go that way,” said a voice from behind me. “It’s a dead end and they’ll nab you for sure.”

I searched frantically for the speaker and discovered a young woman poking her head out of a door that I hadn’t noticed before. “Not like I got much choice.”

She pursed her lips, and then opened the door wider. “Well, come on in then.”

Without hesitation, I slipped inside the building. I had no idea who the woman was or why she was helping me, and I didn’t have the luxury of asking. I kept the door cracked, watching the guards look this way and that, bewildered. A few moments later, when the guards finally headed off in another direction, I let out a relieved sigh.

My savior turned out to be a young Black woman wearing a revealing costume commonly worn by danseuses who specialized in the couchee-couchee—the dance appropriated by Westerners and used to scandalize the faint of heart. She was curvy and thick, with brassy hair and a wonderfully devious smile.

“What did I save you from, and, better yet, were you worth saving?”

Being that I didn’t know this young woman, I was cautious of how much to tell her, but she could’ve left me to the officers if she’d wanted to, so I figured she might be okay. “As to the first question, it was just a little misunderstanding.”

“And the second?”

I shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to decide that for yourself.” I held out my hand. “Jack Nevin. I’m the Enchantress’s assistant.”

“The illusionist playing the Beacon?”

“The very same.”

She took my hand, though cautiously, and shook it. “Ruth. I’m a dancer at the Bohemia.” She gave her hips an enthusiastic wiggle.

“No offense or nothing, but you don’t sound like you’re from Cairo.”

Ruth seemed to find that funny. “A little nothing town called Timberville, in Mississippi,” she said. “None of the girls are actually from Cairo.” She tapped her chin. “I don’t even think Madame O could locate it on a map.”

I couldn’t tell whether Ruth was joking or not, so I laughed and hoped she didn’t take offense. “How’d you get from Mississippi to here?”

“Fell in love with a girl who wanted to be an actress.” Ruth narrowed her eyes and stared as if daring me to comment. “She left me heartbroken and penniless in Philadelphia. That’s where I met Madame Oblonsky. She saw me dance and offered me the opportunity to join her troupe. I took it. Better than having to go back home to farm sweet potatoes.” Ruth folded her hands across her chest. “Now you.”

“I was born in New York,” I said. “Mother died when I was six. I got caught trying to pick the pocket of a magician when I was seven. Instead of turning me in, she trained me as her assistant. We’ve been traveling the world ever since.”

“How old are you?” Ruth asked. “You look barely fourteen.”

“Sixteen.” I didn’t mention I’d only turned sixteen on the train a few days before arriving in Seattle. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Liar.”

Ruth’s lips twitched like she couldn’t decide whether to sneer or smile. “In November.”

We stared at each other for a moment. I wasn’t sure what to do. I really needed to get to the theatre, but I also didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “Why’d you save me from the security officers?”

“You remind me of my little brother,” she said. “I wouldn’t go picking pockets around here though. Chief Wappenstein might look like a clown, but he’s no fool.”

I produced a half eagle, shiny and gold, between my fingers and rolled it across the backs of my knuckles a couple of times before making it disappear again. “Thanks for the warning, but don’t worry about me. I’m an excellent thief.”

Ruth arched one eyebrow. “The guards chasing you say otherwise.”

Okay, so she had me there. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

Ruth sat on a crate and tapped her chin like she was seriously debating the question. “I’m still not sure.”

For the first time, I took a good look around the room Ruth had let me into. It was a cramped storeroom, and there were crates stacked against the wall. One was open, and I spied a bottle inside.

“Why’re you smiling?” Ruth asked.

“Because you’re definitely not turning me in.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

I picked up a bottle from an open crate and turned it over to read the label. “Whiskey? Don’t you know selling liquor on exposition grounds is illegal?”

“Girl’s gotta make a living somehow.”

“I thought you were a dancer.”

Ruth snorted. “I’m that too, but bootlegging pays better.” She frowned at the bottles. “Or it would if I could get it through the gates.”

“Trouble sneaking it in?”

“Folks here are serious about keeping it out,” she said. “There’s a standing reward for turning in smugglers, and the guards check everything that comes into the fair.” She tapped the nearest crate. “I barely got these in. If I get caught, I’ll get banned from the exposition and I’ll lose my job dancing.”

An idea began to take shape. Evangeline, Lucia, and I had been in Seattle for a couple of weeks, and I hadn’t done much other than rehearse for the show and explore the city. I’d been looking for something to keep me busy, and Ruth might have dropped it in my lap. “You know, magicians are incredibly secretive.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Good for them.”

“Every day, most of the equipment the Enchantress uses in her show is transported to and from the theatre, and no one is allowed to look inside. It’s in her contract.”

A wary but carefully curious expression replaced her scowl. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“You need someone to transport your booze, and I can guarantee no one will open the crates we bring in.” I tried not to seem too eager, but this was exactly the kind of opportunity I’d hoped to find.

Ruth’s smile turned serious. “And how much are you planning on extorting from me for moving the liquor?”

“Twenty percent of sales,” I said. “Hardly anything at all.”

Laughter ripped out of her. “Twenty? I was thinking more like five.”

“Fifteen for sure.”

“I did save you from being arrested.”

“Which is why I started with twenty instead of thirty,” I said.

Ruth gave me a good long stare before slipping her arm through mine and pulling me toward the door. “Buy me a root beer and I’ll consider eight percent.”

“I think I like you, Ruth.”

“Gross. Now it’s seven.”

Ruth had walked me to the theatre after lunch. She was sarcastic and hilarious and seemed to have a story for every situation. I wasn’t glad I’d nearly gotten caught stealing, but I was sure happy I’d met Ruth. Going into business with her might make the next four months more fun and more profitable.

Of course, Lucia had yelled at me for a good ten minutes for showing up late, after which she’d stormed off and told me I could finish checking the equipment on my own. I didn’t mind though. I should’ve been on time, and Lucia had every right to be angry. Besides, I didn’t think anything could ruin my mood.

“You work for the lady magician, don’t you?” A brutish boy with bristly blond hair, a face full of freckles, and a neck nearly as thick as his thigh stood uncomfortably close to me as I knelt inspecting the delicate apparatus for The Lament of the Mermaid.

I rose slowly to my feet, blocking the boy’s view of the equipment with my body. “I work with Mistress Dubois,” I said. “You may also call her the Enchantress.”

He stuck out his hand. “George McElroy.” He said his name like he expected me to recognize it.

“Jack Nevin,” I said, but left his hand unshaken. “If you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to finish before tonight’s show.”

George didn’t seem to take offense to my obvious snub. “Just wanted to say I saw you with Ruth Jackson.”

I didn’t know what he was hinting at, but I didn’t like his tone. There was something about him that made my skin crawl. “Okay?”

“You’ll wanna keep away from that one.” George’s tone flattened, his voice dropped an octave. “She’s spoken for.”

“I’ve known her for all of an hour, but I got the impression she’s capable of speaking for herself.” I didn’t feel the need to tell George that I wasn’t interested in Ruth the way he was implying, though it likely would’ve saved me some trouble in the long run. I’d known boys and men like George—the type who believed they were entitled to whatever they wanted—and I had no use for them.

George inched closer. The sour, musky smell of him was offensive, but I mimicked the cool indifference I’d seen Evangeline deploy so effectively.

“You’re not too bright, are you?” he said.

I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. George might have been bigger than me, but I was taller, and I used that to look down on him. “I don’t want any trouble—”

“Then stay away from Ruth. That’s all I’m asking.”

“But,” I said, finishing my thought, “I only take orders from one person, and you’re not her.”

George’s pinched lips tightened and he stared violence at me, exhaling a cloud that reeked of onions and rancid meat. I was sure he was going to take a swing at me by the way he was clenching his fists, but he eventually just huffed and stormed away.

That one was going to cause problems, but I couldn’t worry about him at the moment. I had a show to prepare for.