NEW YORK, NEW YORK

The docks of New York City were a forest of ship masts and rigging. The noise was overwhelming, with men shouting as they loaded or unloaded cargo, laden wagons rumbling down flagstone streets running beside brick warehouses, women in plain dresses hawking food and other items to the sailors and workers, and much, much, more.

The Union airship, which remained with us until we had reached the harbor, now sailed leisurely above the river, causing all sorts of shouts and pointed fingers, not to mention snarled traffic, as it wended its way back to the military base it had flown out of. Rune was down with Dame Kerry in the hold while the rest of the expedition joined me at the rail to watch. “That airship must be the worst kept secret in the army,” I remarked.

Several of the group chuckled before Mr. Stephens said, “I imagine they want the Confederates to begin sweating, in case Abraham Lincoln is elected president.”

“If he is,” my grandfather asked as he puffed on a cigar, “will it be war?”

“Without a doubt.” Mr. Stephens puffed on his cigar, blowing out a stream of smoke as he motioned towards the converted sloop. “The Union is ready for it; has been, ever since President Buchanan let the Confederate states secede.”

“Then I am glad we are here now and not six months from now, with all three nations locked in a conflict. France will see it as a golden opportunity to do what they want in Mexico without interference.”

“It is refreshing to know someone who understands history,” Mr. Stephens said as he glanced at me. “Jonathan, I have an extra cigar. Would you care to join us?”

Seeing my grandfather’s frown, I shook my head. “Thank you for the offer, but I fear I must decline.” I did not want to get into the real reason, so I motioned towards the bow of the ship. “Looks as if we are about to dock.”

The ship trembled as it came to rest against the side of the pier. Captain Yardley began shouting orders to secure it to the wooden posts and to lower the gangplank as my grandfather began asking Mr. Stephens about the Union and the question of Orku slavery, which had been outlawed in the British empire before I was born. The ropes and gangplank were secured as they continued speaking, with Catherwood and Je’kyll making comments as well, and as the seamen stepped away, I heard the click, click, click, of boot heels on the gangplank.

A moment later a black-haired female strode onto the deck. Short and slender, dressed in a woman’s suit coat of dark blue with a matching skirt, the female moved her head as if searching for someone as I realized her ears came to a sharp point.

Then she saw us standing by the deck rail and made a beeline in our direction. Her human father must have been Asian, for her thin face had a definite Oriental cast and sharp features unrelieved by a smile. She stopped a few paces away. “Mr. Goldspear?”

My grandfather blew out cigar smoke as he turned towards her. “That would be me. How may I assist you, miss…?”

“Rose. My last name’s unpronounceable by anyone not Chinese, so please feel free to call me Rose,” she said, holding out her hand. An unmarried woman would never have done such. But half-blood Eldarions were governed by different rules than normal humans, nor did she wear the gloves an upper-class lady always wore while outside on the street.

My grandfather brushed the back of her hand with his lips. Mr. Stephens did the same, and then Miss Rose bowed respectfully to Catherwood, who returned the gesture. Ignoring Je’kyll and the other half-blood Orku, she offered her hand to me, and I bent over to kiss it in the same manner.

She flipped her hand over so her palm was facing upwards. Startled, I brushed my lips against her skin as briefly as I could, but as I straightened, she brushed the side of my cheek with long fingernails painted blue. She gave me a conspiratorial wink before turning towards my grandfather. “As you may have surmised, I’m employed by Mr. Vanderbilt as his personal assistant.”

My grandfather raised his eyebrows. “Of that I have no doubt.”

“On the contrary; Mr. Vanderbilt’s always polite and has never taken advantage, despite my Eldarion nature. As such, I’m required to seek the carnal relations essential for my health from other sources. Speaking of which,” she said, turning towards Catherwood, “I took the liberty of securing for you a three-day pass at the bathhouse located just down the street from the hotel. The Swan and Drake is frequented by many of the upper class Eldarions who live in New York, so you should have no problem in finding companionship.”

Relief swept over Catherwood’s face. “Thank you ever so much. It has been a long voyage.”

Miss Rose returned his smile. “My pleasure. Unfortunately,” an expression of distaste taking hold of her face, “I have some unpleasant business to discuss with Captain Yardley. However, there’s a cab waiting to take the four of you to the Glenham, where Mr. Vanderbilt and his associate, Jarl Aran, are waiting to meet you.”

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“What about the rest of our group?” I asked.

Miss Rose smiled up at me. “The Glenham has accommodations for them as well. Mr. Goldspear,” she said, turning towards my grandfather, “if you will allow me to assist, I will see your luggage forwarded and the rest of your equipment stowed aboard the Republic of Texas ship you will be finishing the last leg of your journey upon.”

Mr. Stephens cleared his throat. “Miss Rose, I would remind you that this expedition is being led by me.”

“Is it?” My grandfather nodded and Miss Rose’s voice took on an apologetic tone. “Mr. Stephens, please forgive my confusion. I must have misunderstood Mr. Vanderbilt when he gave me my instructions.”

“No harm done.” Mr. Stephens hesitated a moment. “I suppose it would expedite matters.”

“Boss,” Drog said, “me and the lads can help out, and Doc Je’kyll can keep Kerry from exploding all over deck when she discovers Jon’s gone on without her.”

Je’kyll winced, which made me smile. “It is your own fault for giving her candied ginger.”

“I only wanted her to feel better, not become the personal physician to a crazed Koncava.”

My grandfather chuckled. “Let no good deed go unpunished. Tell her Jonathan is in good hands, and we will see all of you at the Glenham later this morning. Shall we?”

Mr. Stephens gave Miss Rose a few instructions as he and my grandfather put out their cigars, then the four of us carefully walked down the gangplank, which bounced as we took each step, and onto the wooden pier. We walked down it towards the black carriage with blue trim along the sides.

The driver, a pale man wearing a brown coat and derby hat, tipped it as we approached. “Are you Mr. Goldspear?” Mr. Stephens’ eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as my grandfather acknowledged he was. “Then climb aboard, sir and I’ll get you to the Glenham in good time.” Once inside, the driver flicked the reins and the horse took off at a trot.

While the other three discussed the younger Mr. Vanderbilt and the circumstances getting him committed to an insane asylum, I looked out the window and watched the city roll by. Unlike Londinium’s blend of the ancient and the old, fixed up so everything could carry on, New York looked young, from the cobble stone streets to the vendors we passed, to the shops lining both sides of the road. A frantic energy existed in the people here, the faces going by us overwhelmingly human, with a few Orku workers and an occasional half-Ogre attending an upper-class woman on her shopping errands.

The carriage left the wharf district, and the city changed, becoming more prosperous with buildings made of the brick Mr. Stephens called brownstone, including the Glenham hotel we pulled up in front of. Six stories tall, the building had little arches over the windows, with the bottom level carved in pillars and painted grey.

The ruddy faced doorman, who met the carriage as it pulled up in front of the glass doors lined in brass, wore a uniform with a top hat and long tails. “Welcome to the Glenham,” he said in a cheerful voice as he opened the carriage door. “Mr. Vanderbilt’s waiting in the lobby.”

“I assume Miss Rose messaged the hotel after we left,” my grandfather said to him as he stepped onto the raised sidewalk.

“Right after she sacked Captain Yardley,” the doorman replied, walking over to the entrance and pulling on the brass handle. The four of us followed my grandfather inside.

The closing door barred the sounds of the street from entering, replacing them with the elegant quiet of oak panels, red velvet, and more polished brass. A human male on duty behind the desk smiled as the man standing in front of it held out his arms. “Shabaka,” he called out as he hurried over to meet us, “it’s been way too long.”

He stood almost as tall as I and just as slender. In his early thirties, the pale gentleman had dark, wavy hair, a close-cropped beard, and a mustache thick as a woolly worm. He wore a stylish brown suit and sported a luxurious tie made of silk. My grandfather appeared tolerantly amused. “Corneal,” he said as the younger man pumped his hand, “I never expected to find you in the shipping business, let alone owning the vessel we were on.”

Mr. Vanderbilt lightly clapped my grandfather on the shoulder. “You of all people know how I like to gamble. Well, what better to gamble on than a ship carrying an archaeological expedition to one of the most dangerous places in the world.”

“Sir,” Mr. Stephens said, “the Yucatan is not as bad as all that.”

“Not from the stories I’ve heard. John Lloyd Stephens, right?” They shook hands, and he bowed to Catherwood. “You did the illustrations to Incidents of Travel.” Catherwood inclined his head before returning the bow and Mr. Vanderbilt grinned. “Loved those. Couldn’t finish the book but I memorized all the pictures. Top notch, all of them.”

Catherwood returned his smile as Mr. Stephens scowled, but Mr. Vanderbilt did not seem to notice as he shook my hand. “And you’re Jonathan, the one everyone’s making such a fuss about. Terribly sorry to hear about all your troubles, but you’re safe now.”

My grandfather cleared his throat. “Forgive me if my faith in you is lacking, but you do remember the trouble I had to bail you out of in Londinium? That South-side brothel where the boys were wearing dresses-”

“Shabaka, that was a long time ago. I’m a married man now; have been for about four years, give or take. Aran’s a great influence, absolutely top notch, and even my father’s got nothing to complain about.” Looking me up and down for a moment, he frowned. “Speaking of complaining, and I’m not, mind you, but your grandson’s suit’s worn to the woof.”

I flushed. “I had to leave Edinburgh in a hurry.”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’d be the last one to start throwing stones. Tell you what: as soon as the meeting with Aran’s over, what say we find a clothier and get you some new ones.”

“Jonathan and I shall do this once we are settled in,” my grandfather answered before I could.

Mr. Vanderbilt shrugged. “Sure, whatever you say. At least take Miss Rose with you when you go.” He smiled. “Isn’t she the pussy-cat’s parasol? Anyway, come along,” motioning for us to follow him. “Aran wants to meet all of you.”

The origins of Miss Rose remain shrouded in mystery. While the narrative does not mention her accent, other sources indicate she must have learned to speak English at a school somewhere in the British empire, likely Hong Kong.

Regardless, in 1852 she was employed by Jarl Aran in an unknown capacity, who then sent her to make contact with Corneal in 1857. Sources indicate the two of them hit it off, Miss Rose leaving Jarl Aran’s service and taking up employment with Corneal (though it’s suspected she had been instructed to do so by the Jarl).