Ganymede (The Clockwork Century 3)

“What sort of job?”

“I’m not too rightly sure yet. But I’ve finally made it to town, and I mean to ask her about it. ”

The fluffy-faced Texian nodded and said, “Perhaps Hazel or Ruthie can help you out. They’re real competent girls themselves, and so’s Marylin. They’re the ones she usually leaves running the business while she’s out. ”

“Good to know. Thank you, sir. ”

A slender mixed-race woman who was more white than anything else chose this moment to descend the staircase and enter the lobby, a vision in pink taffeta and ivory lace, with her hair tufted up and fastened with elaborate combs. “Mr. Calais,” she said to the Texian, “you surely do look comfortable, sir. ”

“Couldn’t be happier, Miss Quantrill!” he assured her, though when he reached for his scotch, it was barely beyond his fingertips. The girl upon his right knee retrieved it for him and leaned so that he could squeeze her close and take a swallow at the same time. “And these men here, they’re looking for Josephine. ”

Kirby and Cly both came to their feet, and Troost announced, “He’s looking for Josephine. I’m just looking. ”

She gave them both a demure smile that showed no teeth. To Troost, she said, “You’ll be the easiest to assist. My name is Marylin, and I’ll be happy to make any arrangements you require. But as for you, sir,” she told the captain, “Miss Early isn’t here right now. ”

“That’s what your friend said. Any chance you know when she’ll be back?”

Before Marylin could answer, a second woman slipped up behind her. The dark-haired beauty was wearing maroon that bordered on brown, and every inch of her shimmered. Kirby Troost’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

She swished forward, taking in Troost’s gaze and discarding it in favor of catching Cly’s. Unabashedly she appraised him from head to foot, and when she felt she’d seen everything she needed, she declared, “Je suis Ruthie Doniker, and I manage the house for Miss Early while she is out. Are you Captain Cly?”

“Yes … yes, ma’am. I am. Josephine sent for me. ”

“Oui, I know. For a while, she thought you would not come. ”

He hunkered, even though the ceiling accommodated his height. “I do apologize—I tried to reply to her telegram sooner, but I had a hard time getting hold of the taps until a few days ago. ”

“Your message reached us, but she was called away suddenly. She has left instructions. Could you come upstairs with me, monsieur?”

Marylin gave Ruthie a look Cly couldn’t decipher, but he thought it might mean, Trust me. And she turned with more swishing to ascend the stairs.

“You won’t be needing me, will you?” Troost asked with optimism dripping from every word.

“I don’t guess so. ”

So the captain left him there, in the company of Marylin Quantrill, the Texian Mr. Calais, and the two women on his lap who were spoken for; Cly followed the stunning, slim-bodied woman up the stairs while trying to neither knock his head nor stare too hard at the swaying bustle that covered her backside.

By way of making conversation he asked, “Does she—does Josephine, I mean—still keep an office up here?”

“She does, oui, monsieur. And that is where we are going. ” Ruthie paused on the stairs and looked back at him, appraising him afresh, though the captain didn’t know why. She turned and continued upward, added, “Madame said that she knew you, a long time ago. ”

“That’s right. ”

“She said you are a very good pilot. ”

?

?I don’t get any complaints. ”

“She said you were the tall man, and I should know you that way. ”

“Many men are tall. ”

“She said that in any room, filled with any group of men, you were the tall one. ”

As she said this, he swung his head to avoid an old wall sconce that had not yet been fitted for gas, but still held a candle that had melted down to a thumb-sized nub.

On the third floor, the stairs emptied into a walkway, just as Cly remembered, and he followed Ruthie to Josephine’s office. The office was not quite the same as the last time he’d seen it, but he would’ve recognized her touch anywhere. New curtains, in burgundy instead of green. Two new chairs—no, two old chairs with new striped upholstery. And the desk she’d inherited from someplace or another, half as big as a bed and ornately carved at the corners—where cherubs held harps and the wings of angels curved gently downward to the lion’s-paw feet.