Son of Fortune (6 page)

“Oh no, the keeper will take them,” he said, gesturing with one hand. A tall, long-faced man in plain canvas trousers shuffled out of the retinue and glowered at his new charges. Before he got near, however, one of the little sisters, maybe five years old, scampered up excitedly. Aiden pulled the cubs back and stepped between them and the girl, but the young man, moving with a quick, catlike grace, scooped the child up.

“They bite, Daisy,” he said. “They will bite off all your fingers and you won't be able to hold a cookie or pet the cat or pick your nose ever again!” The little girl stared at him in wide-eyed terror for about three seconds, then burst out in giggles and butted her head into his shoulder. He petted her neck affectionately and set her down as an embarrassed nanny dashed up to retrieve her.

The keeper took the leashes from Aiden. The girl cub darted eagerly to sniff his boots, but the startled man kicked her back so she tumbled head over heels with a squeal. Aiden was shocked at the rough response, but before he could do anything, a sudden chorus of frightened gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd. Fish and the crew were hoisting the mother bear over the rail. The cage was halfway down, but the mother bear, closed in the dark hold for a month, terrified already to be swinging in midair, had just seen her missing cubs. She was frantic. She thrashed back and forth, slamming her body against the bars and swinging the cage wildly. She reared up, hitting the top of the cage, sending it spinning. On the dock, the nervous cubs began to cry and strain against their leashes to reach her.

The winch rumbled with awful slowness. There were guide ropes hanging from the corners of the cage, but the longshoremen, who would have had no problem steering an ordinary crate into place, were not about to get anywhere near an angry polar bear. Aiden ran over and grabbed one rope. By hanging with his entire weight, he eased the swinging for a moment, but then the bear lunged again, the cage tilted and Aiden was dragged off his feet. Cutting down trees had made him strong, but strength wasn't much use when he had only his dangling body weight to work with. He hung there awkwardly for what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten seconds. Then Jonas and Gustav reached the dock and grabbed the other ropes. Together they managed to slow the crazy spin. One longshoreman finally took the last rope, and the four men guided the cage safely to the ground.

The crowd cheered. Aiden shook his strained arms and rolled his shoulders with relief. The excited cubs dragged the zookeeper over, their leashes now completely tangled. The man offered little help as Aiden got the cubs back into the cage. The reunited family cuddled together, the mother still trembling and panting with panic.

“She doesn't look very good,” the keeper grumbled.

“She'll do all right if you tend her,” Aiden said, still catching his breath.

“Awful skinny.” The man spat on the ground.

“She just needs feeding and a place to be.”

“Mr. Worthington paid for a good bear.”

Aiden felt a surge of anger boiling up. He grabbed the man's hand, as if in a handshake, but dug his thumb into the wrist and twisted it sharply. “This is a good bear!” he said, dropping his voice so no one else would hear. “She's come a long way through bad times! She will live fine if you keep her well.”

“Let go of me!” the man yelped, and tried to pull away.

“So you keep her well or I will come kill you in your sleep.” The man cowered, and Aiden was glad to see real fear in his eyes. “I swear I will,” Aiden added. “Knife stabbed through your eyeball straight into your brain. Or just a stick.” He twisted the man's wrist harder and leaned into his face. “Most sticks go into brains easy enough.”

“You mistook my meaning.”

“Good. Because I wasn't liking the meaning that I was mistaking.” Aiden released his torturous grip and smiled. The crowd had seen nothing but a handshake. “She needs to eat two or three fresh seals a week, I think. And some fish. Maybe you can get her used to other meat too.”

“We have plenty of meat at Mr. Worthington's zoo,” the keeper said defensively.

Aiden choked back the bile in his throat. “That's fine, then.” He had a quick temper and had learned violence, but he never got to like the taste of it. And he actually had no idea how easy it was to stab a stick into a brain through an eyeball. It seemed like it should be easy—everything between eye and skull was just mush.

He helped Jonas and Gustav get the cage onto the cart and watched with relief as the whole show finally began to roll away. The beautiful man, the flock of little sisters, the nannies and the coachmen all climbed into their carriages and drove off. The crowd drifted apart.

“
Ja,
good, no more bears!” Jonas hitched up his pants. He and Gustav turned and hurried back up the gangplank to the ship. Aiden knew they were eager to start off-loading the lumber so they could get home to see their families. There were no extra minutes in a city like San Francisco. They would have only two nights ashore before sailing north once again for another load. “An idle ship is like a hole in the ocean, and into this hole you throw money,” Captain Neils had said.

Aiden went back on board to collect his things. They made a very small bundle. It was strange not to have his bow and arrows. Of course there would be no use for them now; they would in fact be an encumbrance in the big city. The big city—the reality of it was just now hitting him, and his stomach felt queasy with nerves. He had no idea what he would do here. In his sixteen years, he had worked in fields, quarried stone, mined coal and cut down trees. He had read seventeen books, not counting the
Atlas
of
the
World,
Shakespeare or the Bible, but he doubted there were jobs as book readers. He pulled the drawstrings tight on the little canvas bag. It was especially hard to know what he would do when he had no idea who he even was anymore. At least he knew where he would stay.

“Here is the address of our mother's boardinghouse.” Fish handed him a scrap of paper as he came back up on deck. “There are six boardinghouses on that street—it's called Swedish Town—but anyone will know where to send you once you're there. The place next door sometimes has a parrot in a cage hanging outside. And a black dog. But ask anyone and they'll know. Tell my mother we should be done off-loading by five, so we will be there soon after. There will be a big dinner.” He grinned in anticipation. “After dinner, we will go out. Music halls, dancing girls—just wait!”

“Listen to me, Fish,” Captain Neils interrupted. “You can drink in our own places.”

“Yeah,” Fish scoffed. “With the same twenty old Swedish seamen I've known all my life, in the same three saloons where the barmaids are all the grannies of my friends!”

“The Barbary Coast is dangerous,” Neils said, not as a captain this time, but as Magnus, the big brother. “There is a body every night.”

“Well, there are a hundred saloons and two thousand men—I don't mind those odds.”

“We have only two nights ashore—you should see Ingrid.”

“Ingrid should see herself,” Fish muttered under his breath.

“What do you say?”

“I said, I can't wait to see Ingrid!” Fish rolled his eyes at Aiden, then contorted his face in a schoolboy gesture for a homely girl.

Magnus swore at him in Swedish, a language that Aiden thought sounded too pretty to be much good for swearing.

“Rest up!” Fish winked at Aiden and leaped to the stack of lumber.

“I do not joke!” Magnus shouted after him. “Don't listen to him,” he said to Aiden. “You are too young and it is all danger out there!”

“I'll be careful,” Aiden said. “Can I help off-load?”

“You would just be in the way.” Magnus blinked a few times as if to clear spiderwebs from his face. “You are a good boy. If I had a job for you on this ship, I would keep you. But you see I have the big family already. But if you like to work on a ship, I will ask around.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said. “But I think I'll see what the land might hold for me right now.” The wash of doubt he had felt moments ago was vanishing out here on this bright sunny day with this whole glorious city before him. Everything felt suddenly possible. San Francisco was the city of fortune. Maybe it was time for some fortune to come his way.

iden walked through the bustling dockyard, dodging carts and winding through mazes of piled-up crates. The rare sunshine made the day so warm that many men worked in shirtsleeves. With block and tackle, it took only two or three men to swing the most massive cargo. One of the crates he saw was only slightly smaller than the covered wagons that carried entire families and all their possessions across the country on the Oregon Trail. What could it possibly contain? Two elephants? Six pianos?

Aiden saw a man doing nothing, which meant he was probably in charge of something, and walked up to him.

“Excuse me,” Aiden said. “Who would I see about working here?”

“Your grandfather,” the man said, barely even glancing at him.

“My grandfather's long dead,” Aiden said.

“Pity, that.”

Aiden sensed there was an acre of complicated understanding that he was missing here.

“I can rig and swing cargo. I've been working as a logger.”

“Well, good for you.” The man tapped his pipe and took out a little pouch of tobacco. “Far too many trees cluttering up the country.”

“I'm looking for a job,” Aiden said, trying to be clear. “I could do this sort of work.”

“So could a little girl if a boss man said she could,” the man spat.

“Ah, I see,” Aiden said, suddenly understanding. It was good work, so it was closed work. It was who-do-you-know kind of work. “Well, if I come across any little girls looking for work, I'll surely send them your way.” He smiled and touched his cap, then went on his way before the man could decide if that was an insult or not.

Aiden followed the street up from the wharf until he came out onto a broader street. There were grand buildings as far as he could see. Half the people walking by looked like they were dressed for dinner with the president. In the street were wagons and carts and carriages of every size and shape. There were peddlers selling brooms, toys, ribbons, old clothing and blocks of soap. Shopwindows displayed everything in the world: fancy shoes, silver platters, French lace, silk cloth, wheels of cheese, jars of shiny candy. Everything was abundant and everything was for sale. Aiden had never seen so much of everything.

He walked on, mesmerized, for a good fifteen minutes before he remembered that Fish had told him to turn left at the fifth street he came to. Aiden turned and went back to where he had started, and counted. Some of the streets had signposts and some did not. Fish didn't know the name of the street, just said there was a grand house on the corner. Like most people who were familiar with a certain area, Fish took little notice of actual markers or signs; he was used to going home through backstreet shortcuts. The instructions were further complicated for Aiden since he wasn't really sure what was a proper street and what was an alley. As for a grand house on the corner, everything looked grand to him. He had been so entranced, wandering from one street to another, that he was now lost in a maze. He tried to pick out landmarks, but the buildings all looked so foreign, with their many windows and lacy trim, that he could not rely on any one to guide him. He decided to just go back to the dock, but he soon realized he wasn't even sure which direction the main road was. Besides that, fog was rolling in fast and thick. This was nothing like the morning mist on the prairies, or even the damp gray of the northwest forests. This was like a bowl of porridge. He could not see ten feet ahead, let alone tell north from south.

The streets were suddenly narrower and lined with saloons instead of shops. Garish signs advertised dancing girls and penny whiskey. Crude, plunking piano music echoed from half-open doors, and in front of every door was a man in a bright waistcoat and bowler hat, calling to him as he passed, the voices scratchy and creepily the same. Some of the places had lamps outside, but these were few and far between. Shadowy men passed. A few women flitted in and out of sight, darting across from door to door like bright birds, their skirts clutched up out of the dirt. He almost collided with one. Her cheeks were freshly rouged, her curls still tight from the curling iron. A heavy scent of dismal flowers hung around her.

“Excuse me, miss,” Aiden said.

“I work at the Gold Nugget,” she said brusquely. “Not the street! And then not till five!” She looked him harshly up and down. “And I cost more than the likes of you can afford anyway!” She disappeared into the fog with a swish of her skirts.

Aiden had never been in a place like this, but he sensed the joyless mood of this grim hour, when all were steeling for the night ahead. It was the bit of time between hoping for happiness and settling for lack of hurt. He took out the paper with the address of the boardinghouse and asked a lamplighter, but the man did not appear to speak English. He tried one of the saloon doormen, who simply shrugged.

“It's where the Swedish sailors live,” Aiden tried.

“Why would I care where the Swedes live?” the man said. “I can send you to Italian Town—there's some fine black-haired beauties there. Or set you up with a guide for Chinatown, eh? Two bits for a cellar girl—fifty cents for a beauty. He'll bring you back alive, I guarantee!” Aiden walked on and asked at another saloon.

“Don't know the street,” the doorman offered. “But there's lots of boardinghouses down by Fremont Street.” He gave some more vague directions, and Aiden set out again into the darkening mist. He turned the first corner as directed and was relieved to see the tavern sign the man had mentioned, but shortly past it Aiden's senses pricked. Was it just nerves or real danger? And what sort of danger was there? He was pretty sure he had stumbled into the Barbary Coast, the place that Fish was eager to visit and that his brother had warned against. Aiden was feeling wary, but it seemed a bit early for murder.

But not for robbery.

“Apple just a penny, sir?” A small boy suddenly appeared in front of him, holding out a glossy red fruit. Aiden stepped back, startled. Before he could even begin to wonder what a boy was doing out selling apples in the twilight and fog on a nearly empty side street, he heard the rough scamper of boot soles behind him, then he felt the whack of a club across the back of his knees. As he crashed to the ground, he felt a blow between his shoulder blades and a rough yank on the strap of his canvas bag.

Instinctively, Aiden twisted away and sprang to his feet. He saw, or sensed, the man swing something at his head. He ducked, but the truncheon blow still connected with enough of his skull to jar him. As Aiden staggered for balance, he saw five or six shapes pouring out of the shadows. He knew how to fight. He had once had three brothers. He had learned Indian fighting from his friend Tupic. He had fought for money every Saturday in the logging camp and usually walked away with his pockets full. But this was like no fight he had ever been in. Hands grabbed at him everywhere. He punched and kicked and was startled to hear a yelp of pain that sounded like it came from a boy. Aiden grabbed a twiggy arm. He was fighting off a mob of boys! Wiry bodies wrapped themselves around his legs and pulled them out from under him. Little spider bodies fell over him, pinning him to the ground. His bag was torn away and his coat yanked down off his shoulders. He felt his boots being pulled off. Another yank tore his jacket free. He punched and smacked, but every time he hit something, it was so small and fragile he pulled back. The boys didn't seem to mind causing him pain, however. Little fingers clutched big handfuls of his hair and bounced his head off the ground. Boys or not, the five or six of them were enough to keep him down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his first attacker, the grown man, rushing at him. The little boys jumped back out of the way just as a hard boot kicked viciously at his ribs. Aiden gasped for breath. He saw one small boy's face flinch and turn away. It was the same boy who had offered the apple—a pale, flinty face, with wide blue eyes and sharp, dirty bones.

“Brace,” the boy whispered urgently. “Don' fight—they'll do you worse!”

Aiden had heard that advice before. “Sometimes you're just plain down,” Powhee, the fight manager in the camp, had advised. “All you can do then is not get broken more than necessary.” But Aiden wasn't ready to curl up and endure. He was angry. When the next kick landed, he slammed the heel of one hand into the side of the man's knee, then grabbed the ankle and twisted. The man tumbled to the ground. Aiden jumped on top of him and landed a few quick punches before the man threw him off.

Then a gunshot cracked. Aiden felt the dirt kick up on his face. Another shot rang out, sounding close enough to be a cannon. The mob of boys scampered away into the shadows. The man cursed and backed away, then shuffled off after them. Aiden sat up slowly. Standing not more than ten feet away was some sort of gnome in a gaudy military jacket, with a pistol in one hand and a leash in the other. Attached to the leash was a great hairy brown animal, probably a dog but tall as an antelope, with four-inch teeth and a snarling lust for limbs. Aiden froze. He was familiar with the ways of death, and by dog was not his first pick.

“Quiet, The Moon!” a scratchy voice commanded.

The huge dog immediately folded itself up into a silent, attentive sit.

“Do you live?” It was a woman's voice, high-pitched and cracked with age, though still resonant.

“Yes.” Aiden drew a deep breath. “So far.”

“Well, know I charge the cost for the bullets,” the woman snapped. “And double for those what live! Though not likely you have any money left. Did they get it all?”

“I don't know.” Aiden got to his feet, bruised but unbroken. He felt his pants pockets and found the fabric torn and flapping. He thought he had been smart. He knew about thieves. He had hidden part of his money in each boot, part in the lining of his coat, a little in each pocket, some in his bag. Apparently, it wasn't such a clever strategy after all. The swarm of boy thieves had simply scavenged every possible hiding place, tearing everything apart and stealing his boots and coat entirely. His canvas bag with the few spare clothes was gone. He grabbed at his neck and was relieved to find Tupic's pouch. There were a few coins in it, but it was the other treasures, and the pouch itself, that would have been worse to lose.