Free Alexander C. Irvine by A Scattering of Jades Page B

wagon to a halt at Penn’s Landing. Gulls dipped and swooped in the chill wind that blew off the Delaware River, their shrill cries gnawing at his already-fatigued nerves. He looked anxiously up and down the docks, trying also to keep an eye on the back of the wagon. Any would-be thief would get the surprise of his life, particularly today, but Steen hoped to avoid any disturbance; he wanted to accomplish his goals in Philadelphia and move on to New York with as little distraction as possible.
    He checked his watch: eight of twelve. Barnum was supposed to be on the twelve-thirty steamer going up the river to Trenton; he should have arrived by now. Cursing the paleness of the sun and the looming proximity of the Gloria Dei church, Steen walked rapidly in a clockwise circle around the wagon. Diamond had said Barnum would be here, and Johnny certainly had sources that were uncommon to say the least, but the showman was nowhere to be seen. Hundreds of people were boarding and disembarking from steamboats all around Steen; it was possible Barnum had simply passed unnoticed.
    Steen caught himself mouthing Nahuatl curses under his breath, and he closed his eyes and leaned against the wagon’s ribbed canvas. He counted slowly backward from twenty, breathing deeply and evenly through his nose, feeling the heavy veil of tension lift from his mind. Nothing would be gained by stamping around in circles and cursing the day for being cloudy.
    When he opened his eyes again, a group of approximately fifteen children had appeared and formed a semicircle around him. “When’s the puppet show?” one of them asked. “Do you do The Battle of New Or leans?”
    The group was ragged and undernourished, varying in age from seven or eight to perhaps fifteen. Probably runaways and orphans who had banded together for protection; if he had encountered them at night and in a secluded area, they would more likely be demanding his purse than asking for a show. Steen had given hundreds of shows for groups of children when he was younger, purely for the joy of it, and these disheveled urchins looked as much in need of a little diversion as any he’d ever seen. He looked from face to face, wondering which of the old Punch and Judy shows he could remember unrehearsed; then he spotted P. T. Barnum over one of their shoulders.
    “No performance today, guppies,” he said regretfully, shaking his head. “If you can get to Shackamaxon tonight, you might see a real show.” Barnum was gesturing expansively as he spoke to a mustachioed and immensely fat man in a red stovepipe hat.
    “Some puppeteer you are,” one of the children said, and the rest began complaining boisterously, cursing to shame a sailor as Steen swung up into the driver’s seat and spurred the horses in Barnum’s direction.
    “Ahoy, Phineas!” he called. “Half an hour before your ship leaves, isn’t it?”
    A look of surprise crossed Barnum’s jowled face, bur the showman quickly assumed a neutral expression. “I won’t inquire as to where you came by that information, Mr. Steen,” he said coldly. “In any case it is of no consequence; we have nothing to discuss except reparation for your breach of contract.”
    “Bygones, Phineas, water under the bridge,” Steen said, before Barnum could resume his conversation. “I have something in the back of the wagon here that I believe would be quite a sensation at your museum. It’s a good many years older than your Joice Heth, and authentic to boot.” He winked broadly at Barnum’s companion.
    “Perhaps we could resume our discussion on board,” said the red-hatted buffoon. “In this chill, I’d like to ensure I get a seat near the boiler.” He tipped his silly hat and made his way toward the waiting steamer.
    Barnum watched him walk away, then returned his attention to Steen. Steen clicked open his watch and shook his head gravely. “You’ve only got forty-five seconds to catch the show, Phineas. After that, it’s over