Free The White City by John Claude Bemis

alley. They stepped to the side to let them pass.
    “Actually, your tale will have to wait,” Lamprey said. “We’d best stay in good with our boss. Can’t afford to get the boot, if you see. Where are you all staying?”
    “We don’t have anywhere,” Si said.
    Mister Lamprey smiled. “Then you’ll be staying with us on the
Snapdragon.
”
    “It’s here?” Redfeather gasped.
    “Out in the lake.” Mister Lamprey cocked a thumb back over his shoulder.
    “We had to paint it pretty yellow,” Big Jimmie added. “So it wouldn’t look … what’s the word?”
    “Conspicuous,” Lamprey said. “Meet us down at the big fountain. By the statue of Lady Liberty.”
    “Which one?” Si asked.
    “The gold statue in the main fountain. She’s called Big Mary. You can’t miss her. Say, half past ten.” Mister Lamprey tipped his porkpie hat to the four as the pirates headed for work. “Then we’ll take you to the Pirate Queen.”

W ITH A SHOVE FROM THE AGENT , R AY FELL IN THE DIRT . H E sat up and ran the back of his hand across his bleeding lip. The agents surrounded him, their firearms drawn.
    “Mister Muggeridge,” Pike called out toward the steamcoach. “We’ve got the boy.”
    The door opened from the back of the steamcoach, and Muggeridge stepped down. He lifted his bowler hat to run his fingers through his mane of silver hair and, after replacing the black hat, brought his fingers to his beard, stroking the whiskers as he watched Ray.
    “We got him, yes sir,” the agent who had punched Ray said gleefully. He was one of the youngest of the remaining eight agents, a crop of red hair sprouting from the front of his bowler hat. “Caught him down in those trees, see.”
    “My vision hasn’t failed me, Mister Sandusky,” Muggeridgesaid. “You’re certain he’s the Rambler boy. Not just some kid off a ranch?”
    Mister Pike answered, “The crow flew into the trees where the boy was hiding.”
    “Where’s the crow now?” Muggeridge grumbled.
    Sandusky exchanged a glance with Pike. “We didn’t find the crow, sir,” Mister Sandusky said.
    “Mister Muggeridge,” Pike said. “When we caught the boy, his actions were indicative of one who knows he’s being followed.”
    Muggeridge frowned. “What kinds of actions would those be, Mister Pike?”
    Pike didn’t flinch, but the other agents anxiously watched the exchange between their commanding officer and his second-in-command. Pike said, “So he started running from us and put up a fight when he was caught. He hasn’t spoken a word to explain who he’d be otherwise.”
    Muggeridge looked down at Ray. “You the Rambler boy?”
    Ray locked eyes with Muggeridge but offered no reply.
    “You hear me?” Muggeridge said, kicking a spray of gravel against Ray.
    “Want me to get him to talk, sir?” Sandusky asked.
    Muggeridge sneered but shook his head. “I’ve just been in the back with our Hound. He’s still got the scent and it’s still to the west. Doesn’t sound like this would be our Rambler, does it?”
    “But, sir—” Pike began, but his words were cut off.
    “It’s some Rambler trick, yeah!” De Courcy growled, nursing his injured arm against his side.
    As an angry murmuring made its way around, Ray sensedthe Hoarhound’s presence. He lifted a hand slightly and felt the tingling, the strange draw of the mechanical beast.
    “The Hoarhound is following the Rambler’s charm,” Muggeridge barked. “Now, it could be that the boy there has hidden the rabbit’s paw up in those mountains, but why would he do that? And why turn back toward us? Frankly I don’t think we have the Rambler here.”
    “Damn if this ain’t the Rambler!” Sandusky said. He holstered his pistol and charged forward at Ray, pulling him to his feet.
    “What are you doing?” Muggeridge said.
    “Look!” Sandusky began roughly feeling along Ray’s pockets, down his legs, and then at his chest, where he stopped as his fingers clutched the toby sack.