Witch in the White City: A Dark Historical Fantasy/Mystery (Neva Freeman Book 1) Nick Wisseman (best management books of all time txt) 📖

guard called again, his features resolving into Wiley’s reddened face. “I thought it was you. Flaming hell—this is why you ‘needed to be alone?’ To impersonate a guard? And do what? Sneak in to speak to Edward?”

“I had to see him.”

Wiley drew up a few paces from her. “And I suppose you did?”

“More or less. I heard him talking to Copeland.”

“Flaming hell ... What did he say?”

“He doesn’t remember much—it was the fever. Just like with Augie.”

“So he was bit?”

“It sounds like it. We need to get him out of there.”

Wiley clasped his hands behind his head. “No.”

She bit her lip and marshaled her arguments.

But he cut her off. “What we need to do is get you out of that uniform before someone else takes a close look—God only knows how they didn’t see through it before. Then I’ll escort you back to the Algerian and Tunisian Village so you can sleep, gather your things, and catch the first train out in the morning.”

Neva conceded with a shrug. She did need to get out of this uniform, at least for now. Best to be prudent until she had a plan.

Wiley led her back to the Midway at a brisk pace. He avoided the Lagoon, which, despite the hour, was abuzz with activity—Carter and the other guards must still be dragging it for the latest body. Neva shuddered. Could she help Mr. DeBell overcome the venom’s urges? She and Brin were getting better, but he had it worse; he’d lost his memory for two weeks. And the things he’d done ...

It didn’t help that the anarchists’ own disease of the mind festered unabated.

As Neva and Wiley approached the Algerian and Tunisian Village, she spied Roland, Pieter, and Quill gazing at the Ferris Wheel and conversing in whispered tones, looking not at all suspicious or crazed. A nearby Fair Custodian seemed unconcerned, focused on his task of picking up the day’s trash. But if one of the guards at the Lagoon came this way, he couldn’t help marking the anarchists as out of place, despite their Fair-worker uniforms.

“Why are you party to this?” Neva asked Wiley, nodding towards his companions.

He grimaced, no doubt noting the same conspicuous behavior. “Pieter’s my oldest friend. We grew up together. Fought for independence against the English together. Came to America together. He’s like a brother to me.”

“All right, but what about the others?”

“Roland and Quill were with Pieter at Homestead.”

Neva wracked her brain for the reference. “The steelworker strike in Pennsylvania last year?”

“More like a pitched battle. Carnegie Steel hired Pinkertons to protect the strikebreakers. Sounds like it turned into a hell of a firefight.”

“I remember hearing about that. You weren’t there?”

“I was here.” Wiley pointed at the portions of the city visible beyond the Fair’s fence. “Trying to be a policeman. Didn’t go very well.”

“I see.” Neva caught Quill’s eye and motioned him over. “And Brin?”

“Quill knew her from meetings in Chicago.”

“That fits. Can you get them to give up the Wheel?”

“I thought so, but ...”

“Discussing how to make us see the light?” asked Quill as he neared, glancing at her ill-fitting guard’s uniform. His tone was wry, but his eyes glittered with determination.

“You could write an article or a book,” Neva said, launching into it. “Unionize the Fair workers. Even organize Pullman Town, if you feel as strongly about it as Wiley does. But don’t blow up a marvel of engineering in an empty gesture. You’ll just get people killed for no reason.”

Quill smiled faintly. “From what Wiley told me, two days ago you were all set to light the fuse.”

“Two days ago I was mourning my brother.”

“And now?”

“I’m still mourning him. But the anger’s faded, and now I see that’s all it was: an act of grief and rage. You’re mourning the workers of this country, except they’re still alive, and you won’t help them by dynamiting the Wheel. You’ll just give the capitalists another reason to tighten the screws.”

“We lost comrades at Haymarket.”

“Then avenge them in a way that makes sense! This is madness. Can’t you see that?”

The darkening of Quill’s face was noticeable even in the sparse light. “You’re planning to sneak in and see Mr. DeBell? Maybe break him out?”

Neva cursed under her breath—her former teacher had always been fiendishly good at guessing her mind.

“Then you have your mad scheme,” he said, his tone flat now. “And we have ours.”

Wiley started to say something, but Brin emerged from behind the low wall that encircled the Wheel and called out: “Quill! Let me speak with her.”

As the Irishwoman jogged toward them, Neva became aware of the various eyes on her—Roland and Pieter were staring at her now, as was the Fair Custodian. She and Quill had kept their voices low; she didn’t think anyone other than Wiley had heard what they’d said. But the fact that they were arguing must have been obvious.

“Come with me,” Brin said, tugging gently on Neva’s shoulder and waving at Wiley to stay put.

Quill glared at them for a moment, then composed his face and walked off toward the Fair Custodian, greeting his coworker with a cheery “Evening, Quentin!” and asking how the grounds looked that night.

Neva followed Brin to the Wheel.

“So you saw Mr. DeBell?” the Irishwoman asked when they were out of sight.

Neva related what had happened. “I’m going to get him out, and then I’m going to leave the Fair.”

Brin studied her face. “Best of luck to you. I don’t like that whistling of his, though. Can I help?”

“Thank you. I’m sure you could, but I’d rather you helped yourself and called off this business with the Wheel.”

“Now I know why Quill looked so angry.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on like I did ... But can’t you find another way? Something that won’t get anyone killed?”

Brin leaned against one of the massive towers that supported the Wheel’s axle and looked up, eyes fixed on the topmost carriage. Neva wondered if it was the same car she and Derek had ridden two