The Final Gambit Page 5

  “Wait here with our things,” Cassandra said. “I’ll go purchase tickets.”

  Molly checked the clock above the ticket desk against the handwritten timetable posted on the slate chalkboard below it. The 7:43 p.m. train should be arriving any minute. They would soon be on their way home.

  Molly was surprised by how intensely she missed New York. It had been a thrill to see Antarctic mountains, Caribbean islands, and Floridian marshes, but she longed to be back dodging oblivious carriage drivers in the streets, squabbling with obnoxious newsboys, and sucking in the vinegary air of Pepper’s Pickles, her one true home. Would it still feel like home, though, if Emmett wasn’t there? It was becoming increasingly clear that Captain Lee intended to take Emmett away from the Peppers. She could understand why the man would want to—Emmett was his son, after all. But Emmett was also her brother. Not in any legal or biological sense, but in all the ways that mattered. And there was no way Emmett would choose his father over them. Would he? She walked over to her best friend, who stood by a wooden column, wringing his hands.

  “No need to fret so much, Goosey,” she said to him. “This plan is going to work.”

  “Oh, it’s not the plan,” he replied. “I mean, I don’t have much confidence in this plan, but that’s not what’s got me antsy. I’m thinking about what happens after we get home.”

  “Aha! You don’t want to live with your father!” Molly said. “I knew it! C’mon, let’s go tell him—”

  “No,” Emmett said quickly. “I do want to stay with him. I wish he’d stop acting so weird, but, yes, of course I want to be with him. I missed him for so long. It’s just that we can’t all live in your pickle shop, you know? That place is already overcrowded as it is. Being realistic . . .” He let out a long slow breath, like a balloon deflating. “I’m a terrible person. I got my father back from the dead—I should be nothing but happy!”

  “You don’t want to lose me! That doesn’t make you a terrible person—that just makes you smart,” Molly said. “I don’t want to lose you either. And, hey, there’s a chance the pickle shop’s not even still standing. We’ll all need someplace new to live, so maybe we can find a place together.”

  Emmett looked doubtful. “My father’s not the kind of man who’d feel comfortable sharing his living space with another family. Or who knows, maybe he is now. I never know what to expect from him these days.”

  “I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but, yeah, the man’s tough to pin down. One minute he’s scowling at a hilarious fart noise, the next he’s making some embarrassingly corny ‘gas’ pun. It’s like he keeps catching himself being a stodgy old grump and then trying to make up for it with the eye-rolliest jokes he can think up.”

  “Honestly, I think he’s trying to compete,” said Emmett. “He doesn’t really know me, but he knows I’ve been happy with your family, so he’s trying to, um, out-fun your mother. Which is not really in his skill set. Looking at it that way, it’s actually kinda sweet.”

  “And looking at it a different way, he’s trying to steal you from us.”

  “He’s not stealing me, Molly! He’s my father. He didn’t even want to steal the suit . . .” Emmett’s eyes drifted up to a poster pinned to the column behind Molly. “Whoa. Look at that.” He brushed past her for a closer look.

  “Most wanted?” Molly read aloud as she rushed to his side. “Are we on it?”

  “No, thank goodness,” Emmett said with evident relief. “But look—”

  “I mean, it would have been at least a teensy bit exciting to see my face on a wanted poster,” Molly said. “But that’s not really the way I want to get my name in the history books.”

  “You should be grateful for that too, Emmett.” Captain Lee strolled up behind them.

  “I am, Papa,” Emmett said. “But—”

  “There’s a reason why I always warned you to stay on the right side of the law,” his father went on. “Chinese people have to deal with enough distrust in this country as it is. Not that I don’t understand the allure of the criminal mystique. I’ve read Robin Hood. I’ve always thought I would look rather dashing in one of those jaunty feathered caps, but . . .”

  “Papa,” Emmett started.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Cap,” Molly said. “Emmett is the most law-abiding person I know. Aside from breaking the secrecy contract, he’s never even— Whoa, look who’s number one on that most wanted list! Oogie MacDougal!”

  “That’s what I was trying to show you,” Emmett said. “It says he broke out of prison and should be considered armed and dangerous.”

  “Who is this MacDougal character?” asked Captain Lee.

  “He collapsed a building on top of us once,” Molly said casually.

  “He what?” Captain Lee gasped. “Not that I’m, um, shocked by that or anything.”

  “Oogie was a partner of Rector’s,” Emmett explained. “He and his gang, the Green Onion Boys, helped Rector take over the World’s Fair.”

  “Ah, of course,” the captain said. “The only reason you know this gangster is because of Rector.”

  “Absolutely,” Molly said. “Even though he already had a grudge against Emmett from back when Emmett worked for him.”

  “Emmett what?” Captain Lee burst out. “I mean, I’m impressed that you found employment, but . . .”

  “Papa, I swear I didn’t know who he was at the time!” Emmett blurted. “Oogie has such a thick accent, I couldn’t understand—”

  “Emmett, you should know better than to blame something on a person’s accent,” Captain Lee scolded. “English is not my first language—do you think I want people holding that against me?”

  “But English is Oogie’s first language!” Molly said. “He’s Scottish! Seriously, you haven’t heard the guy talk, Cap. And, anyway, Oogie only hates Emmett because Emmett stole a bunch of guns and money from him.”

  “He what?”

  “Please stop ‘helping,’ Molly,” Emmett grumbled.

  “Everything okay over there?” the ticket agent asked Cassandra as he handed her four one-way tickets to New York.

  “Oh, they’re just excited about the most wanted list,” Cassandra replied. “The man at number one? They put him behind bars.”

  The agent looked at her askance. “Um, okay. Well, that feller seems to be at large again, so . . . keep your eyes open.”

  “An excellent way to avoid walking into things,” Cassandra said, slipping the tickets into her bag.

  A piercing whistle sounded as a hulking black locomotive rumbled up alongside the pavilion. The brakes screeched as the ten-car passenger train jolted to a stop and a conductor in a pinstriped suit leaned out from between two cars to yell, “All aboard!”

  As the captain asked the conductor to open a baggage car for their casket, Molly realized her mother was still at the ticket counter. She ran back to see what was keeping her.

  “That MacDougal feller might be dangerous, but seeing as you folks are grieving and especially vulnerable, I feel like I should let you know that the men on that poster over there ain’t the only ones the law is looking for,” the ticket agent was telling Cassandra. From under the counter, he produced a sheet of paper. “These are the most-most wanted,” he said. “The ones they don’t put on the posters ’cause they don’t want them to know they’re looking for ’em. But we station managers get to see ’em. We’re important like that.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” said Cassandra. “We’ll be sure to . . .” Her words trailed off as she saw her own photograph on the page. Molly’s breath caught as she appeared by her mother’s side and laid eyes on the picture that had been taken when Cassandra was admitted to the asylum on Blackwell’s Island. Thankfully, the agent was too busy trying to impress his customer to realize that she had the same face as the wild-haired, sooty-cheeked woman in the photo. But one good back-and-forth look and he could very easily make the connection. Or read the names of the fugitive’s listed accomplices: Molly P
epper and Emmett Lee.

  “Train’s here, Mother. Gotta go.” Molly grabbed Cassandra’s elbow and pulled her away, but not before grabbing a stick from the ground and jamming it between the hinges of the counter’s short, swinging gate.

  The ticket agent waved goodbye, then glanced down at his paper. “Hey, this one almost looks like . . .” He lifted the sheet to his eyes and squinted. “What’s this? ‘Traveling with two ch—’ Hey, stop! Don’t get on that train!”

  “Ugh! I can’t believe I’m actually on a wanted poster and they didn’t have my picture!” Molly grumbled as they ran to join the others.

  With the coffin stowed safely aboard, Emmett and Captain Lee were stepping up into the train, past the conductor. “Hurry, ladies!” the man called.

  “We’re hurrying!” Cassandra shouted back. “Believe me, we’re hurrying!”

  “Don’t—um . . . Stay, train! Stay!” the ticket seller shouted, struggling to open the jammed gate.

  Cassandra vaulted up the steps, past the conductor, into the train car. Molly, right on her heels, pushed the conductor into the car with her and pulled the door shut behind them.

  “Excuse me, young lady,” the conductor said. “But you can’t—”

  “Oh, Mr. Conductor Man, I’m so sad,” Molly cried, putting on her most mournful voice. “That was my great-uncle Raspberry in that coffin! Oh, Uncle Razz, we’re going to miss you so much! Your warm, caring eyes and your . . . funny sneeze!”

  “Oh, I’m, um, I’m sorry, little girl,” the flustered conductor replied. “That’s—that’s very—um, I just need to check the—”

  “Nothing will ever cheer me up again!” Molly howled. “Except maybe a tour of a real railroad train! Uncle Razz always said he’d take me on one. But he never got the chance.”

  “Um, uh, I—I think I can make that happen,” the conductor said. He took Molly’s hand as the train whistle blew and the vehicle began chugging down the tracks. As she passed them, Molly winked to her mother, who was whispering to Emmett and his father, presumably telling them about the most-most wanted list. “Okay, um, I guess we’ll start with the dining car,” the conductor continued. “Would that be all right, young lady?”

  Molly nodded. She sniffled, realizing for the first time that the tears she’d worked up to fool the conductor had become real. This was their life now, wasn’t it? Always running, always looking over their shoulders. For months, she’d been trying to prepare herself for the possibility that they would be fugitives when they returned to the US, but there was always a part of her that hoped for a smoother, easier transition to normal life. What were the chances now that they could move peacefully back into Pepper’s Pickles? “Thank you, Mr. Conductor Man,” she said. “You’re so nice.”

  “It’s okay,” the conductor replied. “My grandpa used to have a funny sneeze. I miss him too.”

  5

  Fugitives!

  New York City, February 2, 1884

  CERTAIN THAT THE stationmaster at Punta Rassa would have telegraphed a warning to other depots down the line, the Peppers and Lees quietly slipped off their train at a refueling stop in southern Georgia (not a simple task while carrying a loaded coffin). From there, they changed modes of transportation—and disguises—as frequently as they could. Inching northward in fits and starts, they went from being tourists in a coach to chefs on a freight train to apple pickers on a hayride to acrobats in a circus wagon to anglers on a fishing boat to cowboys (and cows) in a cattle car. By the time they reached the ferry station in Hoboken, New Jersey, two weeks later, the fugitives were haggard, hungry, scruffy, hollow-eyed ghosts of themselves, clad in a mismatched mishmash of patched coats and cowboy hats over workmen’s coveralls, cooks’ aprons, and sparkly leotards. But they finagled their way onto a boat to Manhattan nonetheless. It helped that they had transferred Robot to a crate marked “DANGER: DISEASED ANIMAL.” No one wanted to get close enough to take a good look at them after that.

  “Oh, joy. Another boat,” Emmett grumbled as they surrounded Robot’s crate on the deck of the ferry. “Well, at least it’s not—”

  It began to snow.

  Emmett raised his face to the heavens and let the fat flakes settle on his reddening cheeks. “This is because I complained about the boat, isn’t it?”

  “Bah! It’s just snow,” Captain Lee scoffed. “I miss the snow, actually. Back in Antarctica, I used to make snowmen to keep me company. I am not a skilled sculptor, though, so they were mostly just piles with eyeholes poked into them. And they were terrible conversationalists.”

  After trekking through blinding blizzards in Antarctica, Molly felt the current flurries were barely worth mentioning. “I just hope the shop is still standing,” she said.

  “Afraid Jasper has burned it to the ground by now?” Emmett said with a little laugh.

  Molly didn’t want to admit that that’s exactly what she was afraid of. The previous September, when the Peppers were in a rush to vacate the premises, they left their family business in the hands of their loyal friend and only repeat customer, Jasper Bloom. Molly adored Jasper—he was chatty, cheerful, amusing—but he was also . . . well, eccentric would be putting it mildly. The Peppers didn’t choose Jasper for his management skills; technically speaking, they didn’t choose him at all. They handed him the keys simply because he happened to be there at the time. Molly prepared herself for the very real possibility that they would find him ignoring the store counter in favor of reading through her abandoned book pile or lying on the floor holding his belly because he’d eaten their entire pickle stock himself.

  “Well, I trust Jasper,” Emmett said. “The only reason he lost his ashman job was because he was helping us run from Rector. At worst, he’s probably just bored with the lack of customers. If it turns out that anything has happened to the shop, my guess is that Agent Clark and his men would be behind it. Or the Jägermen. Maybe the Green Onion Boys. Or the Guild. Wow, for twelve-year-olds, we have a lot of enemies.”

  “Speaking of enemies,” Molly said with sudden trepidation. “Bell is almost certainly back in New York by now too. I wonder how much he’s told the authorities about us.”

  “Alec is more of an obstacle than an enemy, though, right?” said Cassandra. “I’m sure he’s miffed about us skipping out on him, but certainly not so upset that he’d get us into more trouble. Right?”

  Molly and Emmett exchanged glances, but said nothing.

  “I cannot see your faces,” Robot said from within the crate, “but I assume the uncomfortable silence is due to the others thinking that Mrs. Pepper is not necessarily correct.”

  “How are you doing in there, Robot?” Molly whispered to the crate. “Dry?”

  “Dry would describe it, yes,” Robot responded from inside. “Molly, do you remember how I once asked you to explain the concept of boredom? I no longer have need to ask that question.”

  “Well, we’re almost home again,” Molly said to him. Manhattan’s western shore was coming up fast. She breathed in the icy air, letting it numb her nostrils. New York air had a quality all its own, a zest that even the biting Antarctic winds never carried.

  “Before we disembark,” said Captain Lee, “let’s go over the plan one more time.”

  Molly tried not to let him see her rolling eyes. This was the one piece of evidence that Emmett and his father were truly related. “First thing we need is a base of operations,” she said with the evident fatigue of someone who has had to explain the same thing a thousand times over. “Hopefully that will be Pepper’s Pickles—”

  “Definitely my first choice,” said Cassandra. “We have coffee there.” She stared off wistfully at what Molly assumed was an imaginary, steaming mug floating in the sky.

  “But we all agree this is unlikely, correct?” Captain Lee said. “Because your shop is almost certainly going to be under surveillance.”

  “That’s where you come in, Papa,” Emmett added. “Since you’re the only one of us the police won’t be lookin
g for. We need you to scout out the shop for us and make sure it’s safe.”

  “That’s assuming nobody stops me and asks me to prove I’m in the country legally,” the captain said. “Which I won’t be able to. Even though I am.” He sighed. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take to keep you safe. But what happens when I verify that your shop is indeed unsafe?”

  “If that’s the case,” Molly continued, “then we’ll ask Jasper to put us up.”

  “Do you think Jasper has a Brew-Master 1900 coffee maker?” Cassandra asked. “Probably not, right? Because I invented it?”

  “I’m sure Jasper’s apartment is tiny,” Molly said, “but we’d only need to hide out there until we free the Mothers of Invention. Once they’re out of jail, we won’t have to worry about a place to stay anymore—the ladies have secret workshops all over the city.”

  “And from that point, the MOI can help us with all the other stuff we’ve got to take care of too,” Emmett said. “Clearing our names, reclaiming the pickle shop for the Peppers, solving Robot’s Ambrosium problem, tracking down Nellie Bly . . .”

  “And if we’re aiming big,” Molly added, “maybe even figuring out how to finally get credit for saving the world from Rector.”

  Her mother shot her a squinty glance that told her they were not aiming that high.

  The captain raised a tentative finger. “If I may? I am sure these women are very intelligent, but should we really be relying on them for everything? Including my son’s freedom?”

  “I trust them,” Emmett said.

  “Yes,” said his father. “But you also apparently trusted a man with the obvious criminal name of Oogie.”

  “I didn’t know who he was!”

  “All I’m saying,” said the captain, “is, well, have we definitely ruled out my plan?”

  “You mean turning ourselves in and telling the police that Emmett wasn’t involved?” Molly asked, incredulous. “You were serious about that?”