is
he up to?
And what infernal devices did Whitney’s boys build for him?
“You will not have forgotten that you owe me some papers as
well,” he reminded Pratt.
“Schematics!” snapped the Apostle. “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” He looked around him as if suspecting eavesdroppers, then
leaned in close to whisper into Poe’s ear. “Tomorrow morning at eight,” he said. “Come to the north entrance to this
building. You’ll get what’s coming
to you then.”
He turned to go and Poe grabbed his lapel. “You’ll understand, sir, that this
makes me nervous. I expected you
to give me the documents today .”
“And I expected you ,” Pratt grunted fiercely, “at the water
station! It’s late, do you understand? I am out of time, I could not possibly have gotten these any
later! Do you imagine that I carry
around air-ship plans in my pockets at all times, waiting for tardy secret
agents, dressed all to catch the eye like Harlequin in some Italian
comedy? Ha!” He snorted like a horse, shook himself
free of Poe’s grasp, and shuffled away, back down the hallway and out of the
Tabernacle.
Poe leaned against the cool plascrete wall, wondering what
was next.
Could Sam Clemens be the Boatman? he wondered. His craft, the Jim Smiley , was amphibious, as he had neatly demonstrated at
the crossing of the Bear River. And
if he was the Boatman, had he traded with Pratt for the same schematics Poe
sought? What had he offered in
trade?
Had Sam Clemens shot Brigham Young in exchange for air-ship
schematics?
But how would that make any sense? Was it worth deliberately getting the Kingdom of Deseret
into the war on the side of the seceding states, just to be able to have the
schematics of weapons now in the hands of one’s enemies? It didn’t hold together.
But Cannon had said something about the leadership
succession. What had it been? He had said that the Quorum of the
Twelve Apostles would meet to decide who the next President would be.
Could that be it? Clemens had killed Young to clear the way so that Orson Pratt could
become President of the Kingdom of Deseret. In which case, maybe the Boatman’s trade was entirely
different from Poe’s. Maybe
Clemens wasn’t going to get the schematics; maybe what he got in trade was the
promise of the new President to enter the war on the side of the Union and the
north.
And then what? Clemens gets executed, a sacrificed pawn? He’s pardoned, or surreptitiously freed and allowed to
escape in the night by the new President?
Poe shook his head. Not enough information.
“You all likely know that Brother Lee is one of the
chieftains among our Danite brothers,” the speaker at the pulpit went on. “What you may not realize is that he is
also the adopted son of President Young.” Cannon paused and looked down, as if struggling with emotion. “At his request, Brother Lee will now
say a few words to the congregation about his father.”
George Cannon stepped back and took a seat. He sat behind the row of Apostles, Poe
noticed, but three of them immediately turned back and held a brief, whispered
conversation with the man.
Have we played into their hands? Poe wondered. Perhaps Whitney’s boys had devised some
terrible weapon, and he, Poe, had just delivered it to the Madman, who as the
Kingdom’s next President would turn that same weapon against the defenseless
troops of Virginia, Alabama and South Carolina.
Perhaps if he showed up at eight o’clock the next morning,
Pratt would have him killed. Perhaps Clemens would pull the trigger himself as his last act before he
fled the Kingdom. Clemens or his
Irish thug with the Henry rifle.
Another man took the pulpit. He had a weary smile between protruding jug ears and hadn’t
shaved for a day or two. He wore a
long brown coat, yellow waistcoat and a red bowtie. Compared to all the long beards behind him
he up to?
And what infernal devices did Whitney’s boys build for him?
“You will not have forgotten that you owe me some papers as
well,” he reminded Pratt.
“Schematics!” snapped the Apostle. “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” He looked around him as if suspecting eavesdroppers, then
leaned in close to whisper into Poe’s ear. “Tomorrow morning at eight,” he said. “Come to the north entrance to this
building. You’ll get what’s coming
to you then.”
He turned to go and Poe grabbed his lapel. “You’ll understand, sir, that this
makes me nervous. I expected you
to give me the documents today .”
“And I expected you ,” Pratt grunted fiercely, “at the water
station! It’s late, do you understand? I am out of time, I could not possibly have gotten these any
later! Do you imagine that I carry
around air-ship plans in my pockets at all times, waiting for tardy secret
agents, dressed all to catch the eye like Harlequin in some Italian
comedy? Ha!” He snorted like a horse, shook himself
free of Poe’s grasp, and shuffled away, back down the hallway and out of the
Tabernacle.
Poe leaned against the cool plascrete wall, wondering what
was next.
Could Sam Clemens be the Boatman? he wondered. His craft, the Jim Smiley , was amphibious, as he had neatly demonstrated at
the crossing of the Bear River. And
if he was the Boatman, had he traded with Pratt for the same schematics Poe
sought? What had he offered in
trade?
Had Sam Clemens shot Brigham Young in exchange for air-ship
schematics?
But how would that make any sense? Was it worth deliberately getting the Kingdom of Deseret
into the war on the side of the seceding states, just to be able to have the
schematics of weapons now in the hands of one’s enemies? It didn’t hold together.
But Cannon had said something about the leadership
succession. What had it been? He had said that the Quorum of the
Twelve Apostles would meet to decide who the next President would be.
Could that be it? Clemens had killed Young to clear the way so that Orson Pratt could
become President of the Kingdom of Deseret. In which case, maybe the Boatman’s trade was entirely
different from Poe’s. Maybe
Clemens wasn’t going to get the schematics; maybe what he got in trade was the
promise of the new President to enter the war on the side of the Union and the
north.
And then what? Clemens gets executed, a sacrificed pawn? He’s pardoned, or surreptitiously freed and allowed to
escape in the night by the new President?
Poe shook his head. Not enough information.
“You all likely know that Brother Lee is one of the
chieftains among our Danite brothers,” the speaker at the pulpit went on. “What you may not realize is that he is
also the adopted son of President Young.” Cannon paused and looked down, as if struggling with emotion. “At his request, Brother Lee will now
say a few words to the congregation about his father.”
George Cannon stepped back and took a seat. He sat behind the row of Apostles, Poe
noticed, but three of them immediately turned back and held a brief, whispered
conversation with the man.
Have we played into their hands? Poe wondered. Perhaps Whitney’s boys had devised some
terrible weapon, and he, Poe, had just delivered it to the Madman, who as the
Kingdom’s next President would turn that same weapon against the defenseless
troops of Virginia, Alabama and South Carolina.
Perhaps if he showed up at eight o’clock the next morning,
Pratt would have him killed. Perhaps Clemens would pull the trigger himself as his last act before he
fled the Kingdom. Clemens or his
Irish thug with the Henry rifle.
Another man took the pulpit. He had a weary smile between protruding jug ears and hadn’t
shaved for a day or two. He wore a
long brown coat, yellow waistcoat and a red bowtie. Compared to all the long beards behind him
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