 
Under the Museum

By Kerry A. Duff

Text copyright @ Kerry Duff

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

# Chapter One

Some called me "Crogg, the Brazilian Wild Boy." Others, "Colonel Peanut, the Smallest Boy in all the States," a freak, a prodigy, an evolutionary Missing Link. But Esther called me Hector. This is my story.

I don't know who my mother was or where my father came from. My earliest memories begin in P.T. Barnum's famous Museum of oddities, marvels, and curiosities in the heart of New York City. I was sent to live there while Barnum and his assistant managers decided whether I should be exhibited as a freak or as a prodigy.

That's what happens, you see, when you grow up shorter than everybody else. When you barely pass a grown man's knees at the age of ten, you have two choices. If you're white and handsome, you'll be groomed for a career in show business like the midget Tom Thumb. This path leads to riches and fame—General Thumb has his own yacht and even met the Queen of England.

But, if you're dark, or "out of proportion" as they called me, then your path is not so fortunate. They like to exhibit you as some type of primitive creature or monster. Luckily, I have all my faculties. Poor Bimbo, the Ape Man, who can barely talk, is kept in a cage and fed raw meat. His fate gives me nightmares, for it's one I barely escaped.

I too lived in the Museum, unlike those lucky ones who had homes in the city—even villas in the countryside—but my living quarters were not as bad as Bimbo's. They gave me one of the storage rooms and then forgot all about me. It was filled with past exhibitions, like the FeeJee mermaid and the Behemoth bones—Barnum's past jokes on the public. They call them hoaxes, and thousands will line up at the museum doors to pay for the privilege of deciding whether they're real or fake. When the Public grows tired of them, Barnum comes up with something new, and the bones and the paper mache bodies are stuffed into the back room cabinets.

My room was on the third floor. I had a little corner for my pallet and was allowed a lamp and a box for my change of clothing. I didn't mind it; although I think when I first came that the dinosaur bones and dusty old Indian skulls frightened me as I lay in the dark. Later, I came to think of them as my friends. It was the outside world and my possible fate out there that sent my stomach into knots.

Colonel Peanut they called me when I was seven and still cute enough to be exhibited as a little midget. I hated it and would cry every morning as Clem got me ready for the viewings. In my nightmares, I can still see the audience's sweaty, jeering faces as they poked and prodded, caring nothing for me or my feelings of shame and humiliation. Thank heavens I grew larger and more misshapen. I could no longer be exhibited as a midget, perfectly proportioned, so they gave me my storage room, and I paid for my keep by cleaning the museum.

My story really begins one winter's evening at the start of the year 1866, after the museum had closed for the day. Clem the animal keeper had brought me anxious news: Barnum was coming down to the museum to take a look at me and some of the other potential exhibits. Soon, my fate would be decided. I no longer would be permitted to hide amongst the props of the museum, but would have to show my face and perform in front of thousands of curious onlookers, as I had when I was younger.

That night, I was wandering around the second floor, feeling sorry for myself when the picture of the "Wreck of the Fitzroy McDonald" reminded me of the white beluga whales. I hadn't visited them in awhile. They were kept in the basement in a mammoth, but dreary tank, and to tell the truth the sight always saddened me. But I owed them a visit.

I liked to make my rounds of all of the exhibits—alive and inanimate—to show that somebody cared. It sounds ridiculous I know, but it made me feel better. Perhaps I hoped that someone one day would do the same for me when I was stuck in a cage on one of the lower floors.

I slipped down the back stairs, listening to the sounds of the museum settling in for the night—the soft growling of the bears, the occasional shrieks from the parrot cages, the sighs and creaks of wooden floors and pipes. Most of the cases lay in deep shadows with the occasional bracketed lamp sending out a dim glow. I could see just fine. It wasn't that different really from daytime; Barnum liked to keep his museum poorly lit because his exhibitions literally couldn't stand up to the light of day.

As I crept towards the basement stairs, I caught a glimpse of the world outside. It was snowing hard. Huge white flakes surged up against the windowpane. The buildings across the way loomed up in the background, dark and dreary against the pale snow. There was nobody on the street below. Even though the museum fronted on Broadway, one of the busiest streets in the city, the neighborhood seemed deserted. I shivered, glad to be inside the museum on such a night.

The basement was darker than the rest of the building. I paused on the threshold of the hall that held the whale tank, listening to the booming and slapping of the water against the sides, as the large creatures swam slowly back and forth. It gave me a curious feeling, one of melancholy and deep longing. I wondered what it would be like to see the ocean and set sail to foreign lands.

I sighed deeply, full of lonely and dreary thoughts, and walked up to the tank, placing my hand against the cold glass. There was a flash of white as a whale swam by. He twisted slowly in the murky water, disappeared, and then came back, swimming more slowly. This time, a large eye stared out at me. Do you see me? I whispered. Do you feel as I do?

He made no sign. There was nothing human in that eye. Whatever horror and despair the large creature felt at his fate could not be shared or communicated. I was alone.

Suddenly a harsh cough cracked through the deep silence. It came from a corner behind the tank.

"Who's there?" I called. "Show yourself!"

Silence. I listened, straining my ears to pinpoint any movement. All I could hear was the thrushing of the blood in my ears. My stomach tensed.

Then it came again—a rasping awful coughing—followed by the sounds of footsteps running towards the stairwell. I spun and caught sight of someone not much bigger than me, racing through the shadows. Without a moment's hesitation, I threw myself in his way and cornered him in a niche before he made it to the stairs.

"Who are you?" I demanded severely, no longer frightened. Indeed I felt full of self-righteous anger at the intruder. Who dared to creep into the museum at night?

There was no answer. I moved forward and grabbed the person's wrist. He screamed, loud and shrill. The sound echoed against the damp walls, and I knew it would not be long before it would set the ourang-outangs going.

"Hush!" I hissed.

"Don't hurt me. Please."

I pulled the intruder out from against the wall into the dim light. It was a girl, taller than me with a bolt of red hair and a pale freckled face. An Irish street girl, filthy, ragged, and most likely flea-infested.

When she saw me, she made to scream again, but I shook her hard.

"Hush. I won't hurt you," I said roughly. "What are you doing in the museum?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," intoned the girl, trembling with fear. "Protect me against all evil."

"Who are you?" I demanded again, but the girl was speechless with terror and looked as if she would faint dead away. Of course, I realized bitterly—my misshapen limbs. We had moved into the light, and she had seen me in all my glory. I hadn't realized I was quite so hideous, but apparently I had been fooling myself. It made me angry with her.

"Thief! I should take you to Lucian. He knows how to deal with people who sneak in here!"

"Please!" she begged. "Please, Demon, just let me go!"

I let her arm drop at that. "I'm no demon!"

"Not a demon?" she breathed. "Then what are you?"

"I live here!" I snapped. "I belong here, unlike you, a thief and trespasser! Who are you?"

"Well, I'm no thief," she said and then closed her mouth tightly.

"Then what are you doing here after closing?"

"No harm. I just need a place for the night, out of the cold." She coughed again.

"That's trespassing," I said darkly.

"I promise I won't do no harm. Just let me go." Her whimpering had a strange effect on me. It made me wrinkle my nose with contempt, but I felt a stirring of pity for her. I looked down at her feet. They were raw and bleeding. She had no shoes; just dirty wrappings that were coming undone.

"Come on!" I said gruffly, grabbing at her arm.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't turn me in. Don't take me to Lucifer!"

"Lucian," I corrected and then sighed in exasperation, although what I really felt was curiosity. Even then I couldn't hide from myself that it was no charitable impulse that impelled me to ask the next question, but the desperate and lonely desire for a few minutes of human conversation.

"Are you hungry?"

She nodded, and so I turned and led her up the stairs.

#  Chapter Two

The girl was hesitant to come up to the third floor. Perhaps she thought I would murder her in some dim corner, and her body wouldn't be found until next year. She looked like the kind that devoured those penny paper yarns. When we got to the main floor, I felt her glance at the front doors, but I yanked her hard, and she shrugged and came easily from then on.

All was quiet when we reached my room; Clem had finished his rounds, and Lucian never made it up this far. I pulled her inside and then turned to light the kerosene lantern. In the first flare, I got a look at her face—all wild eyes and stares. She was looking at the endless rows of skulls and bones. They did look sort of gruesome up there in the harsh light and deep shadows thrown by the lantern.

"Most are fakes," I said gruffly. "They're not real."

She nodded as if in a trance, not taking her eyes off the shelves.

In a tin by my bed I kept the hard biscuits that came with dinner. I never ate them; just stored them in case of emergencies. I handed her one and pointed to a mug of water. The food got her attention. She must have been half-starved. She finished that biscuit in less time than it took me to turn back for another one.

When she was done with the second and nibbling on the third, she squatted down in a corner and took a good look at me.

"Why do you look like that?" she asked finally after a good bout of staring.

I'd been expecting the question, but now that I got a better look at her, I didn't think she had much reason for asking it with such rude curiosity. Her face was pinched and chapped, and that bolt of hair was a tangled dirty mess. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a nest of mice curled up in it. She wiped her snotty nose with the back of her sleeve and looked at me expectantly, for all the world like she was the Queen of Sheba.

"I'm a dwarf," I said. "I was born this way."

Another wipe at the nose. "But why'd your arms look like that? All short-like?"

I rolled my eyes. "I told you. I was born like that. That's what happens when you're a dwarf."

"So you ain't going to get any bigger?"

I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

She nodded, taking it all in.

I sat down on my pallet and rearranged the wool blanket. "If you're done eating, perhaps you'll tell me what you're doing here and what your name is?" I used my grandest voice, hoping to intimidate her.

A scowl crossed her face like a flash of summer lightening, and she sprang to her feet, ready to fight. "Is this here your museum?" she demanded. "Who's you to be asking me?"

I sighed dramatically. I wasn't about to be put off by such a show. "Sit down. You know very well that Mr. Barnum owns the museum, but I live here and I work for him, so in some ways I'm his representative, his agent, so I've got every right to be asking you who you are and what you're doing here." This last was a bit of a stretch, but I didn't figure she'd call my bluff.

She made as if to spit, took a quick look at me and changed her mind. "My name's Esther. And I told you already. It's cold out there. The coldest winter for a hundred years they're saying. So I came inside when that shifty-eyed fella wasn't looking." She shrugged. "It ain't like I was stealing. I won't look around. I know I can't pay."

"Humph," said I, folding my arms. "And why didn't you just go home?"

She sneered, as I knew she would. I'd taken her measure already. I might have barely left the museum in my life, but I knew she lived on the streets. The tattered clothes, almost stiff with grease and grime, the lack of shoes, the man's hat, the coarse accent, the defiance; all these told me that she was homeless, a street urchin. A feeling of gratefulness passed through me. Clem was at times rough spoken, but he'd given me a home of sorts and taught me how to read and speak properly.

"Well?" I prompted.

"I ain't got no home," she said, narrowing her eyes. "The gang I run with sells stuff."

"Like what?"

"I sell matches. To gentlemen." She scowled again like a bad memory had soured her mouth.

"So where's the rest of your gang?"

She shrugged and tried to look indifferent. "Big-head Tim, he got his uncle to take him in. His uncle's right pleased with him since he made good on that last job." She stopped and looked over at me suspiciously, but when I asked no questions, she carried on. "I think some went in with the charity nuns, but you won't find me getting suckered like that. Once they get their hands on you, you ain't never getting out of there. The others? I figure they're doing just like me."

Esther looked at the biscuit tin. I could tell she was still hungry, and, since I didn't care much for them, I passed her another.

She looked around the room, getting her bearings. Suddenly I saw it through her eyes. The dusty bookcases littered with bones and bits of broken pottery. The stuffed squirrels and crumbling coral. The rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves hovering in the darkness. There was a smell of mice and old cloth.

"So you live here?" she asked after a moment, spewing crumbs across the floor. I winced. "What you have to do for it? Did they put you on show like the circus?"

I shook my head, and she looked mildly disappointed.

"I help keep the place clean," I said, pointing at the broom and dustpan in the corner.

"And you ain't in a show or nothing'?"

"No, no show." At least not yet, I added silently.

"Hmmm. A fella like you, I would've thought they'd have you up on a stage. You know, like with the monkeys and things."

"Thank you," I said with all the sarcasm I could muster.

She looked surprised at my reaction, which only made the sting worse.

"Because, of course, an ugly "fella" like me is only fit for the freak show," I snarled before I could stop myself.

She gazed back at me in astonishment, those big green eyes clearer than water. "Everybody's got to make a living." She shrugged. "Might not be such a bad job. I can think of worse. Selling matches ain't no prize. I can tell you."

She scooted closer. "Why just the other day, one of them as calls themselves a gentleman tried to shove me up in the alleyway. Pushed me right up hard against the wall and started pulling at my skirts. I gave him what he deserved." She sneered and clenched her fists as if reenacting the scene. "Left him with a black eye and face full o' scratches."

She stopped and coughed. "But he still took those matches without paying." She hit her scrawny fist against the wall. "If I ever see him again, I'll make him pay, you see if I don't!"

She looked wilder than the bobcat down on the first floor, the one they've got stuffed, but which I swear looks alive, ready to tear you into little pieces. I leaned back as if from a sudden blaze of flame. Then I noticed the tears in her eyes, and I felt ashamed. For her or for me, I didn't quite know.

"If you want me to show you around some, I don't think Mr. Barnum would mind," I said awkwardly, trying not to look at her face, but trying hard not to look like I was doing so. "Everybody should see the museum, and Mr. Barnum sometimes lets the charity kids in for free. It's good publicity he says."

"I ain't no charity case," she scowled, wiping at that appalling nose again.

I held my hands up, calling for a truce. "I didn't say you were. But I know you want to have a look around." Indeed I could see the gleam of curiosity kindling in her eyes. "Why even right here, we have a fine collection of marvels." I waved my hand around the room like I'd seen the showmen do.

She sniffed. "Yeah? Where'd all them skulls come from then?"

I smiled, glad to have distracted her. "Those are supposed to be Red Indian bones from a burial ground right underneath the museum. Least that's how Mr. Barnum was selling it, but a lot of them are fake." I walked over to the shelves and picked one up. "Look you can tell by the color, and see here how the skull's falling in. That's fake."

She shivered. "Why'd anyone want to look at a bunch of old bones? Makes your skin crawl, don't it?"

I looked around for something else to pique her interest. "Well, what about the FeeJee mermaid? Surely you've heard of the famous FeeJee Mermaid?"

"I've heard of it." She shrugged, but her eyes lit up.

I led her behind the shelves to the glass cabinets. The mermaid was stored in a battered old case with a huge crack down its glass top. It didn't look very impressive. Half monkey, half fish, it lay all shriveled and brown as if it sought nothing so much as to shrink away into a small corner and hide itself. I recognized the feeling.

"That's it?" asked Esther incredulously, peering over my shoulder. "That's the famous mermaid?"

"That's it," I said, grinning.

"Why, it's not a mermaid at all," she continued, her voice taking on a note of indignation. "The liar! Why it's a just a big ole swindle!"

"Of course it is," I said. "That's the whole point."

"What do you mean?" said Esther, turning on me angrily. "All them people paying' to see with good money, and one of his exhibits is a swindle?"

I sighed, thoroughly enjoying my role. "Look, most people don't care if some of the exhibits are humbug. They know that when they come in, but they're never quite sure and then 'The Great Barnum" tells them that they get to decide, and they like it. They love it!"

Esther looked unconvinced. "Seems crooked to me. I think if I'd paid to see this here ole fake, I'd demand my money back." She clenched her fists again. "Why I'd walk right up to the ticket booth and say . . . "

She was working herself up into a rage.

"But you didn't pay, did you?" I said with a smirk.

She scowled over at me and slouched away, peering into the dark cavities of the shelves. "I'd want to see the wild animals," she said. "The real ones!"

"You want to see the animals?" I asked.

"Yeah," she nodded, trying to look indifferent. "Like those sea creatures in the water."

"Lucian will be doing his rounds soon, but we could see the monkeys?"

Her face brightened, and something inside of me melted. I hurriedly turned away. "Come on then."

I led her through the shadows down to the second floor, past the automatic writing machine, the Japanese specimen cases, and the stuffed giraffe to the room where the monkeys lived. They were a cheerful bunch. Though they can't have liked being stolen from their sunny tropical home and brought to the dark museum, they seemed less bedraggled and beaten down than many of Barnum's other live specimens.

Unfortunately they were fast asleep by the time we crept up to the cage. This didn't seem to bother Esther. She was fascinated.

"Look at that one!" she whispered, her voice full of amazement. "He looks just like a person. Why, I bet if it was darker, you could mistake him for a human being. See his tiny hands all curled up like!"

One of the monkeys opened his eyes for a moment and let out a sleepy chattering noise. She gasped in admiration, grabbing my arm in excitement. "Did you hear that? What a fine fella! I wish I had one of those bananas. Isn't that what they eat? Do you hear that Mr. Monkey? If I was rich, I'd give you as many bananas as you could eat!"

We stood and watched the sleeping monkeys for well on half an hour. My legs begin to ache with the familiar pain. I looked at the big clock around the corner and saw we had time to visit the whales, if she wanted.

She smiled at me, looking sleepy herself. "Naw. I seen enough."

"Besides," she added, as we made our way up the stairs. "I don't want to go back down into that basement, leastways not at night."

"Why?" I asked, wondering what it was that would frighten a girl like her.

She yawned and almost fell into the storeroom. "Because of the stories. Maybe they're not true, like most of the stuff here . . . hoaxes, you called them?"

I nodded.

"But maybe they are. And I don't want to find out when it's all dark down there."

"What do they say?" I asked, feeling a strange shift in perspective. What stories did outsiders tell of the museum?

"Well, I was thinking about 'em when you were talking about that Injun burial ground under the museum."

"But that's just one of Barnum's hoaxes!" I smiled.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at me like she was about to tell me something of the utmost significance. "Well, I can't say whether that's true or not, but they do say there's a door down there, one that leads underground to the very bottom o' the earth. And that's where they take all them people that just up and disappear."

I laughed at that, shaking my head at the credulity of folks on the outside. "There's no hole in the basement. I know every inch of this museum, and I bet you Mr. Barnum does too, and there's no way he'd allow any hole. People could start getting into the museum for free!" I winked at her, but she simply shrugged and took the blanket I handed her. Somehow we had come to an unspoken agreement: I would let her sleep here a night.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "That's just what people say. I don't know if it's true or not, but I don't want to find out."

I laughed again and watched as she curled up in a corner with a blanket. It didn't look very comfortable there on the floor, but I supposed she was used to worse. She was soon fast asleep.

After I had blown out the lamp, I lay there in the dark, thinking of the world outside and the strange life that took place beyond the museum doors. I thought about Esther running wild with her gang of street children and all the places in the big open city. Then I thought of the monkeys and the floors of specimens and novelties that were so familiar to me, but which were strange and unknown to Esther.

The dark seemed warm and companionable, filled with the soft snores of another human being.

#  Chapter Three

The museum opened at sunrise. In the summer, I was often up and working long before the crowds began to file up the stairs, but the winter season seemed to call out the spirit of hibernation in me, and Clem didn't mind me sleeping a little later. His knock woke me at around six. I yawned and called out a "Good Morning."

"All right, Hector?" Clem's voice was deep and gravelly, cough-ridden. He had worked in the coalmines as a youngster before running away with the circus and claimed that if he'd stayed another year, he'd have lost more than his voice. Somewhere along the way, he'd learned to read and write. Mr. Barnum had liked that he added some schooling to all of his experience with wild animals and had hired him from right under the nose of the Italian circus manager that Clem was working for.

That schooling Clem had passed on to me. I was grateful. Clem was gruff, not given to affection, and a strong believer in the use of the rod, but he had brought me up, taken care of me, and often gave me small gifts of the books for which Mr. Barnum no longer had need.

I do not remember the orphanage from which Clem pulled me. He says that I must have purposefully erased those memories since I was a smart lad of six when he first set eyes on me. This hole in my life story bothers me, for more reasons than one, but try as I might, the first memory I have is of Clem's face, red and puffy like a drunkard's—ironic given Clem's reputation as a Temperance man. His eyes were hard and grey as a February day, but his smile was wide and genuine. You could trust such a face; perhaps that's why the animals performed so well for him.

And he had helped me perform, had wiped away the tears with the edge of his sleeve, and whispered words of encouragement—silly comments about members of the audience that had made me giggle, promises of treats to come when we done with the tiresome chore of exhibition. The showings had never seemed too overwhelming when he was by my side. Helping Barnum to best exhibit his menagerie of freaks and strange animals was his job, but I knew that he did not think it was right.

I remembered his anger the day Barnum's managers had decided that it was not worth showing me to the public anymore. He had been helping with another act, and I had been alone. Exhausted, hungry, and irritable from the aches in my legs, I had begun to weep whilst on stage. The spectators did not know how to react: some looked embarrassed, some irritated as if this was not what they had paid for. One of the managers had hastily pulled me behind the curtain, grinning and apologizing to the crowd, but he was red-hot angry.

"Shut your mouth, you sniveling brat. What'll you do now?" he yelled, pushing me down a corridor. "I might as well throw you out a window. Don't you get it?" He collared me as if he could strangle me in his wrath. "This is the only way you'll earn your bread, you freak! Do you have any idea what they'd do to you out there?"

"Enough!" roared Clem, racing up the back stairs, catching the man by his arm, and throwing him against the wall. "You pack your things and get going."

"You have no authority . . ." tried the man, but he cowered against the blaze of Clem's anger.

"You have two minutes to collect your belongings," hissed Clem very quietly. "God sees the evil in your heart and will judge you accordingly."

The manager slinked off, and, without a word, Clem picked me up and held me tightly against his heart. When I finally pushed out impatiently at the tightness of his embrace, he sat me on his knee and told me that I was precious in the sight of Jesus and that one day I would indeed leave the museum and discover the wonders that lay outside. That I would wander along the boulevards of the great city, travel across the countryside, and see the great Falls at Niagara.

I had done none of these things, but lately I had begun to feel the stirrings of a restlessness that sat uneasily with my fear of the strange world outside the walls of the museum.

With a great yawn, I stretched and then suddenly caught a glimpse of Esther, lying all curled up at the foot of the pallet. I had forgotten all about her. Scrambling onto the floor, I prayed that Clem was busy and that he wouldn't come in for a chat.

I stumbled over to the door and looked out. Clem was nowhere in sight, but he had left a bag of greasy rolls, hot from the bakery down the street. I let my body relax and then stuffed one in my mouth, conscious of my bad manners, but hungry all the same.

I had thought Esther would wake at the sweet smell of warm bread that filled the dim room, but she lay as if dead. Worried, I put my face close to hers. She breathed softly, in and out. It gave me a comfortable feeling. Well, I thought, let her sleep. I had to get to work.

After combing my hair and straightening my shirt, I picked up the small broom with sawed off handle and stole softly outside. The hall was empty, but I could hear voices coming up the stairwell. Luckily, I hadn't had a chance to sweep this floor yesterday, for starting here meant I could keep an eye on my guest.

I started with the Lecture Room. In some ways this was my favorite part of the museum. Instead of the cruel reality of the live exhibitions, it proffered lantern shows and moving panoramas. My favorite so far had been the Ring of Fire. "A musical fairy romance!" the pamphlet had exclaimed, "with Grotto Palace, Fairy Staircase, and stupendous calcium and gas effects!" For two hours I had sat spellbound, transported to another place and time. Then Lucian had discovered me crouched in the back and threw me out. He had no right, since Clem had let me in, but it didn't matter. For the next few days my thoughts had been filled with sparkling lights and the beautiful face of the Fairy Princess Eveline.

The hall in all of its rich splendor was empty this morning. I sighed as I saw everywhere evidence that the room was badly in need of sweeping. Greasy paper bags spilled their contents in the aisles, crumpled playbills littered the rows, and there were even empty beer bottles rolled into dark corners.

Picking up my broom, I caught sight of myself in the enormous gilt-framed mirror that hung to the ground along the wall. In the gloom, I looked like some underground gnome, misshapen and heavy browed. I frowned which only made the image more unpleasant. Usually I avoided mirrors for this very reason and had not seem myself in awhile. I stepped closer. A face became clear—blue eyes, thick brown hair falling across the forehead. It was not a handsome face, but up close I did not look so out of the ordinary. The eyes had a sparkle; the skin was smooth and unblemished.

I smiled hesitantly and then stepped back. A mistake. I was a gnome again. A head too large for my body; arms and legs too short for my trunk. I forced myself to take note of the image, to burn it into my memory. You are a dwarf, I told myself sternly. You will never be able to pass through the museum doors and go out in the world without people staring, at the very least, recoiling at the worst. Remember this lesson and you will not lay yourself open to the sting of others' disgust.

But is there to be no friendship for me, no companion for the long days ahead, cried a small voice? No, and no again, said the voice of reason. Keep to yourself, do your work, and find solace in improving your mind. A harsh taskmaster, but these rules had helped me bear the sneers and snubs, the loneliness, and the black moods that often descended upon me when I rebelled against the narrowness of my future. I sighed and got to work.

As I swept, I practiced my Latin verb conjugation, saying the words slowly in my head. Last year Clem had found an old grammar, spine-broken and dog-eared, but perfectly legible.

"Here you go, boy," he'd muttered, handing me the book. "It's falling apart, I know, but it should still prove useful. All this new-fangled science's constantly a' changing, but I reckon that hoary old language ain't changed none."

Clem liked to pose as an uneducated everyman when he got embarrassed, but he knew what he was about. I'd carelessly let drop an impossible wish, that of studying medicine. I wouldn't have told anyone else this, and I said no more, but I could tell Clem knew why I wanted to learn all I could. I had a dream of being whole and fit like a regular boy, of growing tall and strong. In this glorious century of ours, medicine is making gigantic strides, so maybe one day it will be possible to fix my deformed limbs, and, since Latin was the language of knowledge, it was the first step in making my dream a reality.

Dixeram, dixeras, dixerat, dixeramus, dixeratis, dixerant . . . By the time I got to the pluperfect subjunctive, I was all done with the Lecture Room. I stretched and picked up the dustpan, leaving through the side door. This took me past the rows of fossils that Barnum had bought from the original Peale's museum, a collection that appealed to a higher standard of person than Barnum's hoaxes. Experts said that those fossils were millions of years old and proved that the Bible was wrong. I didn't know about all that, but I loved looking at the delicate whorls where a fern had been embedded all those years ago or some creepy crawly insect trapped forever in stone.

They gave me a comforting feeling of permanence. I thought that I'd like to show them to Esther, and this made me think that I might stop by my room and see if she was still abed. Walking quickly along the hall, I came to the storeroom and reached for the doorknob. In that instant, with my hand still outstretched, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and blanched.

Esther was wide-awake, lying on my pallet. Crouched beside her was the museum's young doctor. I dropped the broom, and the clatter caused him to turn and stand in one swift, yet elegant movement. When he saw it was me, he smiled, a friendly, conspiring grin, but all I could think of was that I would be turned out of the museum for harboring a thief, and a girl at that!

"Hector!" he called out, laughter dancing in his dark blue eyes. "I've just made the acquaintance of your young lady friend." He flashed me another grin.

I swallowed and fought for breath. "Doctor Carroll, sir" I babbled. "I didn't mean to—"

"Of course not, Hector. Enough said. The young lady's confessed to her crime, and I was just bandaging up her feet. She'll need plenty of rest, before she even thinks of returning home." He leaned forward, eyes checking my stance and posture. "It was you I was really coming to check on."

"But, sir . . ." I was ashamed and nervous. Would he inform Clem, Lucian, or even Mr. Barnum himself? The Doctor and I were old friends, but surely he had his duty--as I had mine.

He smiled kindly, a smile that crinkled up his eyes. "Hector, don't you worry. I won't tell a soul. It was a Christian act of charity to bring this young lady in out of the cold."

Suddenly, Esther's frowning face appeared behind Doctor Carroll's left knee. "I ain't staying long," she said, pushing herself up from the blankets. "Doc's fixed me up, and I'm ready to go. I don't need to be indebted to nobody!"

This last was positively hissed at the Doctor.

"Esther!" I exclaimed, shocked at her ingratitude, but Doctor Carroll seemed only further amused. "You're not going anywhere, young lady, Doctor's orders." He smiled down at her, pushing her backwards, and then began to close up his large black case with its embossed initials.

"Now keep those bandages on, and I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

"Sir, that's much too kind," I remonstrated, walking with him to the door.

"No kindness. Mr. Barnum wants me to check on one of the Indian women—pleurisy I'm thinking—so I'll be here anyway."

He put his hand gently on my shoulder. "And you? Your leg still giving you the old pain?"

"Not that I feel!" I said stoutly. There was no man in the world that I admired more than Doctor Carroll, and his approval meant the world to me. Forgive a poor boy his ridiculous aspirations, Reader, when I tell you that he was my ideal, the paragon against which I measured myself. Giving my shoulder a squeeze, he turned and left.

I faced Esther. She was already on her feet, hobbling to the door.

"You don't have to leave," I said. "The Doctor said you should rest. You can stay."

"No fear!" said Esther. "I'm not sitting around waiting for that quack to come back."

I laughed, realizing that Esther probably shared her class's traditional suspicion of the medical establishment. I'd heard Dr. Carroll talk about the obstacles this posed to his treatment of the Poor, and I had heard people in the museum, sneering at doctors and professors. They thought they knew better than the experts.

"Esther, he knows what he's doing," I said soothingly. "He'll only make you better."

Esther snorted. "I'm leaving!"

I was beginning to feel a little annoyed. I wasn't going to beg when it was clearly in her best interest to stay.

"Well," I said a little more stiffly. "You can do as you please. I was simply informing you that you needn't leave out of fear of overstaying your welcome."

A tiny smile played at Esther's lips. She suddenly seemed much more grownup and worldly, as if she knew that my formality was all an act. Imperceptibly, the balance between us had shifted. "No need to get so het up," she murmured.

"Do as you like!" I said majestically, and, turning my back on her, I reached down and straightened the blanket on the pallet.

"Then I guess I'm leaving. Thank you for your hospitality, but I don't trust that Doc one bit! He asks too many questions for my taste."

I turned to face her. "You're being ridiculous. Doctor Carroll is one of the best Doctors in the city."

"Says who?" she demanded belligerently. "All I know is that he's got a nasty reputation where I come from."

"What do you mean?" I demanded in turn and then quickly held my hand up. "No, don't tell me any stories. I admire Doctor Carroll a great deal. He studied in Europe and spends his free time treating the Poor."

The stupid girl was a product of her class and upbringing, and it would take a gentle hand and patience in order to overcome her hidebound prejudices. But Esther simply harrumphed, and we stared at each other, our conversation at an impasse.

Esther finally broke the awkward silence. "Thanks for letting me stay . . . Hector," she ventured. "You know you never told me your name," she added, flashing a sudden toothy-grin. "I like it."

I tried to keep my look stern, but against my will, I found myself responding with one of my own. "Come back, if you've nowhere else to go," I said gruffly, as she stood by the door. "And be careful of Lucian."

She waved and was gone, a thin shape sliding along the shadowed walls. She was probably used to becoming invisible. She wouldn't give me away.

I sighed and looked around the room. It seemed darker and gloomier than this morning, but then I grew more cheerful, thinking on how Esther had pronounced my name—carefully and with consideration, as if she was handling a piece of delicate porcelain. Clem had told me that I was already being called Hector when he had found me in the orphanage. "Show's your family had a bit of learning," he said gruffly, afraid I might burst into tears at this rare glimpse into my background. "Hector was a Greek Hero. His father was right proud of him for all he did for his city."

I had treasured that tidbit, storing it up for times when I felt weary and lonesome. Tucked away in my storeroom, I would whisper the word, imagining my mother naming me; her lips against my forehead or my father calling me in from play, calling out the name loudly and with love.

And now there was Esther.

I closed the door and headed down to the next floor.

#  Chapter Four

I didn't intend to go into the basement that day. I had no business there and had to sidle past the patrons coming in at the big front entrance. However, I felt restless and bored, so I hid my broom and dustpan in a cobwebbed corner and found my feet wandering down the stairs to the darker rooms below.

A few spectators thronged around the whale aquarium, but there wasn't a crowd, nobody to point and stare at me. I stayed against the walls in the gloom beside the smaller aquariums. From some came flashes of light, strange fishes of the deep sending out their signals; some were dark and seemingly empty. I entered a small room off to one side. It was normally locked, but I didn't expect to find anything new, and my expectations were justified—simply more dirty glass boxes full of long dead plants and bones in which nobody was very much interested.

I idly wandered around the room, thinking of the world outside. As I walked, I brushed my hand along the glass, beating out a rhythm to a vaudeville song that I had heard Clem singing. I glanced out the doorway and saw the group by the aquarium climb the stairs, noses lost in their museum pamphlets. I had the basement all to myself. Usually I preferred this, but today it only depressed my spirits further.

With a melancholy self-pitying sigh, I turned to leave the room, and that's when I saw the gap in the wall. It was a small hole almost hidden by a stand of shelves. One would barely have noticed it, but something made me lean in for a better look, and I saw that it had been partially blocked off with loose grey bricks. I pulled a couple away, enlarging the hole, and peered in. In amazement I found myself looking onto a length of tunnel, dimly lit by a hole in the roof down to the right—it seemed to be filtering in daylight, but from far up above. I felt excitement quiver deep within me.

I looked to the left. The tunnel stretched away into darkness. The floor was a morass of icy puddles, and water dripped from the roof in an unceasing rhythm. There was the faint smell of sewage, but the odor wasn't any worse than the streets outside on a summer's day. But if this tunnel wasn't a sewer pipe, then what was it? More importantly, how had Esther heard rumors of it, when I, who had lived here and knew every inch and crevice of the museum, had never come across it?

Suddenly I drew back, hearing a faint noise from behind me. Peering carefully out the door, I saw the shuffling figure of Lucian, the watchman and ticket collector, just emerging from the stairwell. I slipped out of the room and stole around the other side of the aquarium. Lucian was doing his daytime rounds. His back was to me, and I stared at him, feeling the familiar dislike well in my throat.

He was a tall man, with well-proportioned limbs, but there was no disguising his humped-back. Greasy locks of dark red hair clung to his scalp, which shone with an unearthly glow like a sickening harvest moon. Something in me reacted with revulsion when I considered his strangely uneven body—so strong, yet deformed. I wanted to tell myself that it was his leering and unhealthy visage that made my stomach sicken, or his unpleasant manners, but I knew it was his disability, and this, I feared, said something disagreeable about my own sense of self worth.

His voice only furthered one's revulsion. It had a soft papery tone, full of unctuous flattery when speaking to gentlemen, but marked with a barely discernible threat when speaking to those under his control. The animals despised and hated him, cringing away or screaming as he passed their cages. I tried to stay out of his way as much as possible.

He had reached the far side of the tank. I slid out from my hiding spot and made a dash for the stairs, but before I had gone more than a few steps, his voice stopped me cold. "You there, boy! What are you up to?"

Reluctantly I turned around and watched as he shuffled his way closer to me. "Just cleaning, sir," said I, ducking my head, a gesture that I had learned was useful when one wanted to avoid trouble.

"Cleaning, eh?" he chuckled nastily. "Then where's your broom?"

Suddenly I felt my chin grasped and my head tilted violently upwards. Lucian stuck his face down to mine, as if he might read the lie from the lines of my face. A sweet odor of cologne wafted from his clothes, but there was a stench to his breath that spoke of decay and uncleanliness. I tried to breath shallowly.

"Upstairs, sir. I was just seeing if I needed to clean down here too."

Lucian was silent, studying my face for another minute or so. I had never felt so exposed and could not stop my eyes from darting side to side, as if I really was guilty of theft or laziness. Finally he pushed my chin away and stepped back.

"Get back to work," he snarled, turning away with a contemptuous wave of his hand.

As I hurried up the stairs, I could hear him muttering imprecations against freaks and monsters. I supposed he was referring to me. At the top, I paused for a moment, leaning on a wood bench and gathering my breath. I didn't think Lucian had seen me come out of the small room, but my heart beat fast at the thought that he was drawing ever closer to the hidden hole in the wall. For some reason, I felt that it was imperative that he not discover it; indeed, that nobody, but me ever discover it. I felt strangely possessive of the secret, and decided that I would come back at night when all was quiet.

#  Chapter Five

I fell asleep waiting for Lucian and the night watchman to lock up. When I awoke, my first thought was that it was morning and that I had missed my chance. Frantically I scrambled over to the door and pushed it open. Moonlight fell through the large window at the end of the exhibition hall, telling me that the night was yet young.

As I stumped my way down the staircases, I thought of Esther. It had stopped snowing, but even though I had put on all my clothes in anticipation of a wet and freezing exploration, I could feel that the temperature had again dropped. I hoped she had found a warm place to sleep.

My eyes had adjusted to the dark by the time I reached the basement, and the aquarium gave off a faint glow, as if its darkness was somehow filled with an inner soft light. When I reached the room at the far end, however, it was time to light the lantern. The sudden bright flare made my breath catch. I looked around and listened carefully, but there were only the usual sounds of the museum as it slumbered through the night.

I set the lantern down carefully on the floor and began pulling away the loose bricks. They were cold and slippery with damp, but came away easily, making for a hole that was much larger than I had originally thought—large enough for a full-sized man to creep through. The thought stopped me cold. Someone had created this hole. Somebody else knew of it and perhaps lurked quietly on the other side, waiting for me to creep through, so that they could bring their cudgel right down on my head. And what had Esther said about a door leading deep underground? About people disappearing?

Images of monstrous men dragging me down the tunnel filled my thoughts and set my heart to pounding. I took a deep breath. Ridiculous! I was being melodramatic I told myself. There was no doubt that somebody had widened this hole at some point, but I could hear nothing on the other side; and besides, I had my lantern. I would swing it inside and take a look, before I ventured forward.

When the gap was large enough, I banged my hands together, trying to bring warmth back to my half frozen fingers, and then picked up the lantern. It was now or never. Gingerly I thrust the lantern through the hole and peered into the tunnel.

It was empty. For as far as I could see, the only movement was the drip drip drip of water as it broke from the ceiling and splashed into the half frozen pools on the ground. I climbed through, grazing my knees on the ice-slimed brick.

Flashing the lantern to the right and then the left to make sure that nobody or nothing lay in wait in the shadows, I turned right and walked slowly down the tunnel. The cold air bit through my clothes. I breathed it out in great clouds. The ground was uneven and unpaved; the walls a mixture of rock, dirt, and then occasional red and grey brickwork. At times, it seemed as if that work was part of the tunnel; at others as if I was passing the very roots of the tall buildings that I knew towered above me up in the street. Was I under St. Paul's or the Astor House, near the cross section of Broadway and Ann? One would think that it would prove easy to orient myself, after all I knew that the entrance was towards the back of the museum, but I felt adrift from everything up above. Down here in the prehistoric depths of our island, I had entered another world; yet one which offered me a peephole into the world outside in the streets of the city. I grinned wickedly, realizing that nobody knew I was down here, that the tunnels were all mine to discover and claim.

Periodically, I'd hear a scuttling in the dark and would swing my lantern wildly, only to see the retreating tail of some nocturnal creature. I was making my way to the gap in the ceiling where light filtered down, when I was suddenly hit with a hot gust of air from somewhere to my left. It blew against my cheek like a stray summer's breeze.

I walked over to the wall and bent down. Another smaller tunnel covered by a grate branched off and ran upwards. It was empty, but the warm air was coming from up there. Did the tunnel lead to another building or to the museum itself? I gave a quick tug at the grating, but it didn't remove easily.

I decided to postpone the puzzle and walked on down the tunnel past the hole in the roof—another grating high up in the pavement. Snowflakes fell in soft circles from the grey sky up above, and I could hear the clatter of a cart on the street. A little way further, and the street noise died down, replaced once more by the hush of the dark, cold tunnel.

Then I smelled the aroma of burned coffee, the warm scent of wood smoke. At first I assumed that it came from the world above that had momentarily intersected with this underground realm, but as I walked forward, the smell became stronger.

A large rock jutted up from the ground, and I stumbled on it, catching myself against the wall, which had begun to curve around to the right. I looked up, shaking my foot and biting my lip with the sharp pain. That's when I saw it—a glimmer of red through a small crack wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways.

I crept forward and peered through. Before me lay Aladdin's cave. Thick Turkey carpets covered the ground and walls, and pillows and rugs lay scattered around, near a smoldering fire. As I looked more closely I noticed a long mosaic encrusted tray that I could have sworn came from the Oriental Room of the museum.

The light was dim, though not as dark as the tunnel, but I could see no one. I waited a moment and then squeezed through. It was warm even though the wood fire was falling into ash-greyed embers. Someone had been here recently—a kettle and a plate of beans sat near the fire. Quickly, I peered into the dark corners and niches, to ensure that I was alone.

Behind a curtain, I found a treasure trove. Jeweled cups, inlaid boxes, swords, tiaras, a stuffed peacock with a gold beak, oil paintings daintily placed out of the damp atop make-shift easels, a small harp, a suit of armor in pieces, dolls dressed as Indian princesses, the imitations, counterfeits, and the fakes, all the humbug and tinsel that Barnum loved to collect, carried down from the Museum, along the dark tunnel, and jumbled here in one large pile.

When I had checked every last inch, I went back to the crack and listened. It was quiet. They must have left before I even entered the tunnel, but who were they and where had they gone? I ran my hand over the beautiful mosaic tray. The blue and gold tiles glinted in the ruby light. I was right. It had come from the Museum.

Feeling more confident, I examined the rest of the furnishings. I couldn't be sure with a lot of the rugs and carpets, but I was pretty certain that most of it belonged to Barnum. The most obvious piece was a silver music box with its harem of tiny automaton dancers. It came from a hall on the second floor. I hadn't noticed its absence, but there was no mistaking the piece. Who on earth had stolen from the Museum only to drag the loot down a dark tunnel to furnish an underground cave?

I sat for a while by the smoldering embers pondering the question. There was something magical and enticing about the opulent hideaway, and I was reluctant to leave. But then the thought hit me that the tenants would probably not take kindly to a stranger discovering their lair, and I jumped to my feet. I moved quickly to the crack, suddenly terrified at being trapped. Holding my breath, I stuck my head out quickly, but there was nobody there. I breathed out and then climbed through back into the tunnel.

As I passed under the grating in the roof, I looked up at the moonlit night, luridly brightened by the city gas lamps. Through the silence, I could hear the faint clip clop of a carriage carrying someone home from the evening's festivities. I listened until all was quiet and peaceful. It had started to snow and the feathery flakes fell softly on my face.

Then out of the magical hush came a cry, followed by a scream that lingered and then abruptly stopped. My ear told me that it came from at least a couple of streets away, but it felt so immediate, so close. I glanced quickly around me, shivering in the cold. There was nothing there. It must have been some poor soul robbed as he made his way drunkenly back home. There was nothing I could do.

Suddenly, I longed for the warmth and safety of the museum. What on earth was I doing so far from my room, deep within the bowels of the earth?

Walking quickly, I retraced my steps past the grated tunnel where the warm air blew to the hole that led back into the museum basement. For a moment I thought I had passed it in my haste to get home, but the gap was soon obvious. I climbed through, grazing my knee rather badly as I swung my right leg through. The lantern flashed against the dirty glass of the old aquariums. I was back in the world I knew.

Clenching my teeth against the sharp pain, I forced myself to replace the bricks carefully just as they had been when I first found the hole. Then I attended to my knee. It was a minor cut, but my trousers were torn and dirty. I would have to hang them up and beat out the dirt. Sewing would have to wait for the morning, as I did not know where I had placed my needle and thread. I only hoped I could get them fixed before Clem saw me. He was zealous when it came to cleanliness and appearance.

I still remembered the red marks left by his cane when I had purposefully sullied my exhibition cap and jacket in order to avoid performing. I also remembered the sweet taste of corn muffin he had brought as a gift the following day and the scent of the balm that I was to use on my legs to ease the aches. I didn't think he would use the cane--I was fourteen now—but I had no desire to read the disappointment in his eyes. I also felt reluctant to tell him of my night adventures. Once I was back in the museum, walking up the stairs, I forgot my fear and only remembered the cave of treasures. For now, the tunnel was my secret.

# Chapter Six

I had originally thought that I would make my way back to the tunnel the following night to explore further, but events arose that forced me to postpone my explorations. The morning following my midnight excursion, Clem knocked on my door, bringing breakfast and the news that Mr. Barnum would be coming in to take a look at me. I was to come to his office at eleven o'clock after I had finished my morning chores.

The evil day had arrived. Esther and the discovery of the tunnel had momentarily put it out of my head, but my fate was now upon me, and I shrunk from the encounter, as if I was facing an inquisitorial trial. I had hardened myself to the taunts and stares that occasionally came my way. I knew I was different and had taught myself through my reading and Clem's advice to pay no heed to the insults of others, but the career upon which Mr. Barnum wished me to embark was one that positively solicited the rude curiosity and comments of the general public. I dreaded it.

Thinking on the precepts I had gleaned from my reading about work and self control, I forced myself to dust each and every glass case on the third floor carefully and thoroughly, but while my body obeyed the enforced discipline, my mind was a whirl of fearful and anxious thoughts. Too soon it was a few minutes before eleven. I washed my hands and face, straightened my clothes, and combed and wet down my hair. At eleven, on the strike of the hour, I presented myself at Mr. Barnum's office.

"Come in!" called a hearty voice that I recognized as that of the great man.

I opened the door and forced myself to walk forward and to hold myself straight.

The room was full of men. Mr. Barnum sat behind his big oak desk, smoking a cigar. To his left stood two gentlemen; one was Mr. Scrimms, an assistant manager. The other I only knew by sight. I believed he traveled the country for Mr. Barnum in search of new exhibitions. He spat wetly into the spittoon and fixed me with an amused stare. Two other men I didn't recognize sat in chairs on the other side of the room. Clem stood by them. He gave me a smile and a quick wink.

"Well, so this is the dwarf boy?" boomed Mr. Barnum at Clem.

"Yes, sir. His name is Hector."

There was general laughter. I blushed. I knew I was no ancient Greek hero, but the joke hurt, as always. As an antidote to the sting I tried to conjure up the way Esther had pronounced my name. The thought helped me regain my poise, and I stood straighter.

Covering a smile, Mr. Barnum addressed me. "Well, Hector. I hear you've been keeping my museum spick and span. A hard working boy, says Old Clem here."

I ducked my head a couple of times.

"Nothing wrong with physical labor. Builds character. But how do you feel about a little change of pace? I think its time you made your career in the field of entertainment."

I looked up. Mr. Barnum was smiling at me like he was Father Christmas and had just handed me a plate of goodies.

I ducked my head again, not knowing what to say.

"He does speak doesn't he?" asked Mr. Barnum, turning to Clem. "Nothing wrong with his brain?"

"No, sir," answered Clem, coming forward. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I instantly felt courage returning. "Indeed, he reads and writes quite well for a boy his age."

"A prodigy, eh?" The men laughed, following Mr. Barnum's lead.

"Well, Mr. Hector. How old are you?"

I swallowed and forced the words out of my mouth. "Fourteen, Mr. Barnum, sir."

Mr. Barnum threw his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair, his cigar clenched in his mouth as he looked at me thoughtfully. "We'll add a few years. Make a man of you!" He chuckled. "Teach you how to smoke!"

This of course is the standard way of presenting small folk as midgets: adding on years to make us adults, so that our smallness seems even more incredible. The public adores miniature men and women. The other way is much worse, and one that was sure to be brought up given my misshapen dwarf limbs, as it was a few seconds later.

"Hardly seems worth it," drawled the man over by the spittoon. "Not exactly comely is he? Probably better packaged as a freak than prodigy."

Clem's hand tightened on my shoulder. Horrified, I felt tears flooding my eyes. Willing them away, I stared at the large painting above Mr. Barnum's desk: a locomotive was steaming its way across the prairie into the face of an enormous setting sun. I imagined myself being carried far away, out of the grime-encrusted city, past the farmland and dark forests to the wilderness beyond. The trick worked. I lowered my eyes, tears gone, and looked straight ahead.

Mr. Barnum made no comment, but turned to the two men to his right. One of them coughed and leaned forward. "Could go either way I'd say. Have to darken his face a bit, if you want to make him a missing link or some-such freak. But maybe he has talents. A comic foil perhaps for one of those midgets?"

"Boy got any talent, Clem?" asked Mr. Barnum. "Can he sing or dance?"

"He could probably learn," said Clem hesitatingly. I knew he was thinking, as I was, that I didn't have a comic bone in my body. "But he's good at memorization. Can recite screeds of poetry, Shakespeare, Longfellow—"

"Give us the Blacksmith one," interrupted the man by the spittoon. "I never could get that one. That old school master used to beat me black and blue!"

The room erupted in guffaws. Clem gave me a look, warning me not to let nervousness slide into anger. Humiliation fought with scorn as I began. I could have given them Virgil, any of the classics, but they wanted the old standard, the one every schoolboy knew by heart. I drew in a breath and stuck out my chest.

"Under a spreading chestnut tree

The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands . . . ."

My thoughts floated free as my tongue tripped lightly over the easy rhythms and rhymes of the poem. When I was done, I saw that Clem seemed worried, but the men were clapping.

I looked at Mr. Barnum.

"Not too fond of that old poem are you?" he drawled, giving me a penetrating stare.

My tongue stuck. I realized that I had allowed the mocking tone inside my head to slip out. A fatal mistake, but one that was only too common with me! Only Clem and Mr. Barnum had noticed, but that was enough. I knew that a sulky reputation was enough to get one banned from the museum. Mr. Barnum liked cheerful fellows. Lucian was the strange exception to this rule.

Waving back the other men, Barnum rose from behind his desk, puffs of cigar smoke following him, as if he were the locomotive in the painting. He stood before me, a rotund, but dapper man, his round face as pink and white as a young boy's. Looking up, I found myself confronting a pair of shrewd hazel eyes a few inches from my face. There was no patronizing amusement, no scorn or contempt, but there was no pity either. To the showman I was a business proposition, nothing more.

"Let's try him out in the new play. No lines, but we need a few dwarfs in the chorus," he said, turning away. "See how he does, Lindemann, and if he shows a flair for the dramatic, then all the better."

Over to my right, a man nodded and then stared at me for a moment. He was quite handsome and rather imposing with a elegant cut to his clothes, but I was able to hold his gaze before he dropped it and turned to say a word to Barnum.

The meeting was over. Clem took my arm and led me to the door. The men turned their backs on me, huddling over Mr. Barnum's desk as they moved on to new business.

As we stood for a moment by the closed door, I expelled a deep breath.

Clem smiled. "Not so bad, eh, lad? Better than I had hoped."

I nodded, still taking it all in. I was to be put on stage, but hopefully I wouldn't be forced to growl and go about on all fours like a wild beast to amuse the audience. Perhaps in the chorus I could do the job demanded, but could stay in the background like one of the sets or theatrical props.

I sighed. There was nothing more to be done about it.

After that day, my life changed dramatically. Instead of a quiet solitary existence spent roaming the museum with only my books and the caged animals for company, my days were filled with crowds of people, frenetic activity, color, shouts, and wild laughter. This was another side of the museum, and I was in the very midst of it.

I had been told to present myself in the morning at the Lecture Room where Mr. Lindemann, the director of the new play, would take me under his wing. That morning when I pushed opened the door, ready to do my best, I about turned tail and ran. The room was a babble of voices and seemed to be host to a chaotic battle scene.

On the stage, a rather plump lady in a scandalously short pink skirt was screaming insults at Mr. Lindemann at the other end of the room. She was backed by a score of other actors, who periodically shook their fists and made a rush for the end of the stage as if preparing for the final charge. Mr. Lindemann for his part was supported by his own troops, a group of boys and workmen who showed their contempt for their adversaries through loud contemptuous guffaws and boos.

"Go on, you great galoot!" shouted a tall man in painter's overalls. "There's plenty of young pretty things to take your place!"

"And good riddance," cried one of his compatriots, a young boy with a face full of freckles.

His words were followed by a swell of jeers and catcalls from the stage, but they were dominated by the dramatic screams that issued from the lady in pink.

"How dare you allow me to be so insulted, Mr. Lindemann! I've played Philadelphia, Albany, and have always been allowed to make my own decisions over lines."

Mr. Lindemann gave a tight smile and held up his hand with a elegant wave. Immediately the uproar diminished to whispers and a faint scuffling.

"That's all very well, Madame, but this is neither Philadelphia nor Albany, and, here in New York, I make the decisions."

There was a shocked intake of breath from the stage. The lady in pink crumpled, on the verge of tears, but then Mr. Lindemann spoke again in a more kindly, almost gallant tone. "Come, my dear lady," he purred, walking up to the stage and holding out his arm. "There is nothing to argue about, nothing that cannot be decided in a civilized fashion. Let us retire for a few minutes and consider the matter."

Though she hesitated for a moment and took a long dramatic look around at the room, staring down her opponents, the pink lady allowed herself to be escorted down the stairs and into the back room.

With their departure, the actors and stage hands relaxed and congregated lazily around the stage. Some moved towards the door where I stood. They barely noticed me, as they thronged through the doorway, but, when they had passed, a man caught my eye and waved me into the room in an impatient fashion.

"You there! Yes you!" he shouted across the room. "Don't just stand there!"

Swallowing down my nervousness, I moved inside and walked towards the fellow. It was only when I came up to the seats where he lounged that I realized that he was a dwarf, much older than me, with a wrinkled forehead and beady eyes.

"Lindemann told me to expect you," he said in a drawling voice. "I'm to show you the ropes."

I nodded, but said nothing more. I had taken an instant dislike to the fellow and knew instinctively that he resented my joining the show. He wore his short hair upswept in a pomade -larded crest atop his head. I was reminded of a budgie and had a hard time keeping that image out of my mind. I guessed that even a smile at his expense would prove fatal. I stiffened my lip.

"Talkative aren't you?" he sneered. "Well, it won't matter much, since we midgets don't have any lines in this production." He laughed bitterly and jerked his head towards the back room. "We're simply here to provide a foil to the fat cow in pink."

The unpleasant sarcasm filled the space between us like a bad smell, but my own lip curled slightly at his use of the term "midget." Neither of us deserved the name, being misshapen fellows, lacking any proportion. We were dwarfs plain and simple, and there was no hiding the fact. His use of the term to describe himself revealed his weakness to be the usual theatrical vanity.

Fortunately, he took my sneer to be at the expense of the lady in pink rather than himself. Jumping up, he threw his arm around my shoulders and led me to the stage.

Here he proceeded to demonstrate the art of the somersault and comic fall with much pompous explanation. Then he prodded me in the back and forced me to perform the tumbles myself. I gritted my teeth and rolled.

When Mr. Lindemann came back with the smiling lady in pink, a Madame Kovakowski, he took a quick distracted look at me and then turned to my mentor. "He'll do, Jasper?"

"Yes, sir. There's a lot to learn, but I think I can teach him."

"Well, I leave it to you, then."

With that I was consigned to the care of a man who obviously regarded me as a potential rival. I'd seen his eyes narrow when I'd finally conquered the somersault. He was not happy that there were now two dwarfs in the production, but little did Jasper know that I had no interest in upstaging him, indeed in being noticed at all! I knew I would have to step carefully: Jasper's frowns warned me that he would make a dangerous enemy.

Since the argument that had threatened to split the troupe had been resolved—and from the faint smell of gin that emanated from our lead actress I guessed that refreshments had played no small part in the reconciliation—we found ourselves immediately immersed in a full-scale rehearsal for Escape from the Harem. This production was described as "a Thrilling Tale of the White Slave Trade, involving Amazing Feats of Bravery and Startling Effects," but it seemed to me to rely more on slapstick humor and well-worn jokes. This, I knew, was what the Public demanded.

We spent a good hour blocking out a series of clownish tricks and tumbles that were to serve as background to the lady's entrance and exit. As we grimaced and played the fools like performing monkeys, I felt wave after wave of self-hatred, but I was too frightened of forgetting a move to express my feelings, and so I threw myself into the act. I had realized that ironically the only way not to be noticed was to play the role as expected of me. Dwarfs were understood to be clownish, amusing creatures, and that, I decided, is what I would be. Fortunately, I found that my plan to avoid attention worked admirably. As long as I played my character to the hilt, I was never picked upon by the director, nor asked to repeat a scene. Indeed, by the end of the day, I found that my nervousness had dissipated, and my thoughts were free to roam.

I thought about Esther and what she would think to see my tomfoolery. Perhaps she would simply laugh. Her own life didn't seem to leave much room for sympathizing with the feelings of others, and she looked like the type who took their pleasure where they found it. It was an attitude, I scolded myself, that I would do well to adopt, given the hardships that life afforded.

By the end of the afternoon, I was weary and sick from keeping up my disguise as the ridiculous happy go lucky dwarf. When we were finally dismissed, I barely acknowledged Jasper's instructions for the morrow, and made my way as quickly as possible to the blessed quiet and darkness of my room. Never had the dim dusty closet seemed so peaceful and private. I fell asleep as soon as my head fell upon the pallet, but I had a restless night of it.

Dream followed dream, shadowy image and scenes I could not follow. Finally I dreamt that I was alone in a dark place, cold and wet. I called out into the stillness, but there was no response. I tried again. Soon my cries turned to screams as I realized that no one was coming for me, that I was absolutely alone. The darkness became blackness, thick and heavy. It pressed upon me on all sides until I was choking.

Then I felt myself picked up and cradled in a pair of strong arms. Rough wool chafed my cheek. A kettle was whistling, and there was the sound of someone weeping. I strained upwards to catch a glimpse of the face that belonged to the arms, but the more I exerted myself, the more I fell back into the darkness. With a last struggle, I awoke. The dream stayed with me, etched into my brain, but the face alluded me.

# Chapter Seven

The following days passed in a blur of rehearsals. I was becoming quite familiar with the rhythm of theatrical life, and, while I still felt very much alone, I was making a slow acquaintance with a few of the actors. It wasn't the life I would have chosen, but it wasn't the nightmare I had imagined. Indeed, my life was just settling in to this new pattern, when one night, as I came along the hall, I noticed that my door was ajar. I felt a twinge of annoyance, for the room was my last refuge from prying and curious eyes. Of course people needed occasionally to get into the storeroom, but it bothered me just the same.

I pushed the door open with an irritated shove, not expecting to see anyone, but there, asleep on my pallet, was Esther. I felt joy unexpectedly tug at my heart.

Lying next to her however was the mangiest-looking creature I had ever seen. Its coat had perhaps once been a mottled collection of black and white patches, but now was a grimy grey. Worst of all was the left eye, for whether through a fight or accident, the mutt had lost it. All that remained was a scarred socket. The creature gave me a threatening look out of its remaining eye, but again made no sound.

Used to animals, I let the dog come to me and sniff my hand. After a few minutes, while still suspicious, it allowed me to enter the room. I stood near the door and leaned towards the bed.

"Esther!" I hissed. "Esther, wake up!"

The dog began to pace in front of the pallet, its hackles rising, but then Esther slowly opened her eyes and stretched. The dog jumped up beside her and started licking her face.

"Hector!' she said in a surprised tone and then sat up quickly. "I weren't really sleeping," she added, almost apologetically.

"What are you doing here?" I spluttered. It came out rudely, but I was taken aback by her reappearance and the presence of the dog.

Esther's pale face flushed bright red, and she got up from the bedding awkwardly. "Here Patches!" she said in a commanding voice. The dog stepped off the blanket, but gave me a reproachful stare.

"Tim'll be waiting. We just stopped by to see how you were." She straightened her clothes and moved to the door, not meeting my eye. I noticed she wore a pair of old men's shoes. They were falling apart, but I couldn't help but wonder whether she had stolen them.

"Esther," I said, confused. "There's no trouble is there? You're not sick?"

The insolent smile was back in place. "Right as rain. I was just worried about you. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you weren't in any trouble."

"No . . . Doctor Carroll didn't tell anyone. I didn't think he would."

"Oh. Doctor Carroll," she said with a hint of contempt.

I gave her a look, but she ignored me and walked out the door, the dog at her heel.

I followed, hurrying to catch up with her as she strode down the hall. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

"Nope. We're just fine, ain't we Patches?"

I was stymied, and so we walked through the halls and down the stairs in uncomfortable silence. Around the Sphinx, past the giant concave mirror and down to the ticket booth.

"See you around sometime," Esther said near the big front doors. She turned to push them open, but they were locked. She pushed again. Anger and embarrassment chased across her face. The situation was becoming agonizingly awkward.

"I'll have to let you out at the side entrance," I said, not meeting her eyes.

We took a dark passageway to the entrance the tradesmen used. A wave of frigid air blew in as I pushed open the door. Patches ran out, urinated against an ash can, and then quickly ran back inside, just as Esther was making her own exit.

"Come on Patches," she ordered irritably. The dog simply shivered and sat down on its haunches.

"Patches, here!" Her voice rose. It was clear that she wanted to leave as soon as possible. I felt hampered by the situation, confused as to why she had come to see me in the first place.

"It's even colder out tonight," I ventured as a way to fill the pause, while she attempted to drag the dog to the door.

"Thirty below and a blizzard expected," she snapped, sliding on the snow that had blown in from the open door. She recovered awkwardly and scowled.

"Why, Esther, you can't go back out in that. You'll freeze to death!"

"It ain't so bad. Besides, I've got to go see Big Head Tim."

"Now see here, Esther," I said, shocked into some command of the situation. "You'll have to spend the night. It's much too dangerous to be outside."

She looked up as if to restate her intention to leave, but I noted the expression of relief that quickly passed over her face. Stupidly, it was only then that I understood that she did not truly want to go. Ignoring her mutterings about appointments and saying nothing that would let her know that I had guessed that she was again homeless, I led her back up the stairs.

"But what about Patches?" she asked as we rounded the corner by the famous model of Niagara Falls.

I had forgotten about the dog, but I needn't have felt bad, for I turned and saw that it had followed us, as if it had no doubts about the hospitality of the museum.

"Well, I don't know," I hesitated.

"If Patches goes, I go!" Esther said with a toss of her tangled hair. "It's you who's making me stay anyways."

I marveled at her nerve, but sighing, simply nodded and continued on down the aisle between the mechanical exhibits. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the smile she threw at the dog.

As we neared the door to my room, I had an unpleasant thought. "He is trained to—"

"Oh, yes," said Esther with a proud smile. "Patches here is a gentleman dog. Once out at night and then he's fine 'til the morning."

"Good," I mumbled unconvinced, thinking of the nasty smell that often emanated from the monkey cages.

I led the way in, lit the lamp, and offered around the tin of hard biscuits. Esther and the dog ate ravenously, finishing off even the crumbs. I felt exhausted from the day's tumbling, and my right leg ached, but Esther looked wide awake, ready to talk.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," she commented politely, setting down the biscuit tin.

"I'm feeling fine," I answered, eying my bed. "Are you still hungry? Clem will be here with supper soon. You can have some of that, but you'll have to keep that dog quiet."

"Oh, Patches'll be a good dog," she crooned. Patches returned her loving look and licked her face.

"Has he always been yours?" I asked.

"No, I found him the other night." Esther settled herself against the wall. "It's a horrible story. Poor Patches! You sure you want to hear it?

I nodded, keeping an ear to the door for Clem's footsteps.

"Well, everybody knows about the warehouse down behind Pritzi's supper club. That's where they torture them poor animals. I try to stay away from there 'cause sometimes you can hear 'em screaming." Esther shuddered.

My throat tightened, and I looked down at my feet. I knew I did not want to hear this story.

"The other night, I was down there outside the club, when I heard all this commotion. It was Patches. He was pawing at the window of the warehouse. It near broke my heart. No barking, just this scrabbling noise, you know?

I swallowed and nodded uneasily.

"So I ran over and climbed up on the crates. I didn't think that window would open. They like to keep everything all secret and locked up, but it opened right up. So out jumped ole Patches, and he was a sight! Bleeding and in lots of pain, but making no noise."

"Why wasn't he barking?" I asked, fascinated and yet sickened by this story of the world outside.

Esther shot me a look of disbelief. "'Cause they cut his cords,"

"Pardon me, they did what?"

"His voice cords! You know, so they can't scream when they do that visisection, or whatever it's called."

"Visisection? I don't what that is?"

Esther shook her head. "It's horrible. They cut them open and cut their organs and they're still alive. You understand? They're awake! That's why they make sure that they take their voice away first."

"No!" I physically recoiled from her. "Come on. Why would they do that?" I had never heard of such a thing, and half believed that this was another one of her uneducated stories, but then I remembered her knowledge of the tunnel that I had initially dismissed.

"It's true!' she said defiantly. "It's what those doctors do, the ones you love so much!"

"Dr. Carroll would never do anything so barbarous."

"Oh no?" she leaned forward with an angry look in her eye. "I bet he does! He's just like all the rest of them butcher doctors!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

While Patches attempted to clamber into her lap, I searched for a new topic of conversation. She was obviously unfairly prejudiced, but those tears intimidated me.

"What happened to his eye then?" I stuttered and then groaned inwardly. It seemed well nigh impossible to avoid talking about the trials of the pitiful creature sitting before us.

"I told you they torture 'em!"

Again I felt a wave of sickness and tried to dismiss the unpleasant image of the dog being strapped down as a knife descended towards it open eye.

"That's awful!" I said consolingly.

"Damn the bastards!"

"Shh!" I warned. Esther's voice had been steadily rising with her anger, and I thought I could hear Clem's off key whistling from down the hall. "Take Patches and hide behind the shelves. That's Clem with supper."

In an instant, Esther had disappeared. I turned and opened the door. Clem appeared with a covered plate of food.

"Here we go, Hector," he said handing me the plate. "Just some cold corned beef and a loaf of bread tonight, but there's plenty of it. I figured you'd be hungry after your playacting today. How did it go?"

"Just fine," I said stoutly.

"That's the way to take it, Hector." Clem clapped me on the shoulder and then gave me a gruff goodbye. He knew as well as I that there was no point in talking about it.

I watched him until he disappeared into the far shadows at the end of the hall and then closed the door.

I turned towards the shelves. "You can come out now."

Esther and Patches emerged from behind one of the cases, their eyes instantly transfixed on the plate of food.

While I shared out the meal between the three of us, Esther asked me what Clem had meant about playacting, and I briefly told her about the new direction my life had taken.

"Aren't you the lucky one!" she said enviously, her eyes shining. "That's my idea of heaven! All them actors and costumes. Must be grand!"

"Hmmm," I grimaced. "But I have more interesting news to tell you. There is a hole in the basement, just like you said. I found it the other day. It leads into a tunnel of some sort and I found--"

"It's really there then?" Esther's interrupted, her eyes large, her mouth full of half-chewed bread

"Yes, but how did you know?" I replied, my nose wrinkling involuntarily as she gave me another glimpse of the inside of her mouth..

She thoughtfully chewed the last of her bread and swallowed. "People been disappearing off the streets—old ones mainly. Some said they was just dying from the cold, but where's all the bodies then? No, there's something not right going on."

"Well I don't know about all that. I followed the tunnel a little way, and I didn't see any bodies. But I did find a treasure trove. Someone's been collecting things from the museum and decorating a cave down there. Making coffee too!"

"You went in there?" she gasped.

I nodded. "I wanted to find out what it was. And I'm planning to go back there tonight!" I really had had no such intention, but the amazement and hint of admiration in Esther's eyes had inspired me. "Do you want to come?"

"Treasure, huh?" Esther's hand played nervously with the frayed end of the blanket.

I couldn't resist. "Lot's of it. You're not scared are you?"

"Course not!" she said defiantly. "Just thought you was tired and all."

I was tired and had half hoped that she would turn down my offer, but I was stuck now. "Well, let me sleep a little, and then we can go tonight when everything's quieted down."

Esther nodded and, without further ado, curled up in a corner with her head resting gently on Patches grease-matted stomach.

# Chapter Eight

"I told you it was ridiculous to bring that dog!" I hissed, as Patches pushed me aside and bounded through the hole. I flashed the lantern inside and watched as the animal ran down the tunnel, his tail waving.

"And what was I going to do? Leave him in that room of yours for anyone to find?" snapped Esther as she climbed in after her dog. "Patches! Come back!"

She had a point. Still I was annoyed. I didn't want to spend the entire night searching for a lost pet.

"Anyways, he'll protect us if anybody tries to catch us."

"What? Like the demons that are going to drag us down into the bowels of the earth?"

Esther refused to respond to my sarcasm and simply chuckled. "You coming in or not?"

I clambered across the bricks into the dank tunnel, grumbling under my breath. My limbs still ached, and I had only slept for a couple of hours. I felt like an old man, and I was only sixteen! I took a deep breath, trying to regain the spirit of adventure.

Patches waited for us up ahead.

"Sure is spooky!" whispered Esther with a shaky grin. "What do you think this is?"

"Maybe they built it when they put in the sewers, but I swear there was never an entrance from the museum before."

We picked our way through the puddles to where Patches stood, silhouetted against the faint light coming from above. I swung the lantern as we made our way, so that Esther could see the brickwork, the roots of the buildings up above us. The wet roof gleamed as if it held a treasure chest of pearls and small diamonds.

When we reached the dog, he gamboled and bounced around us.

"Patches ain't scared, so it must be safe," said Esther.

"Well keep him close. I want to look at something up here." I pointed ahead to the place where I had felt the warm air on my first trip.

As we came up to the vent, Esther and Patches suddenly jerked back. Esther's hair lifted in the gusts of balmy air wafting from the hole.

"What is that? Where'd it come from?"

"It's from this tunnel," I answered, kneeling down by the grate, taking out the file that I had placed in my pocket before leaving the storeroom. "And I want to see where it leads to."

Esther drew in closer, and I began to saw away at the metal. After a few minutes, my hands were scraped and shaking. Esther pushed me out of the way. "Here, let me have a turn at it." Deftly, she took up the file and quickly proceeded to make a slight notch on one of the bars, twisting the metal as she worked. Within no time, she had broken through the bars and made a space for us to crawl through.

"Good at that aren't you?" I said dryly. I could only imagine what use she put these skills to out on the streets.

She turned and flashed me a grin. "Coming?"

Lifting my legs high to avoid injury, I climbed through the hole made by the twisted iron. The small circular tunnel that stretched in front of us was built of grey bricks and ran at a slight incline. It seemed dry and the smell of sewage was absent.

"Should we keep going?" I ventured, knowing what Esther's answer would be.

She grinned and nodded. I grimaced, straightened my trousers, and followed her up the passage. There were some sharp turns, but mostly it ran straight, gradually taking us upwards. As we cautiously made our way along, the dry air warmed our hands and took the damp chill out of our bones. We had not gone very far, when Patches suddenly bounded ahead.

"Come back!" cried Esther and ran round the corner. As I followed her, I heard her cry out, and then suddenly there was an outburst of shouts, screams, and crashes.

When I turned the corner, I almost fell on top of the two of them. They were facing a trio of ragged old men, dressed in what looked like coats of newspaper and old blankets. A collection of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stood behind the three, forming a makeshift shelter in the curve of the tunnel. A few of the boxes had obviously been knocked over and now lay scattered in the space between Esther and the old men.

Patches paced in front of Esther, guarding her, but his tail wagged from side to side.

"Good dog, that one," wheezed one of the trio.

"Yep, he knows his kin," another agreed, nodding. "Even if he did come a crashing' down on my new house."

"What do you mean?" Esther demanded. "Who are you?"

"Street people," said the first. "Those that ain't got no home. Reckon you might be one too, but him--" He pointed towards me. "He ain't street people!"

"Tell by his clothes," said the second. All three bobbed their heads up and down. The third remained silent, but held out his hand to Patches, who took a tentative step forward, sniffed, and then allowed himself to be scratched behind the ears.

"So you live here?" I ventured, looking around. The passage widened here quite a bit, and it felt less claustrophobic. The ground was dry; the air warm. It was a perfect place to set up camp.

"Good place to sleep," said the first. "Reckon we might stay here for a few days what with the blizzard and all." The three nodded again in unison.

"So where does the heat come from?" I asked, looking at the first old man, since he seemed the most talkative.

"Big boiler up in the church," he answered. "Must be faulty pipes 'cause a lot of that heat flows on down here."

"St Paul's?" said Esther.

"Yep. Always was a mite chilly in that church." He let out a strange wheezing laugh. "Anyways, where's my manners! We ain't been properly introduced." He leered at Esther. "My name's Hiram, Hiram Ivy. This here is Samuel Luke. And this is old Calvin. He don't speak much, and we don't know his family name. Reckon he don't either."

"Er, nice to meet you," I said. I would be hard pressed to tell them apart. Hiram wore a bowler with a grubby, but bright red band, Samuel Luke was on the portly side, and Calvin had long straggly hair, but all three were dressed in a similar hodgepodge of rags, and they all had filthy wrinkled faces, stained brown by weather and grime.

I nodded politely. "My name is Hector, and this is Esther."

"And the dog?" asked Samuel Luke.

Esther threw me a reproachful look as if I had been somehow remiss. "Patches," she said. She had been holding back from the conversation, arms crossed, a suspicious look on her face, but I could see that she was thawing out, especially when Samuel Luke and Calvin began to make a fuss of Patches.

"Looks like he's been through a hell of a lot," said Samuel Luke, holding Patches face up towards the lantern that stood on one of the taller crates.

"Watch your language!" wheezed Hiram. "There's a lady present!" He leered again at Esther, as if he was some high-class gentleman come courting the belle of the ball.

"Aw, it's okay," said Esther. "I heard worse than that!" She gave them a quick glimpse of that toothy grin, and they all set about laughing. "Patches escaped from that warehouse down by Pritzi's"

"I know the place," said Hiram sagely. "You oughtn't be hanging around there. It's dangerous for grown men, let alone young ladies."

"You've heard of it then?' I asked.

Hiram raised his eyebrows. "Everyone knows about the butcher's lab, sonny. Never heard nothing but bad things about that place."

Esther shot me a triumphant look.

"Such as?" I asked, not quite convinced.

Hiram laid his finger against his nose and gave me a measured look. "Nothing you need know about. Give you nightmares. Just keep away."

Samuel Luke bobbed agreement, and Calvin began a strange crooning noise. Suddenly he burst out in a babble of what I seemed to recognize as biblical verse: "His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns. . . . "

As his voice rose, his face contorted in angry lines; spit flew through the air. "And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood!" This last was howled at the top of his lungs.

Esther and I stepped back instinctively. I was beginning to think that none of them were quite right in their senses, and the situation suddenly appeared to me as rather sinister. Who were these men and what were we doing holding a conversation with them in the middle of the night in an underground tunnel? It was time to leave.

As if guessing my thoughts, Hiram shrugged and began making up his bed amongst the crates. Esther, however, had one last question: "What about the big tunnel? Where does it go?"

Hiram stopped what he was doing for a moment. "Don't rightly know. We just found this one a couple weeks back. Perhaps it leads all over the city. I wouldn't wander too far though. You heard the rumors?"

"'Bout people disappearing?" asked Esther sharply.

Hiram nodded. "Watch yourself." He returned to his bed making, as if the conversation was over.

"Well, goodbye then," I said awkwardly.

"And stay away from that warehouse!" warned Hiram, without turning around. "Best stay away!"

"Yes, thank you, we'll be sure to take your advice!" I called, hurriedly pulling Esther by the arm.

When we rounded the corner, I turned to her and shook my head. "Absolutely mad! We might have been murdered!"

Esther rolled her eyes. "Them? They're just old street people."

Suddenly I felt stupid, revealing my ignorance of the wider world. Esther had an unpleasant way of shocking me out of my complacent sense of superiority. I paused to wonder how she actually did see me.

"Now show me the treasure," demanded Esther impatiently.

"It's down here," I said, picking my way around a large icy puddle. "But you've got to keep your voice down and hold onto that dog. I don't want my throat cut over Barnum's loot."

"Don't worry about us," answered Esther. "We're used to sneaking around."

I nodded, but her words didn't help my growing anxiety. What if someone was down there waiting for us? Surely they had heard all the noise from our meeting with Hiram's gang. Perhaps people were disappearing because they had, like us, stumbled onto this hidden cache of stolen goods and had been done away with. I swallowed and tried to hold the lantern steady, so that Esther wouldn't guess my fear.

But our luck held. There was nobody there. And it didn't look as if anyone had been there for a while. There was no glow from dying embers, no hint of smoke or coffee in the air. Indeed, it was so dark that it took me awhile to even find the opening.

Finally, with fingers numb from running them over wet cold rock and with Esther harrumphing with impatience behind me, I saw the opening and peered in.

"Let me see!" said Esther, pushing at my back.

I moved forward into the cave and held my lantern high. A small jeweled cabinet, new since I had been here last, shimmered in the light, a candelabra gleamed. Esther gasped as I continued to play the light around the corners of the room.

"You weren't joking, Hector. How'd they get all this stuff down here without anyone noticing?"

"They must be doing it at night," I said, shivering. I hadn't imagined that aspect, that someone was creeping through the Museum, along the halls, even brushing against my door, as I lay sleeping. I didn't lock my door, and I never even thought to question the safety of the Museum. I felt cold, exposed, and slightly sick.

Esther, however, was shivering with excitement. "I wonder who they are? How much you think this stuff is worth?"

I looked at her suspiciously, knowing the way her greedy mind worked. "I don't know. Look at this."

I pulled back the curtain that covered the hidden cache. Esther's eyes gleamed, and she immediately pushed past me to pick up a small box. It was like watching someone under an enchantment, and I soon got bored watching her caress object after object, all the while muttering to herself. I soon lost her in the heap of goods as she moved behind a large framed landscape.

After awhile, I began to feel the cold and then to imagine the sound of foot steps outside, as if someone was making their way down the tunnel. I told myself that it was just my nerves playing tricks on me, but my unease grew and I strained to hear over the sound of Esther's rummaging. When she knocked over a painting with a huge thud and clatter that seemed to shake the walls of the cave, I had had enough.

"Esther," I hissed. "We have to go!"

"Keep your shirt on! I just want to see this . . ." Her words were lost in a series of loud crashes. I cursed under my breath.

"Esther! Are you hurt? Esther! Are you there?"

Suddenly a face peered out at me from the corner to my left. "I'm fine," she said, brushing off muck from her knees. "I think I might have broken one of those statues though."

"You did what?" I gasped, my voice mounting. "Come on. We need to leave. Now."

I dragged her by one wrist and pulled her to the opening.

"Calm down, Hector," she said loudly.

"Shhh!" I frantically whispered. "Keep your voice down. Where's Patches?"

"Here's right here, Hector," she said pulling Patches forward. "Don't get so het up. We'd have heard if someone was coming."

"Well, I thought I did," I said peevishly, peering out at the dark passage.

All was quiet and still. Esther pushed past me and stood looking up and down the tunnel.

"There's no one here," she scoffed, pulling at Patches' collar and then letting him go. He bounded back down the tunnel into the darkness. We could hear him splashing through the puddles, the noise strangely distorted as it echoed along the stone walls. I sighed and unclenched my fists.

"That was something!" Esther said, as we made our way back to the hole that led into the Museum. "I reckon there's enough there to make us rich twice over!"

"Should we tell someone?" I asked. "The police, Barnum?"

Esther looked at me if I was mad. "Don't go telling anyone! It's our secret. You got to keep quiet about this, Hector."

I didn't like the sly and greedy tone that seemed to ride like grease on her words, but I didn't say anything. Part of me understood what she meant about having this be our secret. I too was reluctant to let Barnum in on what was happening under his museum.

When we reached the hole that led back into the storage room, Esther stopped, peering ahead into the gloom. "What's down that-a-way?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I haven't gone that way yet." I climbed over the jagged brick wall and reached behind me for the lantern, expecting to see Esther, but she was still standing in the tunnel, looking into the inky darkness.

"Is he lost?" I asked impatiently, thinking that she was waiting for Patches. "Esther, is he lost?"

"No," she finally called back. "Come on, Hector, let's see what's down there."

I sighed. It was late, and I was even colder and sleepier than I had been when I'd first given in to her. "Weren't you the one who thought this whole tunnel was a dangerous place?"

"Well, I changed my mind," said Esther, leaning in close to the hole. "But, I didn't reckon you were yellow-livered." Her face was split by a mischievous grin. She knew I couldn't back down, knew I would come with her. Indeed, before I had even signaled an agreement, she had picked up the lantern and was making her way down the tunnel, her shadow wavering against the wall. Patches bounded up and greeted her eagerly.

I cursed inwardly, but climbed back over the wall and hurried to catch up to the two of them.

This part of the tunnel was narrower and darker than the section where Hiram and his friends were setting up camp. There were no side passages or vents that we could see and no openings in the ceiling. A hundred feet down or so, we suddenly came to a gigantic pile of rubble that blocked our way.

"Looks like it caved in," I said, grabbing the lantern and holding it up to see the extent of the damage. "End of the line!" I was, of course, secretly pleased. Now, we could go home to bed.

"Wait!" Esther wrenched back the lantern and moved closer to investigate. "I think I can get over . . ." Her voice trailed off into muttering as she stepped forwards and backwards, all the while looking at the top of the pile.

This time I cursed aloud. It was time to put my foot down. "It's late, Esther."

She ignored me.

"Esther, I'm leaving!"

Her only reply was to shove the lantern into my hand and scramble up the slope.

"Wait!" I called, sure she would fall. "You could hurt yourself."

"Then hold that darned lantern higher so I can see," she called back and continued climbing.

I sighed and turned to Patches. The dog was acting strangely. He was sidling back and forth along the foot of the pile, emitting weird gasps and grunts. Suddenly, he bounded up the slope and grabbed hold of Esther's smock as if he would pull her back down.

"Let go, Patches," she cried impatiently, pushing the dog away and climbing higher until all I could see were the tips of her raggedy shoes. "I was right!" Her voice echoed triumphantly around the tunnel. "There is room to get over. Come on up!"

I gritted my teeth and muttered curses under my breath, but I started climbing. It took me a little longer than Esther due to the stiffness in my legs, but I finally pulled myself over the last boulder and peered down into the darkness. Except the passage beyond wasn't dark.

A faint glow lit the area in front of us, and up ahead to the left what looked like a door gleamed with a bright green outline. It reminded me of the gas lights used in one of the museum's theatrical extravaganzas, but something about it seemed strange to me. My first inclination was to turn around and forget that we'd ever found a hole into this strange place. Patches seemed to have the same idea; he pattered back and forth nervously and refused to come to heel. Still, I was curious to know where it led. Who could resist a mysterious doorway underground?

"What do you think it is?" asked Esther, breathless with excitement.

"A door, I think."

Esther gave me an irritated poke. "I know it's a door! But where do you think it leads to?"

"Only one way to find out," I said, putting on a false air of devil-may-care adventure. I figured that if I was going to be kept out of my bed to traipse through dangerous wet tunnels, I might as well be bold about it.

I scrambled down the slope, banging my left knee in the process. Suddenly, despite my fear, I was desperate to investigate first. As I drew closer, a faint humming filled my ears. I could now see the door itself. It gleamed white and smooth as bone, and my hand involuntarily stretched out to touch it. It was neither cold nor warm.

Esther came up from behind and reached out also. She quickly snatched her hand away after making contact.

"What is that?" she hissed.

"I don't know," said I, searching for a door handle. There was none. I gave the door a push, but it didn't move. I put my shoulder to it. "Help me push."

Esther pushed with me, but it didn't budge.

"Use your file," she said, panting for breath.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the file. It glinted in the strange light. I jabbed it hard in the groove between the white door and the green outline. For a moment I thought I had found some leverage, but then a shiver ran through my hand and up my arm, and I dropped the file, gasping in shock.

"What happened?" demanded Esther. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know," I said in a shaky voice. "My arm feels seared. It's shaking."

"The door did that?" Esther sounded scared.

"I think so." I peered closer, but the door looked exactly the same. "A mystery!"

"I don't like it," said Esther, turning around to look at the hill of rock and rubble behind us, as if to make sure there was still a way out. "I knew we shouldn't have come."

I gave her a look of disbelief, but then turned back to the door. There was something about it that fascinated me, despite the pain. I caressed the strange white material, neither stone, nor wood. What was it? How did it make that ethereal light? And where did it lead?

"Let's go," said Esther. "I'm cold."

I ignored her for a few minutes more as I ran my finger along the groove, searching for a handle of any kind. There was nothing. The door stared back at me, immutable and blank.

Finally I gave up.

"Hector, come on," said Esther, shivering.

I nodded and followed her back up the slope and then down to where Patches waited for us. We walked back in near silence. I didn't know what she was thinking about, but I was planning a trip back. Surely with some different tools I could open that door. Who knew what wonders lay beyond!

# Chapter Nine

We woke late to a world of swirling white. Esther and I peeked out through the large windows at a strange new landscape bereft of people and familiar outlines. Gone were the clanging, singing screeches of city life. Now all one could hear was the moaning of the storm as it swept the snow through the desolate streets.

The museum was not officially closed, but nobody would be visiting today or working. Only Clem showed up and late at that, grumbling something about the animals. I volunteered to help him on his rounds, but he brushed me off kindly, saying that I should take a day of rest.

Esther capered silently behind the shelves on hearing this. I had said that I would take her for a tour of the museum, if I had time. Now we had all day.

"Why don't we go back to the tunnel?" I suggested. "Don't you want to find out what lies behind that door?"

"Yeah," said Esther slowly.

"You don't sound too excited." I said. "I didn't figure you were yellow-livered."

She laughed at my poor imitation of her, but she still didn't look convinced. Her doubt worked on me as a spur to further curiosity. I was desperate to find out more, but, to be fair, I had promised her a tour of the museum.

"How about I show you around and then later we can go back to the tunnel?"

"Deal," said Esther shaking my hand. "And Patches?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't think so," I said, raising my eyebrows in what I hoped was a sophisticated fashion.

After carefully shutting in the dog with some food and water, we began our tour on the first floor, heading straight into the Waxworks Gallery. The hall was full of wax figures in various positions and forms of dress. In the dim light, they looked pretty realistic. Esther's green eyes were gleaming and wide with excitement.

"This is Robert Cobb Kennedy," I announced grandly, pointing to a rather sinister-looking figure. "He was a rebel spy who plotted to burn down the Museum and some other buildings. He was hanged."

Esther stared for a moment. "Damned rebel!" She spat. "I reckon he deserved it." I was shocked at her language and showed it, but she didn't seem to notice.

"If you had to choose, would you pick hanging or being all burned up?" she continued.

"Pardon me?" I asked stiffly.

"You have to die? So, which would you rather: hanging or burning?"

I shuddered. "Neither. I don't like to think of it."

Esther's face took on a thoughtful expression. "I guess I'd have to pick hanging. Fire sounds like an awful ways to go, don't you think?"

I shuddered again. She was being unnecessarily morbid, but honestly I had thought about it. Who hadn't in a city that produced spectacular block-destroying fires every few years? Twenty children had perished in the last one. I had no desire to dwell on the subject.

"Let's move on," I said, gesturing toward a set of figures dressed in togas. "Here we have Cicero, the famous rhetorician and the father of --" I trailed off, realizing that Esther wasn't anywhere near me. I looked around. She was bent over with laughter next to "The Drunkard's Family," a group designed to illustrate the miseries of drink. Her guffaws increased in volume.

"They look like they're having a good ole time!" She laughed again, slapping her knee and pointing to the mother and father, who were sprawled over a kitchen table, each clutching a bottle of gin. A baby was in the process of tumbling into the fireplace, and in the foreground a little boy held an empty bowl, as if pleading for food.

After awhile, her laughter died down and she advanced on the exhibit until her nose was practically touching the little boy's outstretched hand.

"Very realistic." Esther straightened up and sniffed like she was some sort of connoisseur of dioramas. "Spitting image of Five Points."

I looked again, having heard horrible tales of Five Points, a part of the city where thieves and murderers fought for space amongst crowded sewer-filled basements. Esther probably knew the area well. She might even hole up there. Taking a last look at the dreadful scene, I felt a wave of pity for her--misplaced of course. Esther needed no pity.

"Now look at these two! Ain't that a caution!" She had moved on to a couple of very large figures—Mr. Robert Hales and Miss Eliza Simpson, two giants who had actually been married at the museum. Esther was enraptured.

As I stared up at the figures' chins, I got to wondering on things giant and small. Were they happy to have found each other or were they were forced to marry as part of an exhibition? And was it worse to be a giant woman or a giant man? A miniature man or a miniature woman?

I was still thinking about it while Esther pulled me up the stairs to the Picture Gallery. At the top of the broad staircase, we halted to gaze at our reflections in the large round looking glass. Our images had been magnified until we could see the very pores of our skin. Esther looked enormous, a fact that she found incredibly amusing. Yes, I thought, looking at myself, it would be much worse to be a giantess than a giant, just as it was much worse to be a miniature man than a miniature woman. Why had Nature made us this way? And what had our Creator in mind when he molded us, for, unlike many others who believed oddities were put here by Satan, I firmly believed that God had made me with a purpose in mind.

While I was thus wool gathering, Esther had wandered away into another gallery. When I finally found her, she was staring entranced at the rows of stuffed wild animals. Here were the lions, the kangaroos, the elephant, polar bears, and zebra, all jumbled together as if they coexisted in some primeval jungle. The giraffe craned its neck up to the boa constrictor wrapped around the thick branch of a heavily-leaved tree, the hippopotamus bellowed at a family of turtles, and the ox stood shoulder to shoulder with the great grizzly bear.

These animals had it far better, I believed, than the live ones left to a tortured existence in the depths of the museum. They had at least died free instead of being dragged across the ocean, hurt, bewildered, and terrified, to be placed in a dank cage for the amusement of snotty-nosed boys and noisy families.

I was working myself into a tremendously morose frame of mind. Such moods were common with me. Periodically I would find myself in a black rage, which would later subside into a deep and paralyzing melancholy. The last time it had occurred, Dr. Carroll had snapped me out of it with a book of word and mathematical puzzles. Handing me the book, he had said that he wanted to test out my skills, and the challenge had worked.

This time around it was Esther. It was impossible to remain melancholy while she was around. Again, she had disappeared, and when I found her upstairs, she was in the process of reaching for an enormous saber that hung over one of the doorways. She made a comic expression of terror as the sword swung back and forth for a moment before being caught on an old nail.

"Leave it, Esther, let me show you the Lecture Room!" I called out.

"The Lecture Room!" she grimaced, dragging her feet as she made her way over to me. "I don't want to hear no stuffy ole lectures."

"Come on. It's where they put on the plays and exhibit the curiosities."

Her eyes brightened.

"There's nobody there today. But we can go behind the stage, and I'll show you the lights."

Esther wrinkled her nose. "Shoot. I'd love to see one of them shows you told me about, the one with the fire and the things that blowed up."

"Another time—" I began when suddenly I sensed something behind me. Esther opened her mouth in surprise and then lunged back towards me. I spun around so quickly I almost fell, my heart pounding, a scream on my lips.

"Patches!" shrieked Esther. "You bad dog. How'd you escape?"

Patches! My body slumped in relief. The dog jumped up on Esther, obviously overjoyed, and the two of them romped around the room.

"I hope he hasn't broken anything," I grumbled, but they ignored me. Patches had Esther's dress in his mouth and was shaking her like something he'd caught for dinner. She was screaming with laughter.

"Well, I guess we're not going to the Lecture Room!"

This got their attention. "Oh no," cried Esther. "He'll be as good as gold. Won't you, Patches? Who's a good dog?"

Patches licked her face greedily and squirmed as if he could barely contain his joy.

"We can't bring him. He'll knock something over or go where he shouldn't."

"Please," she begged. "He'll be good. Please, Hector. Nobody'll see him. Please!"

She knew she had won me over. I rolled my eyes, but led the way to the famous Lecture Room.

At least Esther let out a satisfying gasp as I held back the tasseled curtain and ushered her into the balcony. Only a few of the gas lamps were lit, but crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the red and orange velvet seats glowed like jewels in a genie's cave.

Esther threw herself into the nearest seat, placing her skinny arms on the armrests and leaning back. Patches wiggled in beside her. "Pretty fancy!" she proclaimed, waving her hand at the heavily gilded boxes and enormous stage.

I was just about to launch into a description of the room's many features, when voices suddenly rose up from down below. As we ducked down, Bimbo the Ape Man and his manager Mr. Greenwood wandered out onto the stage before the curtains. Bimbo paused half way and looked back at Greenwood, who nodded him forward. Bimbo was dressed in his ridiculous black animal suit with the frayed brown material that was supposed to look like animal hair. His own hair had been combed to stand straight up, as if somehow this made him more like a wild beast. I wondered if he hated his costume as much as I had hated mine.

When the two got to the edge, they stopped. They were obviously taking advantage of the storm to refine their act, but I was surprised to see them here today. How had they made it through the howling blizzard? Bimbo looked bored, as if his mind was elsewhere. Greenwood was all business:

"Now this time, let's get it right," he said to Bimbo. "When I say 'Is it a lower order of man?" you brandish the pole. And when I say, 'Or is it a higher development of monkey?' drop to all fours and growl a bit. Just pretend you're a wild bear or something. You got that?"

Bimbo nodded, his eyes devoid of emotion.

"All right, let's begin." Greenwood took a deep breath. "I now present Bimbo the Ape Man! Man or Beast? You decide. Is it a lower order of man?" Bimbo brandished his pole. "Or is it a higher development of monkey." Bimbo growled and dropped to all fours. And Patches leapt out from the row, catapulted down the stairs, leapt from the balcony down to the seats below, and raced up the aisle towards the stage.

"Patches!" Esther screamed. Greenwood let out a yell and jumped back behind Bimbo as Patches jumped up on the stage.

"Now, we're in for it," I groaned.

"Patches!" screamed Esther again, running to the edge of the balcony. "Patches! Come here! Bad dog!"

Greenwood cowered behind Bimbo's broad back. "Call off your beast! Call him off!"

At this point, Patches was jumping up and down around the two, becoming more and more excited by Greenwood's terrified cries. Quickly, I pulled Esther to the exit down to the orchestra stalls. It took us only a minute, but in that time I had imagined a thousand dreadful scenarios--Greenwood lying bleeding while Patches tore at his throat, Greenwood and Bimbo pushed off the stage by a snarling Patches, Esther carted off to jail, myself evicted from the museum without a penny to my name—but as we ran up the steps that led to the stage, Bimbo was on his knees, petting a pleased and remarkably docile Patches. Greenwood had moved to the other side of the stage and was watching warily. As I emerged, his expression turned from fear to relief to annoyance.

"You there! Call that thing off! What are you doing here?"

"Patches," I hissed through gritted teeth, gesturing him over. He simply wagged his tail, but on seeing Esther, the mutt instantly obeyed and bounded over to us. Esther held onto the fur at the back of his neck, mildly scolding him.

Bimbo wandered over and continued petting Patches, while I turned to face Greenwood. "I'm so sorry, sir. Please accept my apologies for the intrusion."

"Hmmpphh!" spluttered Greenwood. "Don't I know you from somewhere. You work here, boy?"

"Yes, sir. I help clean the museum, and I'm part of Lindemann's troupe."

"Oh, Lindemann's boy are you?" His countenance cleared. "How's that show of his going? Should be about ready soon, shouldn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's all right then, but what's this dog doing here? And who's the girl?"

"Esther helps me clean, and, er, the dog wandered in this morning, sir."

"He did did he? Probably disease-ridden." He gave Patches a disgusted look. "Now look here, wild animals don't belong in the museum, boy. You should know that!"

Esther gave him a startled look, while I smothered a laugh.

"Of course, sir. I'll turn him out this instant."

Trying to look as if I meant it, I strode over to Patches, grabbed him sternly, and, winking at Esther, dragged the dog out of the theatre to a quiet corner on the third floor near the tropical birds. Here I told him to stay. In my pocket I found half a biscuit and a frayed bit of string to tie him up, but Patches seemed quite content to lie still and watch the parrots as they flew from one side of the cage to other. When I left him, his eyes were closing sleepily.

Back in the Lecture Room, Esther had charmed Mr. Greenwood into a good mood. He was amusedly answering a barrage of questions.

"What's he eat then? Animals and stuff? And where's he sleep? Has he ever bitten anyone?"

Greenwood laughed and held up his hand. "You're worse than the evening crowd! He eats mostly what you do. He likes his oatmeal though. Don't you Bimbo, my boy?" Bimbo nodded blankly and then looked over at me.

"Hello Bimbo," I said, giving him a smile.

"Hello," he answered in a quiet deep voice.

Since this is a true accounting of events, I suppose I should confess that Bimbo troubled me, troubled me deeply. He provoked in me a strange combination of pity, anger, and, I must admit it, contempt. It was easier to avoid him all together than sort out why I felt as I did. He was simple, poor fellow, although sometimes he seemed to know more than his blank demeanor suggested.

Greenwood likewise provoked a mixed reaction. He was pleasant enough and looked after Bimbo well, but I could never forget that he made money from exploiting another human being. I had also heard that he or Mr. Barnum actually owned Bimbo and had the papers to prove it. This seemed in stark contradiction to Mr. Barnum's strict stance on Abolition and made me feel a little queasy, especially when Greenwood started throwing around his "my boy this" and "my boy that."

Esther had finally run out of questions, and Greenwood was motioning Bimbo over to get started. Bimbo picked himself up slowly, neither anxious to please nor driven to protest. He simply looked like he didn't care what he did.

"Can we watch?" begged Esther. "Please? We'll be quiet as mice. I swear!"

Greenwood chuckled. "Well I suppose so, as long as that dog's gone."

"I threw him right out, sir." I piped up.

"Good, good." Greenwood nodded happily. "I wanted to get in some extra rehearsal, and this snow's given us the perfect opportunity." He rubbed his hands together. "See, Bimbo. I told you that blizzard wasn't all bad." He looked at me. "Got caught here last night. Had to sleep in Barnum's office. It's the storm of a lifetime, but it's an ill wind, eh?"

It was strange that all these other people had been wandering around the museum at the same time that Esther and I had been exploring the tunnel. I suppose in this large metropolis, even a blizzard didn't guarantee isolation. Still, this was the best chance we might have to visit the tunnel without being discovered. I was anxious to get going, but Esther had settled comfortably into a seat directly in front of the stage.

With a loud exaggerated sighing noise that I hoped conveyed my displeasure, I sat down beside her as Bimbo and Greenwood began their act. She was mesmerized. I squirmed uncomfortably.

"Captured in the interior of Africa in A PERFECTLY NUDE STATE, Bimbo is the only one of his kind. Men of science claim he is the MISSING LINK between man and monkey."

Esther applauded enthusiastically. Bimbo bared his teeth and roared.

"We ask you to stand back from the stage, for while he has been carefully trained by his keeper, he is still liable to attack, if provoked."

Bimbo dropped to all fours and scampered back and forth across the stage, growling all the while. This went on for another five minutes: Greenwood booming out the well-worn spiel, Bimbo enacting the part of a half wild beast. I wondered how he could stand it until a shaming thought hit me, and I remembered the way I had performed my tricks for Lindemann.

Watching Esther as she giggled and clapped through the performance, I felt a distance growing between us. She seemed just another one of the noisy, rude, and staring customers who thronged the museum day and night.

Who was she? I said to myself, feeling my heart harden against her. And what did I really know about her anyway? She said she ran with a street gang. Had she ever hurt anyone? There had been all of those riots a few years ago when mobs had attacked innocent negro bystanders. No, I thought. That didn't seem likely. Still, I mused, as the show wound its way to the end, I knew little about her.

"Well that was a treat!" she said joyfully after we had said goodbye to Greenwood and Bimbo. I had never seen her so unabashedly pleased and open. Gone was the scowling, suspicious girl of the streets. I felt a perverse desire to burst her happy little bubble.

"You know it's all humbug, right?"

"Oh, sure," she said cheerfully. But still, that Bimbo's a funny creature!"

"He's not a creature!" I said through clenched teeth. "He's just like you."

"Oh he ain't like me," said Esther cheerfully. "He doesn't have much upstairs, does he?"

I shook my head angrily. "He's a human being just like you. What right does Greenwood have to parade him around like a wild monkey!"

Esther rolled her eyes. "It's just a lot of fun. Don't get your pants in a twist?"

I snarled angrily. _Because it could be me up there!_ I wanted to scream _. And it just might be me in the very near future._ But how could I tell her that? Unburden my aching heart and tell her of my fears? No. I had my pride after all.

"Oh forget it!" I snapped angrily. "Just forget it!"

"All right," she agreed after looking at me for a moment with those big green eyes. "Where's this model of Niagara Falls then?"

# Chapter Ten

As I pulled myself over the bricks and stepped into the tunnel, I grinned in anticipation. I was eager to return to the door to see if we could open it. I imagined finding a room full of Indian bones and boxes of Dutch gold, or perhaps even an entrance to another city, an underground world inhabited by people just like us. We would be lauded as the discoverers and could sell the rights to Barnum. Esther would never have to sleep out on the street again, and I would never have to worry about performing. Nonsense, I chided myself, but, still, I couldn't stop the giddiness creeping over me.

We had originally decided that we would head towards the door, but Patches changed everything. As soon as entered the tunnel, he suddenly started wagging his tail, turning in circles, and then set off at a mad pace in the opposite direction, the direction towards the Aladdin's cave.

"Patches!" I screamed, running after him. I just knew that this time we would be sure to find someone waiting for us, someone very angry that we had discovered his lair of stolen goods. Suddenly the whole venture seemed ill advised. We were out of our depth.

"Bring him back!" I gasped at Esther, but even she could not keep up with him. It was if Patches knew exactly where he was going to, as if a long lost friend waited at the end of the tunnel.

We chased that stupid creature all the way down the tunnel, past the passage where we had found Hiram and his friends, past the grating that opened up onto the street above. Sore and weary, eventually I caught up with Esther. She had slowed down and was breathing heavily like me. "He disappeared into a crack up there."

"The treasure cave," I said with a sinking feeling. The aroma of coffee was unmistakable. There was no doubt someone was there.

"We have to go get him," she whispered. "Some bastard could have him, and he wouldn't be able to cry out." Even in the gloom, I could see her eyes were swimming with tears.

I sighed. "Come on then. Let me go first. You stay here, and, if I don't come out, go for help."

Slowly, I crept along the wall until I came to the crack. Firelight glinted from within. My stomach clenched with fear, but I had to know. I leaned forward and peered inside.

And there, there for all the world like they were paying a social call, sat Greenwood's Bimbo, Jim Jim, the Dog Faced boy, a bearded lady, a couple of greyhounds, and Patches. The boy, Bimbo, and the lady were drinking from tiny porcelain cups. A plate of cakes lay on the ground between them. I only had a second to take all this in before the greyhounds were up on their feet, growling softly at the crack. Patches simply lay by the fire, lolling in a ridiculous fashion with his mouth hanging open, but the other dogs gave me away. In an instant, the boy had me by the arm, and with the help of Bimbo was dragging me inside to the fire.

"Bimbo!" I cried. "Bimbo. It's me Hector."

Bimbo started at the sound of his name and lessened his grip, although Jim Jim kept a tight grasp on my wrist.

"Let him go," said Bimbo in his slow and soft drawl. "He's safe. I know this boy."

"You sure, Bill?" said the boy, twisting my wrist one last time. "You sure?"

"Course I'm sure. Let him go." Bimbo laid a gentle hand on the boy's arm, and Jim Jim gradually let my wrist go.

"Wait a minute," the boy said, peering into my face. "Why I know you! You're the dwarf boy that cleans out the rooms for Barnum."

"That's right," said I, rubbing my sore arm. "And you're the hairy lad that performs tricks for Barnum."

"What did you say?" yelled Jim Jim grabbing my arm again. "I don't do tricks for nobody. You hear? Nobody!"

"That's right, Jim," crooned Bimbo quietly, threading his long fingers between Jim Jim's hard grip and my wrist. "You are a free man, owned by no one. A free man."

Jim Jim let go of his grasp and my arm fell limply to my side. I glared at him and then purposely turned my back in order to address Bimbo.

Instinctively I took a step back, for I was startled by the change. Gone was the vacant stare, the slumped shoulders. Here was a man of intelligence, of action. His eyes held gentleness, but there was an air of command about him that forced me to reevaluate my conception of the man. How had he hidden this from the world, for this was obviously his true personality, his real self? I stood stock still in amazement.

"What are you doing down here, Bimbo?" I finally got out. "Did you make the hole in the wall? How--"

"My name is Bill, Hector," he said quietly, his soft brown eyes kind, but firm. I flushed red and was glad for the gloom of our surroundings. Of course I had never known what Bimbo's—or Bill's, I corrected myself mentally—real name was, but I had also never thought to ask, simply accepting the ridiculous and insulting name bestowed by Greenwood. I felt ashamed. How would I have felt if Clem had continued to address me as Colonel Peanut?

"Bill, I'm sorry . . . of course." I stumbled.

He smiled and jerked his head back to the cushions by the fire. "Come have a seat. I'm guessing this is your dog?"

"Wait a minute," cried Jim, "How are we going to stop him from ratting us out? He'll go straight to Barnum."

"If I may interrupt," said the lady, who had been studying me from the fire, gently caressing Patches with one hand. "I believe, Hector, is more likely to side with us in this revolution. I don't think he will give us away." She looked at me with a pair of merry dark eyes. Above her beard, she was quite beautiful.

"No," I said hurriedly, shaking me head. "I won't rat you out."

"And who is this?" She gestured gracefully at Patches.

"His name is Patches, but he belongs to a friend. Can I bring her in? She's waiting outside."

The lady nodded. "Of course," she said genially.

I turned towards the crack, but Esther was already standing in the room, her usual scowl in place, ready to fight or bolt with Patches.

"Patches! Here!" she hissed, motioning angrily with her hand. Patches rose and came to her side, giving her an apologetic look, but obviously yearning to return to his warm seat by the fire.

"Your dog escaped form the butchers down by Pritzi's," murmured the lady. It was a statement, not a question.

Esther nodded and moved further in. "They cut out his voice box. He can't make anymore noise than this," she said, referring to the raspy moans Patches was making, trying to both ingratiate himself with Esther and move her closer to his new friend.

"Bastards!" spat the lady, eerily echoing Esther. "They too shall perish in the Revolution!"

"They will? "asked Esther softly. She moved closer.

"Come sit down by me, child," murmured the lady. "I'm Anna."

Amazed, I watched as Esther sat down as docilely as any young miss, tucking her legs beneath her petticoats and leaning ever closer to the Bearded Lady, Anna. Patches gave a strangled moan of relaxation and fell into a heap by the fire. One of the grey hounds leaned over and licked his ear, as if to tell him that while the world was a dangerous place, here, at least, he was safe and with friends.

There was silence for a moment, broken by Jim Jim who swung away from the group to disappear behind the curtain I knew hid the good that had been stolen from the Museum.

"Bim--" I started. "Sorry. Bill. Have you left the museum? Are you living down here now for good? And what revolution are you talking about?" I asked, turning to Anna.

"Sit," said Bill. "And Anna will explain."

I chose a red cushion across from Anna and Bill. Jim moved back to stand behind the two, scowling at me all the while.

"Barnum doesn't know you're down here then?" I asked, trying to find a comfortable position, sitting cross-legged.

"We have liberated ourselves from Barnum's yoke," said Anna calmly. "And will work to encourage and support the revolt and liberation of all so-called freaks."

"But how will you live?" I blurted out. "Forgive me, but if you have found a means to support yourself beyond performing, I'd give my right hand--."

"It doesn't require that high a price," said Bill. "Though some have paid that."

Anna nodded and then continued. "You just need to adjust your ethical framework, Hector." She placed her cup on the floor and patted the dog down, so he lay gracefully across her feet. "You agree that others have made a profit off you?"

Well," I said uncomfortably. "Barnum has given me food and lodgings."

"Bah!" she said, slamming her hand down her knee in an unexpected, but effective gesture. "I've seen the account books, Hector. Barnum doesn't exhibit anyone, use anyone, unless he's making money hand over fist."

"It's true," said Jim excitedly. "He was making thousands of me. THOUSANDS! And he was paying me a pittance. He was in cahoots with my manager. The laughs on them now!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He means," said Anna. "That we calculate what we're owed in back wages, and then we accept it in goods. Money would, of course, be more convenient, but that's harder to come by. It all goes to fuel the Revolution."

I must have still looked puzzled, because Jim let out a loud guffaw, grinned, and said: "We've been lifting stuff from the Museum at night. We're storing it down here and hope to get a good price for it at some of the new dime museums."

"You're stealing from the museum?" I said slowly. I looked at the Esther, but she was nodding her head. I rubbed my head, trying to organize my thoughts, figure out what I thought about all of this.

"It's not stealing, Hector," said Anna softly. " You simply need to rearrange your perception. We're just taking what is our due."

"I told you he'd give us away!" yelled Jim suddenly, slamming his hand against the wall.

"Hush," murmured Bill. "Hector just needs time to get used to the idea."

I nodded uneasily. It wasn't that I was horrified by what they had done or even thought it was wrong. I did think Barnum had been exploiting us all, and perhaps worse. Surely his victims deserved something. And yet, it worried me—for their own sakes, and because of the Museum itself. I felt a slight feeling of umbrage on the museum's part, as if it was a living entity. I imagined it creaking and settling sorrowfully on its foundations, mourning its lost possessions.

"Come with me, Hector," said Bill, motioning me towards the back of the cave. I got up slowly and followed him.

At the back of the cave, Bill lit a lantern, pulled back the curtain, and uncovered the treasure trove of curiosities nestled into a wide, but low niche.

"That's quite a collection," I said finally, reluctant to let on that I had seen it all before.

Bill let the curtain fall. "We only took things that wouldn't be noticed and that could fit through the hole. Still, I'll feel better when it's out of our hands."

He led me back to the fire where a stranger had silently joined the group and was crouched over the flame roasting coffee beans in a small saucepan. I jerked in surprise. Thrown off by the sudden addition to the group. The stranger was dark and dressed in flowing dark cloaks. Atop his head sat a squat and rather dirty turban. Esther eyed him warily, but I noticed that her head now lay against Anna's knee. Her acquiescence disturbed me, and I frowned at her, hoping to shake her out of it. She ignored me, and I turned back to the stranger.

"This is the man, who is helping us dispose of our goods," said Bill. "Ahmed Tariq."

Up close the man seemed familiar. It took me a moment, but then I remembered seeing him perform as the "Arabian Magician."

"How do you do?" I murmured politely.

Ahmed nodded at me and then turned back to his pan. When the beans had turned a black and oily color, he slid them out into a mortar and began to grind them, muttering and half singing to himself. In the gloom nobody else would have noticed, but I was right beside him and short. As he lifted his right arm, his cloak fell back, revealing a tiny sliver of white arm, which glowed in stark contrast to the dark hand to which it was attached. Ahmed was no more Arabian than I was. This wasn't unusual in our world, but still it seemed slightly sinister in a group that had dispensed with stage names. I wondered if Bill knew.

Before I could say anything, Bill had me gently by the arm. Esther was by my side.

"I'm afraid we must say good bye now. We have some business to discuss. I know we can trust you both," he said, quietly. "Think it over, Hector, and when you want to come to us, you'll find us waiting. You too, Esther. I'll send word if we move."

Feeling like we had outstayed my welcome, I moved in a confused fashion to the hole by which I had entered.

"Abientot, my dear Hector!" called Anna from the fire. "Esther think on what I have said!"

Esther nodded and then as if in a dream, we were slowly led to the crack. I was reluctant to leave the warmth of the cave, the possible camaraderie and freedom that Bill was offering me.

"I'll think carefully about it." I said shaking his hand enthusiastically.

Bill smiled and helped me through the crack. "Take your time, Hector. It is not a decision to make lightly and your lot up there is not as bad as some."

I nodded, and he smiled, waving goodbye.

Then we were walking down the cold and dank tunnel. From behind, I could hear the soft murmur of voices, the rich smell of warm coffee. I sighed and reached for Esther's small hand as we headed back down the tunnel, trying to avoid the icy puddles and slippery rocks.

I did not ask what Anna had said to her, but I guessed that she felt as I did. As if we had each dreamed of our families, a dream of softness, warmth, and safety. A dream that had been abruptly cut off by a waking to into a cold world. At that moment I felt a strange current of sympathy vibrate between us. Esther turned and looked at me. Her face wore a look of unbearable longing. I looked away, but I knew that that look was mirrored by the expression on my face.

The moment was soon broken by the ever-increasing babble of voices. As we neared the air vent, the sound of argument, laughter, and a metallic banging met us.

"Do you think that's Hiram?" I said, clearing my throat of any embarrassing pathos.

Esther coughed. "That's them alright". "Want to see?"

I nodded and followed her over the jagged line of metal, Patches tripping me up as he ran back and forth between the two of us.

The noises became louder as we walked up the passage. Then, as we turned the corner, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a miniature box city. We stopped in our tracks and gazed around in surprise. The area was dimly lit by a few glimmering lanterns, but it had all the feel of a town square at noon. A group of women in grimy shawls sat in a circle, chatting and sharing food. Men in coats with frayed collars squatted on the ground throwing dice. Others worked busily at building crate shelters. From one came the screech of a fiddle. All told, there were probably around fifty people or so.

Feeling conspicuous, I looked around for Hiram or Samuel. Not seeing them, I leaned down to an old woman who was resting against a crate, her eyes half closed, and asked her whether she knew their whereabouts. With an indifferent glance, she gestured lazily towards the back of the little settlement and then closed her eyes again. I shrugged and motioned for Esther to lead the way.

As we wove our way through the shelters, a couple of people did look up from what they were doing, but nobody sounded an alarm or stopped us. They seemed to expect newcomers. Eventually we heard the loud wheezing tones of Hiram directing the placement of a newly built "house." With his bowler perched jauntily on the back of his head, he was sitting astride a barrel while a tall thin fellow moved a crate back and forth across the floor.

"Well, if it ain't the little lady, her doggie, and the dwarf boy!" he beamed, raising a hand. "No offense meant!" he added seeing my scowl. "Yer among friends here, you know! We're a democratic and convivial lot—all vagabonds together!"

He took a swig from a small bucket, wiped his lips, and offered it around. I declined, but Esther took a large swallow--much to my disgust--and then passed it to the tall man who had come up eagerly at the sight of the drink.

"Hey! And what do you think you're doing?" Hiram bellowed. "You've got some work to do before you get to join us in any refreshment. Shouldn't take you more than a hour to get that place set up."

The man sighed again and turned without a protest back to the pile of crates.

"Come on you two—pardon me, I mean three," said Hiram unctuously, leering again at Esther and patting Patches' head. "Lemme show you our little village. I bet you didn't 'spect to see all this, now did you?" He waved his hand proudly around the collection of crates and boxes.

"Yes, you've got quite the little city here," I said with a tinge of sarcasm, still smarting at the dwarf boy comment.

"Yep, we do," said Hiram shooting me a shrewd look. "Didn't expect anyone else to come wandering down that tunnel, but they started coming in by the handful, and we figured we needed some direction if we was going to take in the whole darn city."

"Well, it's a good deal warmer in here," said Esther.

"Yep," said Hiram, waving us on. "I allow it ain't Fifth Avenue, but it's a good sight more chirky than our old digs."

"And here," he said, opening a calico flap that hung from the opening of the largest hut, "is my little abode. Step right in!"

A strong smell of liquor slapped me in the face, but, not wanting to be rude, I held my breath and took the plunge. I immediately fell over someone's legs. Esther caught me by one arm as she came through, and I thus avoided falling flat on my face, but it was hardly a graceful entrance, and made less so by Patches nosing his way behind me and rocketing in to the arms of the person whose legs I had tripped over.

"Oh ho!" guffawed a voice. It was Samuel Luke. Patches seemed overjoyed to see him and went into further raptures when Samuel produced a string of sausages from a bag behind him.

"Well, well! How do you do?" said Samuel, ruffling the hair behind the dog's ears.

"Yep. Found these three a'wandering round, struck dumb by the sight of our fine metropolis." Hiram guffawed loudly, ending in a fit of wheezing coughs.

"Well, make yourself comfy," said Samuel. "Sausage?"

I shook my head politely.

"Sure?" asked Hiram. "Calvin's been finding us plenty o' vittles lately. Me, I like to stay put, nice and warm. But Calvin likes to go out wandering"

A figure that I had originally taken for a disheveled pile of blankets loomed out of the gloom. It was Calvin. His face was twisted in a scowl, but his red-rimmed eyes seemed curiously vacant. The juxtaposition of the two was rather eerie, and then I noticed his nose. At first glance it simply looked a little blurred, but then one realized that the flesh had begun to fall away. I involuntarily drew a breath and leaned back, but the old man bent towards me and began to mumble. Suddenly, his voice rose:

"Behold the sea of glass! The day is fast approaching. Repent!"

"Now, now," said Samuel Luke, patting Calvin's back. "Quiet down there."

"Have a drink, Calvin," said Hiram, passing the growler. "That'll set you right."

Calvin pushed the bucket away, but his voice relapsed into incoherent mumbles and then he fell silent. Esther quietly moved closer to me, and I in turn edged even further away from where Calvin sat. I tried to be polite, but the man both terrified and revolted me.

"Don't you worry," said Samuel. "He's all right. Just gets these spells ever so often."

"Of course." I smiled tightly, wondering if it would be rude for us to leave. The stench of gin and unwashed flesh was past belief. Even Esther looked a little ill.

"Well then and what have you been up to?" asked Samuel kindly, forestalling my preparations at leave-taking, but reminding me that we had questions to ask.

"We found a door," said Esther quickly with a look at me. I was glad she had the sense enough to keep Bill's lair a secret. "It's down the other way," she rushed on. "Don't look like anything I've ever seen."

"A door?" wheezed Hiram. "And where did it lead to?"

"That's just it." I said, joining in with Esther. "It wouldn't open. We were wondering if you knew anything about it?"

Hiram scratched his head. "We ain't done much exploring outside of this here passage, but there's bound to be plenty doors and other tunnels. Why I bet they lead all over the city!"

"But this one's different," I insisted.

"What do you mean different?" Hiram asked sharply.

"I can't explain. It just is. It's made of something strange. I don't know what it is."

"And a door opened in the sky!" suddenly boomed out Calvin. "Beware!"

"Ssshhh! Pipe down" said Hiram.

"It gives me the shivers!" said Esther. "I don't like it at all."

"Well, best not go back then," said Hiram to me. "That g'hal's got smarts. She knows what's not right. Best avoid it."

I waited for a moment, and then realizing that I would get nothing more from sitting there, I rose. Out of the darkness shot Calvin's hand, grabbing me tightly by the wrist.

"Beware the door! They were taught to eat things sacrificed unto idols, and to commit fornication."

"Let me go," I said, my voice rising in panic. I tried to shake off the old man's gnarled and filthy hand, but he had a strong grip. "Let me go! Please!"

"Calvin! Let the boy go." Hiram had jumped up and was wrestling Calvin away. Eventually the claw released, and I fell back towards the doorway, breathing heavily.

"My apologies," said Hiram, consigning Calvin to Samuel, who was gently patting him down into the pile of blankets, uttering soothing noises. "He don't know where he is sometimes."

Hiram sounded so sad that I didn't have the heart to be angry, but it was clear that the man was out of his mind. Esther was already at the doorway, and I followed with a quick goodbye to Hiram.

Rubbing my wrist, I stepped out into the blessed fresh air.

"You alright?" asked Esther gruffly. "That old man sure is spooky!"

"Why, he's plum crazy!" I said angrily. "He ought to be locked up."

"The Clap'll do that," said Esther wisely, threading her way past the last set of crates.

"The what?" I asked, running to catch up with her.

"The Clap."

"What do you mean?" I asked stiffly.

"You telling me you don't know what the Clap is?" said Esther stopping near the grate, hands on hip.

I sighed in exasperation. "No, I don't know what the 'Clap' is. What is it?"

Esther laughed incredulously and looked around in mock theatrical fashion as if she could hardly believe what she heard. If I hadn't been a gentleman, I would have boxed her ears.

"You really don't know? You're not pulling my leg are you?"

I shot her a look.

She sighed and shook her head. "The Clap, the Pox, the Turkish Disease, you know what gentlemen get from prostitutes, though it's usually the other way around I'd say."

I blushed and felt nausea gathering in my throat.

"That's why his nose is all ate away. It's disgusting. Soon he'll be nothing but sores and bones." Esther wrinkled her nose. "That's why I fight like blazes when they try to get me in a dark corner. I ain't having none of it!"

I didn't know what to say. My head was filled with nightmare images of men with rotting limbs forcing themselves upon a cornered Esther. In addition, I couldn't forget the look or smell of Calvin's decaying face, his greasy hair, and the inhuman expression of his eyes. I had thought that I had a good understanding of the ills of this world, but I had no idea. Sick and confused, I pushed through the grate and stumbled back down the tunnel. I longed for the light and order of my little room. My desire to revisit our secret door had vanished. I felt faint, and my limbs ached unaccountably.

"Wait, Hector!" called Esther, but I ignored her, knowing she would follow me anyway. Patches bound past both of us, off to explore the museum, happy in his animal unconsciousness of mankind's depravity.

We were halfway up the basement stairs when a figure suddenly appeared before us.

"Well, hello, Hector! What are you doing down here?"

I started, almost falling down the stairs in my fright. But a friendly face loomed out of the darkness. It was Dr. Carroll. He reached out a hand and drew me up the last of the steps. "I didn't expect to see you this late. I've just been checking up on those Indians. Worried it might be influenza."

He noticed Esther. "Hello. You're getting to be quite a regular customer!"

Esther scowled. The Doctor laughed. "Not to worry. I didn't mean anything by that, truly."

"You can go ahead and report me, if you like," said Esther defiantly, coming forward. "I don't care!"

I could see Dr. Carroll swallowing a smile, and I took note of his behavior. This was how a gentleman acted: genial and kind, with just a hint of amusement. I smiled too, my confusion and horror dissipated by the clean scent of soap and crisp whiteness of the Doctor's appearance. Not all men were as Esther described.

"Come, Esther. It is Esther, isn't it?" He held out his hand. "Let's be friends."

Esther screwed up her eyes suspiciously, but after a moment she grudgingly held out a grimy paw. Dr. Carroll didn't hesitate, but grasped it in a firm handshake.

"And is that your dog I just saw?"

"What dog?" said Esther instantly on her guard. I don't see no dog!"

"Ah, I see. Of course I didn't see a black and white dog either. Dogs aren't allowed in the museum, you know."

He winked, and I smiled. Esther scowled.

"Ah, and I almost forgot," said the Doctor, producing a brown paper package from his bag. "A friend of mine was about to throw these away, but I thought someone could use them."

Esther gingerly unwrapped the parcel and took out a pair of dainty leather boots.

"They might look a bit flimsy, but they've got thick soles," said the Doctor. "Of course, you'd be doing me a great favor by taking them. I hate to see waste."

Esther looked unconvinced, but there was no mistaking the gleam of desire in her eye. She reverently caressed the boots like they were holy relics. The soles were in wonderful condition, barely worn.

Fascinated by the boots, Esther ignored the two of us. There was an awkward pause, but when she continued to remain silent, I thanked the Doctor for her. He simply smiled and nodded before making his way out of the lobby to the great doors.

"Esther!" I scolded. "Couldn't you have at least said thank you?"

"They're new," she whispered, holding up the shoes.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the Doctor. He met my eye, gave a quick wave, and then disappeared into the snow. Only then did I realize that I hadn't asked him how he had made it through the storm. And I hadn't even known that the tribe of Indians was still upstairs. Again I was struck by the strangeness of the seemingly empty museum curiously housing a host of individuals all hidden from each other.

# Chapter Eleven

The next morning I awoke, feeling limber and well rested. Gone were the clutching twinges and aches that usually spasmed through my legs. Discomfort was replaced by a warm sense of well being. I allowed myself to wake slowly, lazily watching my breath turn into clouds in the cold air. Then I froze. Esther lay against me, and Patches was sleeping crossways over the pair of us. Esther was snoring ever so slightly, and the dog was sighing peacefully. A small part of me yearned to fall back asleep--human contact was a rare gift—but the thought of Esther waking and pushing back in revulsion drew me to my feet. She stirred restlessly as I scrambled off the pallet, but then she tunneled back under the blanket and resumed her even breathing.

Ignoring the strange new feelings coursing through my body, I pulled on my jacket quickly and went to the door. It was very cold. The furnaces must have given out last night. My first thought was of the animals, especially those from tropical climes, like the monkeys and rainbow-hued parrots. Clapping my hands together, I raced down the stairs to the cages.

Sure enough, the monkeys huddled together in a corner, miserably staring out as if they no longer believed in such things as sunshine and warmth. The birds were likewise in a heap, their little heads tucked under their wings.

I was just trying to figure out how I could help them when the building suddenly shook with a tremendous judder that sent the birds flying into the air and shelves and drawers to crash upon the floor. An avalanche of noise filled my ears full of rumbles, screeches, and the shattering of glass. Was it an earthquake, I wondered, steadying myself against the cold iron of the monkey cage? I had read of such phenomena, but had never heard of one occurring in New York. Had something fallen? One of the large dioramas or, God forbid, the whale tank?

The animals were in an uproar. Then there came a high pitch whistle that echoed from one end of the hall to another, a series of escalating clatters, and finally a loud boom and then quiet. Steam hissed from the nearest radiator, and I sighed in relief. The furnaces were on again, and heat was gradually circulating around the museum. The tumult from the animal cages gradually lessened as they settled down and rearranged themselves.

As I padded back to my room, I caught a glimpse of the weather outside. The storm seemed to have subsided, but snowflakes still fell from the sky, and Broadway remained an unrecognizable vista of strange white forms and slopes. Nevertheless, the museum could expect some customers, and I needed to be up and about my chores in case Lucian showed up and decided to carry tales.

"I've been thinking," said Esther when I came through the door. She was wide awake and sharing a biscuit with Patches. There was an earnest look on her face.

"Yes?" said I.

"Well, I was thinking that it was right cowardly . . . Hold on. Why's it so cold in here?" She shivered.

"The furnaces were off," I said impatiently. "Didn't you feel the whole museum shake?"

"Nope. Sound sleeper I guess." She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "Anyway, I was thinking how it was right cowardly of us not to go back and try to open that door."

"Us?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Yep." She nodded, full of self importance. "Why, we don't even know what's behind it. I was thinking we could take some tools and stuff."

"I thought you were scared? What's changed your mind?"

"I just don't like to think of myself as yellow livered, that's all." She paused. "And, after all, there could be treasure too, you know. Maybe Barnum'll be interested. Or we could take them to Bill and he could sell them for us."

I snorted behind my hand, even though I had had similar thoughts. She was such a greedy little creature. All thoughts of Bill's Revolution had apparently evaporated over night. But if she had changed her mind that was wonderful. The door drew me, had occupied my thoughts, as I had slid back and forth between waking and dreaming.

It was late afternoon before I was done with my chores. The "earthquake," which I could only guess had been a furnace problem, had created a lot of extra work. When I came back to the room, Esther began complaining about waiting around all day, but she soon shut up when I reminded her that she hadn't offered to give me any help. We dressed as warmly as we could—Esther in her new boots—and then headed to the tunnel, leaving Patches contentedly gobbling down that night's supper. There were people on the second floor, mainly Clem's assistants and some cleaning women, but they were easily avoided and we were soon splashing down the tunnel and then climbing up the hill of rubble, fingers numb in the cold damp.

Panting heavily, I pulled myself up the last bit of slope quickly and prayed that the door would still be there. And there it was, glowing in the darkness, just as we had left it. I turned to Esther with a triumphant smile. She rolled her eyes, but followed me down.

I stood for a moment at the bottom of the slope staring at the door's smooth surface and then gingerly reached out to touch it. "If only I could figure out a way to open it," I muttered, searching the area for a keyhole or button.

I ran my hands over the surface. The air surrounding it seemed thick beneath my fingers, magnetic, as if the door asserted its presence beyond its physical borders. There was a tension there that both repelled and drew one in.

I was about to use the knife that Esther had insisted we bring as a lever, but then a handle gradually emerged, and I felt it turn beneath my grasp. Esther cried out, and I pulled at the same time, opening the door and stepping over the threshold. I looked at her questioningly, afraid to speak out loud. She nodded, and we stepped into the passage beyond.

Our eyes blinked in the sudden surge of bright light. We had left the dark tunnels for a strange realm of white walls and corridors; light poured from all sides and yet had no discernible source. All was quiet, except for a low humming that throbbed through one's body. It felt like a dream or the beginnings of a dimly remembered nightmare.

We waited for a moment on the threshold, letting our eyes adjust.

"Should we go in?" Esther whispered.

"I don't know, Esther--" My eyes squinted at the long forbidding corridor that stretched out before us.

"Come on, we got to now."

Esther gave me a slight push from behind, urging me down the corridor, but even she was silenced by the unexpected strangeness of our surroundings. We walked forward, glancing backwards now and again to make sure that the door was still where we had left it. Behind us, the tunnel flickered in the lamplight like some forgotten prehistoric cave.

About halfway down the corridor, a series of doors began to run down both sides. We tried them all, half fearful that they would open, but they would not budge. Then, near the end of the corridor, appeared a large set of double doors with windows. A soft murmuring came from the room beyond. Esther peeked through and gasped, her hand going to her mouth.

"What do you see?" I hissed quietly.

She ignored me.

"What?" Impatiently I tugged at her shoulder.

She shushed me with real fear in her eyes, but shifted to give me room. And what I saw, Dear Reader, what I saw, changed my life forever. Never in my wildest imaginings of what lay behind the door could I have conjured up the scene in the next room.

A half a dozen men and women sat around a long table. They wore strange outlandish clothing: white coats and gloves, like gentleman wear; the women too--even trousers! That was the first thing I noticed, but then something even stranger hit me. They were beautiful, but each as similar as brothers and sisters, as Siamese twins. Sculpted exquisite profiles and lustrous black hair, sometimes curling, sometimes straight, but always the same color, framing faces that were mirror images of each other.

They were listening to a lady who sat at the head of the table and now and then gestured to huge diagrams that hung behind her. She looked just like the others, but there was something slightly different: an extra ounce of remarkable beauty? A hint of singular focus and command? It was hard to put one's finger on, but it was there. Perhaps it was the way she wore her hair, piled up on her head like a diadem or a crown. She was a Queen among royalty.

Pointing to one of the books piled open on the table, she nodded vigorously. A man asked a question, and she got up and started gesticulating at the diagrams. She was clearly explaining something, but also trying to persuade the group.

I looked at the diagrams—they were cross sections of the human body. Stark black and white figures that managed to convey a sense of cruelty and mortality. I shuddered, and Esther and I again shared a glance, our thoughts expressed and understood without words. In all my life in the museum I had never seen anything so frightening, so unearthly, and which so clearly signaled a warning: run, run far away, don't look back, and do not remember.

A light above a connecting door behind the lady flashed, and a bell resounded along the corridor. Esther began to move away, as if to make a run for it, but I shook my head impatiently. Inside the room, a man pushed in a bed on wheels. On the bed lay a woman with a face creased and stained by age and hard living. Her greasy grey and brown locks almost seemed an affront against the crisp white sheet on which she lay, the smooth clean lines of the room, and the stunning perfection of the men and women who studied her intently.

One of them leaned over her and thrust a needle against her neck. The old woman jerked once or twice, and then her eyes opened. She lay blinking up at the light that poured down on her from panels above, while the people in white conversed amongst themselves, checking their notes and diagrams.

I had been fighting fear since we had passed the threshold of the door from the tunnel, but now a more sickening terror grew inside me. I had an awful feeling about what was about to occur.

The old woman began to struggle. She was being led from the bed to the center of the room. Bewilderment chased across her features to be replaced by abject fear. She twisted from side to side, trying to break lose from the hands that held her wrists. The futility of this was appalling. Her captors barely noticed her struggle as they conversed, periodically pointing to one of her limbs or the back of her skull.

Suddenly she was let go. Wild hope filled her eyes, but then the lady who had been leading the discussion got up and began to approach her with a short thin stick. The old woman threw herself to the ground, groveling at the lady's feet. Now we could hear her piteous cries, increasingly loud through the door. Against my neck I felt Esther breath out in horror.

The lady continued her conversation, periodically pointing at the woman's face. She seemed completely unaware of the fear in her subject's eyes or even the fact that her cries were becoming screams. A man beside her made a comment and she nodded smiling as if they were discussing a plant they had decided to dissect bit by bit.

Suddenly, Esther grabbed me as if to pull me back, and, taken by surprise and in a state of nervous terror, I fell heavily against the door. The lady looked up at the window. Instinctively, we ducked down and crouched motionless for a second. Then we heard a change in the murmur of conversation, a voice, sweet but vibrating with command, terrifyingly loud: "Take care of it, Prendell. And you three as well."

"Yes, Eugenia," another voice answered. Then there was the sound of footsteps coming towards the door.

We bolted down the corridor, Esther streaking ahead, while I stumbled behind, running as fast as my game legs could carry me. The passage seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of me. My breath was coming in sharp gasps. At the door, Esther turned back to see where I was, spat out a panicked curse and then ran back to half pull me to the exit. She pushed open the door and we tumbled through into the tunnel.

Luckily, Esther had the wits to catch up the lantern. The light jerked crazily across the tunnel walls as we scrambled up the slope, breath tearing at our lungs, fingers grazing on rocks. I tumbled half way down the slope on the other side, knocking over Esther. We fell, bruised and bleeding near the bottom, but there was no time to check injuries.

I picked myself up and fled down the tunnel behind Esther, panic thick in my throat as I watched her pull away from me. Drops of water flew from her boots as she dashed through the puddles, glistening momentarily in the light like tiny jewels. I couldn't keep up. My short legs were good for nothing and would now be the death of me.

On I ran, stumbling and slipping, crying out loud as I anticipated the fall of a hand on my shoulder. Suddenly, the tunnel grew brighter. Esther was already peering out from the opening into the museum as I came up. On seeing me, she scrambled back, and I followed, falling over the wall at her feet.

Esther's face was white, her eyes large. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath. "Is someone there?" she sobbed.

It took me a moment to get my breath and pull myself up, but then with one look at her terrified face, I peered back into the tunnel. All was dark, and the only sound was the monotonous dripping of water into the puddles below. I strained my ears, trying to erase the ragged sound of my breathing, but there was nothing there. I was sure of it.

"She saw us didn't she?" asked Esther finally.

"I don't know," I answered. "I thought so, but I don't think anyone has followed us here." I checked the tunnel again to make sure. I tried to slow my breath and the pounding of my heart.

"I thought we were a goner!" whistled Esther. "That lady looked like she could murder us no problem. They ain't from New York, them people. They must be from France or someplace foreign like that."

I laughed at this even though I was still shaking and felt nausea gripping my throat. But Esther was right: the people behind the door weren't like any I had ever seen. If it wasn't for the evil that I felt lurked behind those eyes, I would have compared them to angels, to a race of beautiful beings, but there was something very wrong about them and it had to do with their eerie resemblance to each other. Indeed, beyond resemblance! They were perfect copies, like a daguerreotype image. Were they brothers and sisters? What were they doing underground? And what had those diagrams meant that they had been discussing?

A quick movement of Esther's suddenly interrupted my thoughts. She had blown out the lantern. Almost at the same moment I realized that I too had heard the shuffling footsteps coming along the hall to the tiny room we occupied.

"Who's there!" came the voice. Lucian! I wondered how I would explain being down here this second time. I squeezed back into a dark corner behind a crate filled with rubbish. Esther had already hidden herself on a bottom shelf.

The footsteps came closer. I could hear Lucian wheezing and muttering to himself. "I told him! I told him just yesterday. I heard noises and I wasn't dreaming. No, I was wide-awake. Then there's the earthquakes, but is he listening? No, not him, curse him." A beam of light suddenly swung around the room. "Anybody here?"

I held my breath, watching as the light made its way across the shelves to the left of me and then traveled to where I was hiding. I felt like an animal cornered in the jungle, fear and hatred boiling in my stomach. The blinding glare seemed to pause for a minute, the corner of the crate etched against the brightness. My stomach cramped, but slowly the light moved on, past the shelves where I knew Esther was hidden and then to the other side of the room. It arced again across the ceiling and then faded as Lucian turned away from the room and made his way back down the main hall.

After a few minutes I heard his footsteps going up the stairs. I came out from the corner. Esther was already dusting herself off.

"That man gives me the willies!" she shuddered. "Why I'm almost as streaked of him as I was by that lot back in the tunnel."

"I hate him," I said, startling both of us by my vehemence. " He's always sneaking around down here."

"You think he knows about this?" She gestured back towards the tunnel.

I paused to think. "I don't know. He's certainly down here enough, but, Esther, what happened back there? What did we see?" My voice trembled even though I tried to keep it steady. I was thinking of the old woman.

"Now listen, Hector," said Esther her voice as bleak and pitiless as the cold coming up from the stone tunnel behind us. "You tell no one what you saw down there. No one. There are things going on in this city, it ain't your business to know 'cause there ain't nothing you can do. We don't know what was happening there."

"But, Esther, we have to tell Bill--" I began.

"Please, Hector. You got to trust me. I'll find out some things, but meanwhile you got to make sure you don't say anything to no one." She grabbed my arm and twisted hard. "Promise!"

"I promise," I said angrily, almost glad to have this emotion replace the sick fear, to have someone tell me what to do. Already the room full of those mirror-imaged men and women, the drab old woman and the needle, seemed like a scene that I should not have witnessed, something that was beyond my ken. I was sixteen, barely on the cusp of manhood, and crippled by my disability. I had taken a look into the dangerous world that lay outside the museum and its carefully orchestrated exhibitions, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. What had I to do with men and their cruelties, their struggles for power and glory? I wanted only a safe quiet place to rest my limbs.

Esther shivered. "It's colder than a witch's t—"

"Esther!" I cut her off, blushing in the dark, forgetting my train of thought.

"All right," said she, grinning. "No need to get your panties in a—"

"Enough!" I stomped off towards the stairs, not looking where I was going. Esther's laughter rang through the air and then suddenly stopped.

"Whoa there!" A hand gently pushed against my shoulder. I started and looked up. It was Doctor Carroll.

""We meet again! Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He smiled down at me. My throat was dry, no words came to mind, and my heart felt like it wouldn't stand another shock. I stumbled out a lame explanation, but the Doctor had already turned towards Esther.

"You look cold, my dear young lady," he said solicitously. "Here. Since my aunt Grace has a penchant for knitting me scarves I think I'll bequeath this one to you." He unwrapped the thick woolen scarf from around his neck and passed it to Esther. She handled it as if fearing it might turn into a snake, but I could see the pleasure in her eyes. New boots and now a fine new scarf!

Dr. Carroll ran a hand through his dark hair and winked. "I think it suits you," he said.

This time Esther smiled, a slow, trusting smile. It lit up her whole face, even through the dirt.

"That's my girl!" said the Doctor. "Now what have you two been up to? Found any secret tunnels or buried treasure?" He winked. I felt Esther's hard glare even though I dared not look at her.

"No, nothing--" I began when suddenly Lucian appeared from behind an aquarium, his pale face glimmering unnaturally in the light.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. "What's all this!" With a slithering movement he made to grab for Esther, but quick as a flash, she made for the stairway.

"Now wait one minute!" cried Dr. Carroll, as Lucian went after her. Lucian ignored him, so the Doctor bounded up the stairs. "Leave that child alone!"

I followed as quickly as I could. By the time I made it up the last step, I could see Esther running for the doors with Lucian not far behind. As she reached them, a beige streak leapt to join her from behind a pillar. Patches!

Then they were through the doors and out into the snowy darkness. Lucian banged the wall with his lantern in anger. "Trespassing on my watch! I'll have her hide." I sighed in relief. She had escaped and hopefully would not stay away too long.

"You there!" said Dr. Carroll angrily striding toward Lucian. "What are you up to?"

"Dr. Carroll," he answered. "Didn't know you were here, sir. Strange time to come prowling around the museum" His voice was full of insolent suspicion.

"Never mind that! Look what you've done."

"I've run off a thieving little vagabond. That's what I've done . . .Sir!" he added sarcastically after the tiniest of pauses.

"She's only a girl, man," said the Doctor, sounding more irritated than offended. "Now get back to your work!"

Lucian scowled, but eventually he dropped his eyes and shuffled off, muttering under his breath as was his wont. I made a face at his back—unexpectedly brave for me—but I did wonder whether he would take it out on me next time. He wouldn't like that I had witnessed his dismissal.

Dr. Carroll pushed open the doors and went out. I peered after him through the small window by the door. He disappeared for a moment into the swirl of snowflakes and then suddenly reemerged as if appearing from another world. The doors swung open, and he came in, blowing cold air and stamping his feet.

"She's gone I'm afraid, Hector."

"Poor Esther!" I said, relived she had escaped Lucian, but thrown off by her sudden departure. I felt a little adrift, even with the Doctor beside me.

Suddenly, I felt his eyes upon me.

"At least, she had the scarf, sir," I said quickly to fill the awkward silence. "She'll be the warmer for that."

Dr. Carroll sighed. "I would like to do more, but she'll have disappeared into the alleys." He brushed the remaining snow off his sleeve and looked around. He made his way over to the long wooden bench against the wall by the ticket booth and slouched down, beckoning me to join him.

"Do you know, Hector, that there are over a hundred thousand street children, all without homes, adequate clothing or decent food?" He sighed. "The Irish, the Germans, the Italians, the Bohemians, the Jews! All breeding without thought of the consequences!"

He fell silent for a minute. I stole a look at his face, feeling rather uncomfortable. I had never seen the Doctor look anything but cheerful, practical. Now, he looked sad. I sat down beside him.

"It is THE social problem of our time!" he finally said, lifting his head.

"I know you help as best you can," said I, referring to his work amongst the poor. Why everyone knew that one day the Doctor would leave the museum and the Bowery and cater solely to his wealthy clientele. He was too good at what he did to remain amongst us, and the fact that he was still here was testament to his goodness and generosity. Why else would he continue to work for free or to pander to Barnum's strange whims, when he could be gaining a reputation amongst the highest in the land?

He was my hero. The measure against which I judged every action and thought. I felt mean when I realized how petty my own thoughts were, how small and egocentric my ambition. Why, I should devote my life to others, I thought. Indeed, I decided then and there to become a Doctor and to spend my life among the poor, aiding them in their troubles and offering a helping hand to those who wished to forsake the evils of tenement life.

I was in the middle of imagining myself being congratulated by a grateful mayor for all my good works and offered the keys to the city, when the Doctor suddenly sat up.

"Ah well. I should be getting on." As he straightened his hat, he put his hand on my shoulder and looked down at my face. "Now Hector. If I were you, I'd try to stay clear of Lucian. Perhaps you should give wandering the museum basement a miss for awhile."

Here was the moment to tell him about what we had witnessed underground, and perhaps, Dear Reader, you are thinking that I was an idiot not to tell him everything, but I hesitated. Esther had said to wait, and while I trusted Dr. Carroll's judgment more than hers, a promise was a promise. Moreover, I was not sure that Bill wouldn't become mixed up in it all, and I didn't know what Dr. Carroll would think about the Revolutions "back wages." I had barely formulated these thoughts when the Doctor smiled, tightened his scarf around his neck, and held his hand up in goodbye.

I sat on the bench for a few minutes after he left, breathing in the smell of beeswax and turpentine and thinking over the day's events. The Doctor was right about Lucian. He would be out to get me now, but I would just have to stay out of his way. I was becoming more and more certain that Lucian knew something about the entrance to the tunnel. I longed to confide in Clem, but I had promised Esther. Poor Esther out in the cold again. I hoped she had found someplace to sleep.

# Chapter Twelve

With all the excitement and drama of the last few days, I had fallen asleep clear forgetting that the dress rehearsal for Escape From the Harem was in the morning and would be performed in front of the public that very night. When I woke and realized what awaited me, I felt all my old horror and anxiety return. I could not, would not, get up on that stage in front of thousands of curious and jeering spectators. My life was my own, and Barnum could take a flying leap. Nobody would even miss me! And, besides, the rehearsal was probably canceled due to weather. Still, to make sure, I decided to secrete myself away. The museum offered plenty of places in which one could hide from the rest of the world. But it was not to be.

"Off to rehearsal?" called Clem as I was sneaking up the back stairway.

"I was just checking on the Indians," I muttered, crossing my fingers behind my back and hating myself for lying to Clem.

"Ah," he said, climbing up the dusty steps toward me.

"Yes, Dr. Carroll said that one of them had pleurisy. . . I thought I'd see if they needed anything."

"It's a crying shame keeping them in this old museum," said Clem, wheezing as he came up the last set of stairs. "So, the opening show's tomorrow is it? Are you ready?"

I smiled brightly. "Oh, yes. I've been practicing for days now. Should be a good show! But . . . with the weather—well, who knows if we'll be going on."

"Storm's breaking up, Hector. It's not so bad out today." Clem put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a brief pat. "But, you'll do fine, Hector. It will all turn out fine. Don't worry."

I hung my head, finding it hard to swallow and make a reply.

"Come on then," said Clem turning me around. "I'm on my way to the leopards, and we can walk together."

Thus I found myself at the door of the Lecture Room before I knew what had happened, and, within seconds, I was swept into the chaos that constitutes a theatrical troupe's dress rehearsal preparations. It was clear that the weather hadn't stopped anyone from coming. The contrast between the empty museum of the last few days and the bedlam that lay before me was striking. Madame Kovakowski was belting out scales center stage, whilst all around her the stagehands hurried and scurried with ladders and back drops. A group of actors near the door had appropriated the main aisle and were screeching their way through Act II, Scene Three. They only stopped when a shout came from the stage.

"William! She's tipping over!"

I watched in horrified fascination as one of the larger back drops—a scene depicting an underground Turkish harem—started to plunge forwards onto the group milling around Madame Kovakowski. The stagehands wobbled backwards and forwards as if performing some complicated chorus number, as actors ran screaming towards the wings. For one interminable moment the backdrop swung slowly towards our leading lady, but then the men regained control and moved off backstage. The rest of us let out a sigh and burst into nervous giggles, whilst our star remained oblivious. She finished her singing and executed a curtsy, pleased to find that all eyes were upon her.

"Jasper's been looking for you, boy!" shouted one of the harem eunuchs. "I'd hurry if I were you. He's in high dudgeon!"

My stomach plummeted. Shakily, I made my way over to the stage where Jasper was practicing his back flips. As I clambered up the last step, he flew into the air and landed within inches of my feet.

"Perfect!" he crowed. "Absolutely perfect!"

"Very nice," I ventured anxiously.

"Nice!" he harrumphed. "FLAWLESS, FAULTLESS, PEERLESS were more along the lines I was thinking!" He swept into an elaborate bow and then dramatically posed as if for a carte de viste. "So, where have you been? You know we need to finish blocking that last scene. That idiotic Lindemann has moved us behind the queen sow, and now nobody will be able to appreciate the exquisite set of tumbles that I wanted to introduce there. I almost walked off when he told me!" He broke off and rolled his eyes. "Look at her! Just look at her! Does Lindemann really think that any audience in its right mind wants to watch her waddle back and forth for two hours. What they want is Spectacle, Extravaganza, Feats of Physical Prowess. In a word, ME!"

I waited as Jasper continued in this vein, relieved that his anger was directed elsewhere. With my nerves strung as tightly as they were, I didn't think I could stand the violence and sheer unpleasantness of Jasper's temper.

"Anyway," he continued. "I've been meaning to ask you--since you seem to have a predilection for hovering around in dark corners--about the bottom floor of the museum. Do you visit that part much?"

I froze, thrown off guard. This was the first time that Jasper had ever directed a personal question at me, and now he was asking about the basement. I was thrown into confusion. Why was he asking about that particular part of the museum? Did he know about the tunnel? It could hardly be a coincidence.

"The basement . . .?" I stuttered. "I don't know." I tried to assume an air of ignorance or at least stupidity.

Jasper stretched and then yawned. "It's not important. I was just curious, but--" and here his whole demeanor underwent a dramatic change. Fixing me with his eye, he leaned forwards and lowered his voice to a whisper. I could smell the grease of his pomade. "I might avoid the basement for awhile, if I were you. There's something odd going on down there, and it might be best to stick to the lighter regions, if you know what I mean?" With a theatrical flourish he stamped his feet and threw himself into the air for a series of cartwheels ending in a spectacular back flip.

I swallowed and moved away, confused and bewildered. What did he know about Bill? The horrible rooms behind the door? Was he trying to threaten me, and he been following Esther and me? Frantically I thought back to our trips along the tunnel and tried to recall the details, whether someone could have been hidden, watching us as we emerged from the brick hole.

"Watch yourself!" yelled a stagehand maneuvering a gigantic seashell right in front of me. I swerved at the last minute and muttered an apology, seeking a space where I could sit and think quietly for a minute. I hastened to the back dressing rooms, changed quickly into my costume and then hurried through the clutter and debris of back stage to one of the ladders that led to the scaffolding.

The ladder was built for a full-sized man, and I almost changed my mind about the climb when I thought about having to come back down. Eventually, however, I reached the top and was able to throw myself onto the platform that spanned this side of the stage. There I sat for a minute, catching my breath. When it had slowed, I slid myself forward so that my legs hung over the edge of the scaffolding.

From this position I commanded a bird's eye view of the rehearsal, indeed of the entire hall. There were the harem girls practicing their dance number and flirting with two of the pirates. Behind me to the right I could see Madame Kovakowski trying on costume jewelry, and there below me was Jasper yelling at one of the small boys who helped out with the lights. He moved as if to box his ears, but the boy was too quick for him and leapt out of the way with a triumphant yell. Jasper shook his fist at his back and then turned away cursing. I watched as he stomped off stage and threw himself onto the large gilt throne from Act II.

From up here I couldn't make out the exact expressions on his face, but I could see that he was angrily watching the actors. Periodically he would glance towards the exit, as if looking for someone. Everything he did seemed now suddenly dark and suspicious. Was he working with Lucian? Did they know what lay behind the door? Had they seen Bill moving pieces from the Museum? My mind raced, trying to make connections. It was baffling, I simply didn't know enough. Still, two facts remained clear: Jasper was now my enemy and Jasper knew something about the tunnel.

As my mind wandered through various nightmare scenarios, a movement at the door midway up the side aisle caught my eye. A rather nondescript man in street clothes was talking to one of the actors. The actor shook his head and pointed down to where Mr. Lindemann was sitting with the assistant stage manager. The man came down the side aisle, along a row, and then leaned over the seat and tapped Lindemann on the shoulder. Lindemann looked annoyed at the interruption, but they spoke for a minute and then shook hands. The man went out the way he came.

Not a particularly interesting scene--it had only captured my attention because the man was so obviously not an actor--but I wasn't the only one watching what was going on. Down below, Jasper had watched the exchange like a snake watches its prey. His eyes never left the man's face, and, when he left, Jasper got up and wandered down towards Lindemann. He sat for a while a few seats away, as if biding his time, and then, when Lindemann was finished going over his notes with the stage manager, he came forward and asked a question, jerking his head towards the doorway.

Lindemann simply shrugged his shoulders and answered with a few words, but even from up here, I could see the look of evil satisfaction that passed across Jasper's face as he made his way back along the aisle to the stage steps. Why, he even rubbed his hands together like some stock villain in a melodrama! He had heard something of great interest to himself, something that pleased him. What it could be had added another layer of mystery to the puzzle, but somehow I felt less confused, less frightened of Jasper. Perhaps it was the God-like perspective on my fellow actors provided by my perch. Perhaps it was watching Jasper when he was unaware of my scrutiny. Regardless, I slid down that ladder, feeling much better. Jasper knew something about me and the tunnel, but I too had learned something about Jasper, something he did not know I knew.

# Chapter Thirteen

"Hector!" hissed one of the actors from the wings. "What are you up to? You're about to go on."

I had taken my time coming down the ladder and had stupidly not paid attention to what was going on beneath me. The dress rehearsal had begun, and I was in the opening scene. Hurriedly fixing my ridiculous jester's hat, I ran over to the curtain just in time to throw myself into a tumble behind Jasper. Nobody else noticed, but Jasper gave me an angry look as we came off stage. Fortunately since he was in the next scene, he had no opportunity to berate me for missing my cue.

The rest of the rehearsal passed without incident. Mechanically, I went through the routine. By now, I could have done it asleep and blindfolded. Jasper had taken upon himself all of the parts that required any acting—or miming, I should say, since neither of us had any lines. All I had to do was turn somersaults in the background. I never even had to look at the rows of seats in front of me, seats that would soon be filled with upturned faces, hundreds upon hundreds of them!

Lindemann congratulated us on a rehearsal well done. He wanted to make very few changes, so most of us were free until four, when we were to assemble back at the Lecture Room to change into our costumes and makeup.

I was exhausted, but knew I would not sleep, so I went down to the refreshment stand on the first floor with some of the actors. I was now drawing a regular wage—not much, but it allowed me to supplement the meals that Clem still brought me.

When I had bought my small dinner—a hot corn muffin and a cup of coffee—I sat down on the steps and listened to my friends talk amongst themselves. They were older than I, but seemed to have taken a liking to me, a liking that I guessed partially originated in their dislike of Jasper.

"Mark my words, Lindemann's mad opening tonight! Most of the city's still under six feet of snow." This was Edward, a handsome fellow who played one of the pirates.

"You can't cancel a show at the last minute," answered a large man we called Skeedles. "Barnum would never allow it."

"Well, Barnum's about to lose a lot of money on this venture. Half the seats will be empty."

" I heard Barnum don't care much. Got bigger fish to fry," interjected Sam, who played the brother of our heroine in pink.

Skeedles took a large gulp of beer, wiped his mouth, and turned to Sam. "Yeah? What did you hear?"

"Just that he's got another one of those business deals happening, one that's going to make him a lot of money."

Edward laughed. "What a man! Everything he touches turns to gold. Have you seen the house he's having built? Looks like something out of this play—all turrets and fancy oriental fountains."

"We're in the wrong business, fellows!" grunted Skeedles. "Hector, you've been with the museum awhile, eh? What do you know about old Barnum?"

"Not much," I shrugged, searching my mind for juicy tidbits to tell my new friends. I was young and longed for a chance to impress them, to show them that they had indeed done the right thing in allowing me to tag along.

I suddenly remembered an incident I had heard about an opera girl and Barnum's wife when Clem came down the steps.

"Afternoon fellas, Hector." He shook hands with Edward and then turned to me. "Look, Hector, I wanted to stay and see you in the play, but I need to get home early after all."

"Of course," I said, horrified to hear that Clem might have been in the audience, had actually been thinking of attending! The very thought made me feel quite ill. "I quite understand."

"Good luck then. Break a leg!" Clem pushed down his hat and made his way out the front doors.

"He's a good man," said Edward over the rim of his mug. "Wouldn't want his job though, not for all the tea in China! Those animals are fierce!" With a quick jump he was up on the stair roaring like a lion and then pacing the hall like a leopard. His gestures were perfect, capturing both the grace and power of those exotic creatures. Edward was good at his craft. He cavorted for a bit while the others laughed, and then the conversation moved on.

I finished my scant dinner and sat and listened to the stories of past theatrical fiascos and flops. They had me in stitches, but sooner than I would have liked the clock showed close to four. I didn't feel half as bad as I thought I would. Still, I still didn't feel too good. My stomach wriggled with nervousness, and my hands were ice cold and clammy.

"'Bout time, boys" said Skeedles with a loud burp. Edward and Sam shook their heads at his rudeness. Skeedles was a good actor and generous to a fault, but he wasn't quite the gentleman.

"You ready, Hector?" he said to me. "Just remember. Don't look at the lights. Keep your eyes averted. Got that? Don't look at the lights."

I nodded, barely taking it in, and followed them back to the Lecture Room.

Lights flashed, the music blared, I twisted and turned, tumbled again, and then it was over. I had made it through the first scene. My nerves started to play up again when I was waiting in the wings for my next entrance, but, when the time came, I was pushed into the thick of it, and my body moved automatically.

Skeedles' advice stood me in good stead, and when I finally had a moment to think, I realized that the rescue from the harem was occurring and that, unbelievably, we were nearing the end of the play. I could hear the roars of approval from the audience as the stagehands let off the gas effects. Pink, green, then blue filled the air, as the pirate ship sailed off stage carrying Madame Kovakowski in the arms of her hero.

I felt a rush of exhilaration. It was almost over, and I had made it through. We all lined up for the last scene: the marriage and grand finale. Gone was my unhappiness and humiliation at having to perform in such a patronizing fashion. I was ecstatic with relief.

"Where's that damned Dwarf?" screamed Lindemann over the din of the orchestra.

"He's right here," shouted someone, pushing me forward.

"No, not that one. The other one. Jasper, damn it!"

Jasper appeared in front of us. His face was pale, and he was holding his right foot gingerly off the ground.

"What's wrong with your foot?" demanded Lindemann.

"It's fine," muttered Jasper through clenched teeth. He made to move up into position, but fell awkwardly against one of the ropes and yelped in pain. "I twisted it doing that last number."

"You!" said Lindemann, turning toward me. "Out!" And with that I was pushed forward into the spotlights, trying desperately to remember Jasper's routine.

To those who have had the dreadful experience of actually speaking in public, I am sure that my story sounds melodramatic and rather pathetic. All I had to do was romp and frolic in the wedding train. Again, I had no lines. But to act in front of an audience was like death to me, and part of my brain could not get over the fact that I was really out there in front performing in Jasper's place. I did it though, and while I could not execute Jasper's back flips, I turned cartwheel over cartwheel, somersault over somersault, and, I swear, I could hear the crowd roar with approval.

The curtain came down with a rush and then we were running off stage and back again for our bows. Holding hands with my fellow actors, I dared to look out at the audience. All was a white glare, but it seemed to me that the hall was quite full. Sweat ran down my temples and into my eyes, my legs twitched with tiredness, but I was filled with joy, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

"Bravo!" cried Giles the assistant stage manner from the wings. "They're calling for you! Bravo!"

We ran out again to the sound of stamping feet and hurrahs, and then the curtains came down for the last time, and we were slapping each other on the back, laughing and joking.

"Not so bad," shouted Lindemann over the applause. "Not so bad. They couldn't get enough of the gewgaws and explosions, could they? What a life!" He rolled his eyes, lit a cigar, and disappeared out a side door.

"Not so bad!" Edward chortled. "They loved us! Hector, you were magnificent! Magnificent!"

"Yes!" cried one of the pirates, flinging his arm around my shoulder. "Wonderful, although I almost tripped over you near the end. Did you see?"

"Did I see?" I yelled. "Where did you think those cart wheels came from? I was trying to get away before you flattened me, you giant oaf!"

He let out a yell of laughter and pushed me towards the dressing rooms. "Bradley's brought in the beer! I'll join you in a minute."

Laughing, I turned to make my way with the rest of the crowd and ran straight into Jasper. His expression was stony; his eyes glimmered with hate. In an instant, my stomach cramped; the smile on my face froze.

"Enjoyed it, did you?" he hissed, moving closer and grabbing my shirt. "Of course you did, you filthy freak. Well, that's the last time! If I ever catch you upstaging me, trying to make me look bad . . ." With a flourish, he pulled out a knife. It shone bright in the space between us, but nobody noticed in the noise and tumult.

"Do you understand?" he spat, leaning in close until the blade pricked against my throat.

"I understand," I whispered, frantically looking around for help, but people were oblivious, streaming towards the dressing rooms.

"You sure?" he smirked, enjoying my fear, the tears that were coursing down my cheeks. The knife edge dug deeper into my throat.

"Yes. But Lindemann told—"

"Enough!" he yelled, finally drawing the attention of those around us. They looked puzzled, unsure whether we were joking around or serious. I gasped.

Jasper grimaced. "Just remember what I told you." The knife disappeared, and he hobbled to the side, sneering as I backed away. "I'm watching you! Don't forget, I'm always watching you."

Shakily, I made my way down to the main dressing room. Jasper's last words echoed in my mind, and my hands were shaking. My exhilaration had evaporated.

The scent of rose, violet, and lilac filled the air, the competing scents of rival actresses. There were hoots of laughter and the buzz of excited voices all talking at once. Everyone was still in costume, reluctant to let go of the moment.

The whole cast was going to celebrate, but I turned down the offer to join them at the local oyster bar. It would have been my first time leaving the museum, my first invitation from friends, but I couldn't shake the feeling of Jasper's knife as it slid along my throat or forget his parting words. A glare from him as he sat sulking in the opposite corner was more enough for me.

Without a word, I slipped from the crowded room and out into the empty theater. Now my limbs felt like lead. I was so tired that I stumbled up to the exit.

"Hector!" came a cry from above. I jerked my head up. "Hector!" And there was Esther of all people, running down the aisle.

"I thought you were never coming out!" she shouted, heedless of the amused stares of the stagehands.

"Esther!" I started. "How did you get in? I didn't expect—"

"I saw a poster this morning. Couldn't hardly believe it! I snuck in when ole Creepy Drawers was a' talking to somebody else." She grabbed my arm. "Why, Hector, are you drunk? Were you all celebrating back there? That was the best thing I ever seen! I about died when you came out on that stage! Almost gave myself away. And then at the end! Why, yer a famous person now!"

She smiled at me. I slowly sank against a seat.

"Oh, Hector! You're 'bout done for." She pushed the hair out of my eyes and made to feel my forehead. "Here, give me your arm, and I'll help you upstairs. Must have been all them upside down flips and things." She winked conspiratorially. "First time you ever had a swig, wasn't it? I know how it is!"

My leg ached badly, and I was too tired to correct her, so I let her help me upstairs to my room.

Patches was sitting by the door as we came in. He wagged his tail and then licked my hand and laid his head on my leg, begging to be scratched. Esther pulled off my shoes and got me some water. Slowly, I felt my nervous fear dissipating.

"You're wiped out, Hector!' laughed Esther, as she helped me down on the pallet. "You got to take it easy with that beer!" She came closer, smelling my breath. "You weren't drinking gin were you?"

"Esther, I'm just a little tired."

"Sure?" she said staring suspiciously. Patches stuck his head in my face, and I found myself under the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes. "Something's wrong," she said. "You don't look right. Why, you should be on top of the world after that show!"

"It's nothing," said I, determined to keep my encounter with Jasper to myself. Wouldn't she laugh to hear about one dwarf frightening another! Why, it was just like something out of a comedy! Pathetic. "Tell me what you found out about those people in the tunnel. I think we should tell Clem and warn Bill."

Esther shook her head, "No, not yet anyways. I don't think the museum's safe, but I don't know where you'd go, 'specially with these blizzards and all." She blew her nose and then wiped it in the crook of her arm. "More people disappeared. All off the street or from Five Points. Something's going on down there. Promise me you'll wait 'til I find out more? You can't trust no one."

"That's nonsense. We can trust Clem--" I began, but my eyes began to water, and I hurriedly looked away. Why I was becoming a downright baby!

Esther leaned forward and grabbed my hands. "Why, Hector what is it? Something happened. I know it did."

"No, nothing," I muttered, turning my head away further, but then I felt Patches head in my lap. He looked up at me with those eyes more human than dog, and suddenly the words spilled out of me. I found myself telling Esther everything: the feel of the knife, Jasper's threats, my terror and cowardice. I couldn't stop. Part of me felt ashamed at my confession—I had learned early on to keep my feelings to myself--but another part felt lightened, almost reckless. Finally I was done.

Esther scowled. "If I'd been there, I would've wrung his scrawny neck!" She snarled. "And I bet you Patches could've bitten him to death! He's got a lot a nerve! Don't you worry, Hector. We'll take care of him!"

I smiled, warmed by Esther's fierce defense and the thought of her calling anyone else "scrawny." Still, it was crucial that she realize that Jasper's threat was real. "I wish you had been there, Esther, but he's a dangerous fellow. I think the best thing to do is to stay out of his way."

Then I remembered Jasper's earlier questions about the tunnel. "And, Esther, there's more." My voice sounded slightly shaky, so I took a breath. "He knows about the tunnel. He was asking questions earlier and then told me to stay away. He must have been following us. What is he to do with those people?"

Esther and I puzzled for a while over what Jasper might have meant, but she was too caught up in the fact of his following us. "All I can say is that if he tries to pull that again, he'll be in trouble." She jumped up and playacted a fight "He ain't the only one that can use a knife!"

The conversation ended fruitlessly. We had no answers, and I could keep my eyes open not a moment longer. "You are staying, aren't you?" I asked, pulling up the blanket.

"Well, if you want us to," said Esther gruffly, looking at Patches, as if for confirmation. He put a paw on her shoulder and wriggled his tail.

"Good," said I, nestling into the pillow.

Patches flopped down against me with a large sigh. Esther crept to the bottom of the pallet and slipped in under the blanket. I could feel her little feet against my arm.

"You were really good in that play, Hector!" she whispered. "Really really good!"

# Chapter Fourteen

I took a step over the threshold and down onto the shoveled path that led past the ticket booth out to the street. And that was it. The furthest I had ever been. The cold air shuddered through my lungs, and I let out a laugh, as joy, unexpected and immediate, sent me sailing out into the world. Sunlight bounced off the snow and sparkled up to me, making me want to run and slide and run again until all breath was gone. I turned to Esther and smiled. She took my hand, and we raced out to the street.

This morning when we had awoken, Esther had demanded that we leave the Museum and explore the city. "You've never ridden a street car? Never seen the River?" she asked amazed.

Little did she know that I had never set foot outside the Museum. But today, with the blizzard over and sun spilling onto the dusty shelves and exhibits, I longed to go outside, to forget Jasper, the horror that I had seen in the tunnels, even the decision that Bill had put in front of me about my future at the Museum. My legs seemed imbued with an extra strength and energy, as we ran laughing down the stairs and spilled out onto the street.

Broadway was teeming with sleighs and teams of horses, prancing and jockeying for position. From every side came the sound of sleigh bells and the calls of drivers.

"Whoa!"

"Walk on,"

"Pick it up, Bess!"

Passengers laughed as they leaned from their sleds to exchange greetings. It seemed as if the whole world had turned out this morning to parade down New York's thoroughfares. All along the street, out of the way of the traffic, vendors had set up booths and pushcarts selling hot chestnuts, cider, and potato pancakes. Their fires sent a shimmering haze up into the air and melted the snow so that it dripped from the curb.

Across the way was the magnificent Astor House, it's green awning flapping proudly in the breeze. I looked back up at the Museum. It was the gaudy sister of the street. Barnum's American Museum was written in huge red letters across its front, and it was covered with colorful pictures of animals. Flags waved from all sides and a gigantic banner of a sea battle dominated the entryway.

St Paul's Church, directly across the street, seemed to be shrinking in horror, flabbergasted that it had to rub elbows with such a lurid establishment. I felt sympathetic, but I also felt the magnetism of the Museum, its loud bravado and mischievousness. Like the working-class customers it pandered to, it dug in its heels and blew a raspberry at the staid buildings around it, crying out that it was Barnum, not them, who was the soul of the city, the symbol of a new era.

"This way," said Esther, interrupting my musing and pulling me along. "Now wait til I say go. People get killed all the time crossing here." We waited for an opening between the sleighs and yellow and red omnibuses.

"Go!" cried Esther and we hurried across the street, arriving breathless at the door of a shop. "Look at that," said Esther.

In the window, stacked like the turrets of a palace, were tiny tarts and cakes. Esther and I watched as a sled slowed to a halt and two ladies got out, their hands warmly wrapped in fur muffs, their dresses trailing in the snow. Laughing, they pushed open the door and disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a collection of white boxes. As we silently watched them readjust their garments and step into the sled, I felt desire and decision well up inside me. I wanted one of those cakes. I would have one of those cakes. If it were only for one day out of my life, I would cater to a whim, give in to my desire. Pushing an astonished Esther towards the door, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin.

Inside was a dizzying array of sweets held captive behind a sparkling pane of glass, but I knew what I wanted, and, pulling Esther up to the counter, I announced that I would have a chocolate éclair.

"And what would you like, Esther?" I said kindly as if I was used to treating any day of the week.

"I'll have one of those," she said gruffly, pointing towards a fairy cake, topped with silver sparkles.

The clerk gave us a look, but we were the only customers at the moment, and so he simply shrugged, wrapped up the cakes and handed me my change and two beautiful boxes.

Outside, Esther held the box gingerly like it would break apart in her hands. We found a dry stoop, the stone almost warm from the sun, and sat down to our treasures. I devoured mine before I had time to think in a frenzy of chocolate and cream, but Esther went about hers as if she were conducting some ritual in which every step required the utmost attention. Slowly she untied the string and then carefully lifted the cake out. Holding it aloft, she studied it from every angle and then took a tiny bite. With eyes closed, she chewed that cake with measured mastication and, finally, swallowed. The process was repeated until only a tiny morsel was left, and I was fuming with impatience beside her.

"That was the best thing I ever ate," she sighed dreamily, looking longingly at the pastries in the window, but I was ready to move on, eager to explore the rest of the street.

"Come on!" I called and raced down the sidewalk, undeterred by the startled looks of the passersby. Esther soon caught me up, and we played an improvised game of tag, zigzagging in and out of the other pedestrians, screaming and laughing as we hurtled down the street. Our game ended when we hit a patch of ice that sent us spinning in a tangle of arms and legs.

I was giddy with freedom. Before I had time to think, the words were spilling out of my mouth. "Esther, show me where you live?"

She instantly stiffened. Then sat up. "Why'd you want to see where I live?"

I could see that she was reluctant, but the spirit of adventure was upon me. "Because," I said, getting up and brushing off my trousers. "I want to see if it matches how I imagined it."

"How'd you imagine it then?" she said scowling.

"Esther, don't be angry. I'm just—"

"I don't live there really. Not like you mean. I just sleep there sometimes."

"Well take me anyway."

"What about the Iron Palace? You ain't never see anything like it! Come on. We'll go there next."

"We've got time for both surely?"

She shook her head and pursed her lips, looking away. Then she turned back and searched my face for a minute. Finally, she made up her mind.

"You'll do what I tell you to? No questions, right?"

"Right," said I nodding, but she had already run down the pavement, dodged a carriage, and run out into the middle of the hustle and bustle of the street. I followed her as best I could.

Suddenly I saw what she was making her way towards, and my stomach dropped. I was bound to follow however, so I swallowed and ran out behind her as she expertly swung herself up on the side of a bright red streetcar. Grinning, she looked down and reached out a hand. I stared and then lunged madly. For a second, there was simply open space, and then Esther grabbed my arm, pulling me up. My feet danced a jig, trying to find purchase on the icy thin ledge. Esther pulled me closer.

After a terrifying moment of scrambling mid-air, I found a hold and realized that I was careening down Broadway on the outside of a streetcar as an unlawful passenger. I believe I yelped, perhaps even whimpered. The frigid rushing air snatched my breath and stung my face. My hands burned from the cold metal, but I only grasped tighter and closed my eyes. I was praying that someone would notice us and alert the conductor so that the car would stop, but we had no such luck. Indeed, when I dared glance inside, I was startled to find that the regular passengers seemed scarcely to notice us, their expressions stolid and impassive. I had never received so little attention in my life!

On and on went the nightmare until finally I felt Esther pulling at my sleeve. The car was slowing.

"Jump!" hissed Esther. "Jump now!"

Incredibly, I felt myself falling backwards. Esther must have pulled me off, for I would never had let go on my own.

The next thing I knew I was stumbling into a snowdrift as the streetcar clanged to a stop some ways down the street. I lay face down in the snow for a moment. Esther was already brushing snow off her legs.

"It gets easier," she said, pulling me to my feet.

"Never again," I croaked, but I was laughing.

Esther shook her head at my mock despair and then strode across the street to where a chestnut vendor was tending his small fire. I followed as quickly as I could, afraid to be left alone so far from the museum. With a grunt, the chestnut man made room for us around the smoking coals. We warmed our hands and backsides, and then Esther was off again.

After crossing another street, she led me away from the main thoroughfare down a series of increasingly narrow alleys. I'm sure that at any other time of the year, I would have been struck by the dirt, the filth, the poverty, but as we wove our way into the Bowery even the tenements were decorated with icicles that gleamed like diamonds. The rubbish and refuse that filled the yards was covered with a carpet of pearly white snow. I did not know where I was, did not care, and, indeed, felt as if I could race for miles around this glorious city. Cooped up in the dark and close museum, I had been unaware of the pleasures to be discovered all around me, and I was determined to make the most of it. Needless to say, I failed to notice that Esther's mood had changed.

Finally, she came to a halt in a half-shadowed court.

"Here we are!" she announced with defiant sarcasm. "You said you wanted to see where I came from. Well, here it is. Isn't it grand?"

She waved her hand at a building that loomed above us to our left, its doorway a dark maw, the windows boarded up, and its roof a jumble of fallen planks. I stepped back afraid that it would fall any minute. I had expected filth, and it was here at last in this depressing corner of the Bowery—the snow streaked with vomit and excrement, the burnt and rotting buildings—yet I had not expected the oppressive quiet. I had thought to be overwhelmed by a riot of noise produced by millions of souls stacked one upon another. But the tenements were quiet like the intake of breath after an unexpected blow. My exhilaration dissipated, to be replaced by melancholic feeling of unease.

" Less lively in winter," said Esther, as if reading my thoughts. She kicked angrily at the snow. Her foot turned the white crust into a dirty gray slush.

Behind me an old woman suddenly trundled past us, startling me by her proximity. Under her breath, she mumbled incoherently. I moved out of her way, but she did not even notice me. After rooting around amongst the refuse, she disappeared through a hole in the bricks where the wall had partially collapsed.

"So, you sleep in there?" I asked, gesturing toward the doorway. "Downstairs?"

" That's right. Big Head Tim, his uncle got a room. There's a whole gang of us. As long as we bring in what we make that day."

I stared at the rubbish piled up in small hills against the walls, trying to think of something to say.

"It ain't clean and fancy like yer old museum!" snapped Esther. "It's warm though, when there's lots of us."

"Yes, I'm sure," I said hurriedly. I was horrified that poor Esther had to stay here even for one moment. The very stillness of the place rang with despair. I had thought my life was often a sad one when I compared my situation to that of those happy children who ranged through the museum and then went home to tea and cake with their families, but now I realized that life could get worse, much worse. There were hidden depths to poverty that I had not even begun to plumb.

"Let me go see if he's got my matches," said Esther, turning back toward the doorway. "Save me a trip back down here."

"You're coming back though?" I stuttered.

Esther rolled her eyes. "I'll be back soon."

I watched her as she disappeared down the dark staircase, and then I proceeded to walk around the yard in an attempt to keep warm. The sun disappeared behind a rooftop, leaving the yard in shadows. It was hard to believe that elsewhere in the city, people were still laughing as they dashed along in the sparkling sun-lit afternoon. Darkness had come to Five Points, the darkness of a winter's night that knew no pity and made no exceptions. I shivered and tried to calm myself by going through some of the more difficult Latin verb declensions. And then began again at the beginning.

Finally, Esther appeared in the doorway.

"Oh here you are," I said inanely. In answer she simply grabbed me and pulled me back the way we had come.

"Are you all right?" I panted. She was forcing me to trot along beside her. As we turned a corner and the light grew brighter, I noticed the red mark across her cheek, the glassy look to her eyes.

"Esther, did something happen? Who did that to you?" I faltered, trying to get her to stop. I had an awful feeling, but she insisted on keeping her secret.

"I'm fine," she mumbled and then shook her head. "I'm fine,"

# Chapter Fifteen

While I was pondering how she had come by the mark, Esther had run ahead of me and was turning the corner. I ran to catch up. She was singing defiantly at the top of her voice and yelling taunts at me, at the buildings, at the snow beneath her feet. She seemed half crazed. Periodically, she would stop and turn back, grinning, and then she was off.

After awhile, all thoughts of what had happened to her down in that tenement flew from my mind. I was panting heavily, barely able to keep up. Then suddenly, we were out in the sunshine. The light sparkled and spun, blinding me, as it flashed off the glossy side of a streetcar making its way down the street. Esther jumped for the car, and I followed, sending my crippled body up into the air. It was a wild leap of faith, but my hands hit the rail, and my knees slammed into the side. I was bruised, aching, and winded, but alive. I laughed as the wind whipped tears from my eyes. Esther let out a yell, a yelp of pure glee.

We rode that trolley all the way up Broadway, screaming and yelling like mad creatures. The passengers inside the full car pretended not to see us, and the conductor tried to catch us when we jumped off, but he was too portly a gentleman to catch us, even me with my short legs.

Breathless we paused at the portals of the famed Iron Palace, one of the new department stores, the largest of its kind. I had heard people talk about the shop, and Esther had enthusiastically described its many floors packed to the ceilings with every imaginable product known to mankind, but nothing prepared me for its magnificence.

We swept in past the doormen with a crowd of families and found ourselves beneath a glass rotunda. Late afternoon light poured down upon the marble floor. Floor after floor rose above me, offering a dizzying array of colored silks, toys, hats, carpets, ladies dresses and cloaks. Jewelry glimmered from behind shining glass cabinets—rose, gold and silver, ruby, sapphire and emerald. The air was filled with the soft tones of an organ playing somewhere, and even the chatter of excited shoppers was transmuted into a soft hush by the carpeted floor and curtains.

"Hector!" Esther hissed at me from behind a mannequin. The families that had aided our entrance had swept on up the stairway and left me staring upwards, mouth gaping open in astonishment. Ducking behind a table of neckties, I found Esther. She was modeling a hat in front of a full-length mirror--an incredible confection of pink ribbons and bright blue feathers. It towered over Esther, threatening to topple off as she minced and pranced in front of the glass. I covered my mouth, laughter working at the back of my throat. This only made Esther bolder. She picked up an Indian shawl and threw it around her shoulders, pulling her face into an expression of exaggerated haughtiness.

When my stifled laughter threatened to draw too much attention, Esther disrobed quickly and pulled me up the grand stairway. We scurried to a back corner away from the cashiers and promenaded up and down the aisles, stroking the Turkey rugs and upholstery.

My favorite piece was an enormous yellow striped settee. While Esther kept a look out, I scrambled up and reclined against its plush pillows. I had never felt anything so luxurious. I closed my eyes and pretended I was in possession of a mansion worthy of the settee—a Venetian palace perhaps. In this fantasy, my feet touched the floor, and I was handsome and well made. Every night, I bathed in scented water and slept in sheets of silk . . . .

A rude poke in the ribs dissipated the daydream. "Time to go," Esther hissed, pointing to a man who was hurriedly making his way over to us, his face a mask of supercilious disapproval.

I slid off the couch as fast as I could and began racing back down the stairs.

"Well, I never!" sniffed a lady in an enormous fur coat, turning to look at me as I sped by.

Without thinking, I stuck out my tongue and grimaced at her. She drew back in horror, and I ran down the stairs. Behind me came sounds of shock and calls for the manager, but I was as high as a kite and couldn't have cared less. I took one last glimpse of paradise and then barreled out through the glass doors and into the street.

The cold hit my face with a slap, but the afternoon was still full of sunshine. I felt like another person, living another life. Esther grabbed my hands and spun me around, laughing and screaming.

When we had tired of our mad capering, we made our way over to where a small crowd had gathered on the pavement. "What're they looking at?" asked Esther and pushed her way past a lady with a small dog in her muff.

"How rude!" hissed the lady, but the man in front made room for us.

"Good as a play this is!" he guffawed, pointing up the street where people were fighting against a strong wind that seemed to have blown up from nowhere. There was barely a breeze playing everywhere else, but in that part of the street it was if a storm was blowing. First earthquakes at the Museum and now hurricanes on the street.

As I was thinking about the strangeness of a wind blowing on only part of the street, a man's hat went sailing into the sky even as he grabbed for it, spilling his packages onto the ground. Giggling with the rest of the crowd, we watched as the hat scooted along the snowy sidewalk with its bow-legged owner in hot pursuit.

Suddenly the gale grew even stronger. People went spinning and sliding to the pavement. Bonnets, parcels, newspapers all went sailing toward a large grate in the sidewalk. There they stuck fast with all of the refuse sucked from the gutters.

Then, just as suddenly, the wind died down. People gathered their belongings from the grate, some puzzled and angry, some laughing and shrugging their shoulders. When the crowd had dispersed, Esther and I walked over to the grate and peered down. We were interested in anything having to do with what lay below the city.

"That was queer," I remarked. "What do you see?'

"Nothing down there," said Esther, straightening up. "Weren't that a hoot though!" She let out a guffaw. "Did ya see that lady with the petticoats. I thought she was going to be stripped stark naked!"

Her eyes danced merrily to my face, expecting, I suppose, my usual disapproval, but this time I surprised her—and myself. I erupted into an explosion of guffaws, tears streamed from my eyes. Every time I tried to stop, Esther would silently mimic the gestures of the bow-legged man attempting to keep both his dignity and top hat as the wind sucked mercilessly at his clothing, and I would dissolve into laughter again.

"There's demon's down there!" came a voice close to my ear. I jumped back with a start. An old woman was smiling at me. The laughter died in my throat, and I looked nervously at Esther. The woman drew closer. Madness shone from her eyes. "They snatch folk's as ain't paying attention and then drag 'em down. Down they goes, and that's it, down. . ." She trailed off and then backed away. With a start I realized it was the old woman from the tenement.

"Crazy old hag!" muttered Esther pulling me away.

The old woman drew a shawl over her head and turned and stumbled down an alley.

I was still getting my bearings, unwilling to admit how disconcerted I had been by the sudden apparition, when a grip like a talon descended upon my shoulder.

"What are you children doing here in the middle of the street?"

I was forced around by the strength of that grip, by the power in that voice. Esther had been caught too. Our captor was a stout young lady dressed severely in grey and black. Atop her hat sat a brace of dead birds, and in her eyes shone a light of intense missionary zeal.

"Let me go!" growled Esther, squirming. "Let me GO!"

"I most certainly will not," said the lady. "You'll come with me. This lecture will be most beneficial for the pair of you, and then we'll see what we can do."

"Pardon me, miss, but I don't need any help, if that's what you are offering," I ventured, certain now that she had mistaken me (at least) for one of the thousands of street urchins that ranged through the city.

"You're a sly one," she said, giving me a shake and then peering at me through her spectacles. "And an ugly one. I thought the lower classes practiced infanticide in such cases—a primitive and yet sanitary practice."

I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my temper.

"Let us go," hissed Esther. "Else you'll regret it!" With swift violence, she kicked out at the lady's shins. But the lady charity worker was too much for her. With a practiced twist, she moved to one side and Esther's legs went flying. Giving us one last shake, she then proceeded to drag us down Broadway to the lecture hall that stood kitty corner from the department store.

Esther screeched, yelled, and flailed her arms. I tried to talk reasonably to the lady and sent beseeching looks at those passing by, but they simply laughed, and we were soon dragged into the hall and deposited into a set of very hard seats.

All around us was a sea of grey—grey hats, grey dresses, grey coats, grey faces. We were amongst a Temperance crowd and were in for a couple hours of preaching. I knew these people from their dealings with Barnum. These were the do-gooders, the charity workers, the Christian brothers and sisters, who insisted on helping you whether you wanted their help or not. Barnum pacified them by putting on plays purportedly with Temperance themes, but he always seemed to get the upper hand in the end. It didn't look like we would be so lucky.

I turned my gaze to the stage. In front stood a wooden lectern with a Bible and a glass of water. Behind, ranged in a semi-circle, sat various dignitaries, one of them, to my disbelief, was Barnum. He sat with a self-satisfied smile stretched across his face, nodding occasionally as the lady next to him pointed out various people.

"Look!" whispered Esther, pinching my leg hard. "Look!"

"I see him" I said irritably, my leg hurting from her pinch.

Esther shrank further down into her seat. "Her!" she hissed. "Not him. It's her."

And then the lady in front of me moved her head to speak to a friend, and I realized whom Esther meant. Sitting up on stage five chairs down from Barnum was the lady from the tunnel, Eugenia. She wore dowdy clothes like the rest of them—a shapeless dress in a dull nondescript color—but she blazed like a beacon. Eyes like green cut crystal, head held high; she was a goddess amongst mortals. My stomach clenched with fear.

"What is she doing here," I whispered in horror. "How did she get out?"

"Out?" breathed Esther. "She don't need to get out! I bet she can go wherever she damn well pleases."

I moved impatiently. I understood, but had not even imagined that the people from the tunnel would leave the dark shadows beneath to emerge into the ordinary sunshine of the city.

"But why? I whispered back. "What for?"

As if she had heard my words, Eugenia took this moment to scan the crowd. Involuntarily, I found myself sliding further down into the chair.

"We have to go!" hissed Esther in a shaky voice. "We have to go now!"

"Nobody is going anywhere!" said a voice behind us. It was our lady with the dead birds on her hat. She poked Esther in the back and pulled me up by my collar. I wriggled, trying to get out of her grasp, and Esther turned in her seat, but neither of us made a noise, terrified that we might draw Eugenia's attention.

"Now sit up properly and pay attention," said the lady, fixing Esther with a stern look before moving on. "I've got my eye on you!"

Esther grimaced at me, but we remained where we were.

Up front, the meeting was getting started. A man approached the lectern.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. We are here today to discuss the problem of our century—the evil of strong drink. Dr. Gresham, one of our next speakers--" --Here he stopped to gesture gracefully at one of the men sitting behind him, who nodded back with a tight smile. "Dr. Gresham has put the cost of this problem at from six to seven hundred millions of dollars!"

The crowd murmured and shook their heads.

"But this is not the main cost," continued the speaker. "In consequence of using spirits, wines, and malt liquors we have over three hundred murders and four hundred suicides!"

Again the crowd murmured its horror.

While this rousing speech had been going on, Eugenia had been listening demurely. I found my gaze drawn to her hands, which were as white as the pages of an uncut novel and smooth like marble. No wrinkles nor small spots marred the perfection of that skin. The fingers were long and thin, and they sat still in her lap, like sleeping doves. Suddenly one awoke and moved gracefully to her chignon, smoothing back a non-existent loose hair.

As I watched, the speaker faltered mid sentence, his eyes traveling drunkenly to Eugenia's hair. I realized that even this seemingly unconscious gesture on her part was planned. She was aware of the power of the tiniest movement, and we were all prey to her slightest command. As if in response to my thoughts, she turned elegantly to stare out at the audience, this time, trapping me in her gaze like a hunter with his net.

Slowly I slid down in my chair and looked to Esther, but she had anticipated me and was already on the ground, crawling away. I too slipped to the ground and made my way back through the tunnel of legs, feet, canes, and ladies' handbags, constantly expecting to be pulled back by our lady charity worker. She must, however, have been too enrapt in the lecture, for no one stopped us as we scurried along the floor like small animals and emerged at the back of the hall.

From there it was simply a matter of stealing past a couple of ladies who were guarding the front door with handfuls of literature ready to pass out at the end of the meeting. They saw us, making for the exit and called to us half heartedly, but they did not possess the zeal of the lady with the dead birds, and we slipped through their grasp easily.

At the corner, we stopped to get our breath. "Phew!" said Esther like some character from one of Barnum's third-rate plays.

"Let's keep going," I answered, pulling her further down the street. "My God, I think she saw us. She saw us again!"

"No doubt 'bout that," Esther panted. "Come on, we got to go down that way." She pointed down a side alley.

"The museum," said I with relief. Its dark shadowy corners now seemed the epitome of safety. I wanted to hide myself in its depths, like a child seeking comfort in its mother's skirts.

"But you can't go back there," said Esther with horror. "That's where she lives, and what about old Barnum? What's he up to? I reckon he knows plenty 'bout what's going on in that tunnel. He'll have your hide in no time, if he's working for her!"

I shook my head in confusion. I knew she was right, but, still, all I wanted to do was go back home. I was done with the streets and wanted to hide myself away in my little storeroom and remain forgotten like the rest of Barnum's past exhibits.

The afternoon was growing cloudy. The wind swirled along Broadway, and though people still laughed and cried out as they careened down the street, the spirit of spring was gone. Evening was upon us, and snow threatened. The forerunners of a blizzard floated down lightly, lazily at first, but within minutes, the street was filled with a flurry of white, blotting out the merry-makers and leaving us once more within the grip of winter.

"You can't go back, Hector," started Esther, but before she had finished she jumped back, snow covering her shoulders. "Ouch!" she screamed.

Suddenly something exploded against my back, pushing me forward onto my hands and knees.

Before I had even arisen, another snowball hit my left arm, and then yet another whizzed above me, hitting Esther full in the face.

"Bastards!" she screamed, but her voice was tinged with glee and recognition. "You bastards!"

My heart dropped as I picked myself up. There in front of me, capering and posturing were Esther's fellow street urchins. I had no trouble picking out Big Head Tim, who did indeed live up to his name.

Esther tossed a snowball towards the group, but it landed harmlessly on the ground.

"Pah!" shouted a filthy faced boy with a snotty nose. "You can't even throw straight anymore!"

"But I can punch plenty straight," threatened Esther. "So, don't you be getting above yourself, Micky."

"Pah!" said Micky again, spitting into the snow. I noticed though that he kept a good distance from Esther.

"What ya all doing up this way?" she demanded. I stirred impatiently, anxious to get inside. Surely now was not the time for idle chat?

"Oh, this and that," growled Big Head Tim, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "We might ask you the same thing. We heard you been by. Where've you been?"

"Around and about," said Esther with a sneer.

"Yeah? And who's your friend then? Did ya help him escape from the museum?"

The rest of the gang tittered.

"Yeah, 'Freak Monster Runs Amok in the City!'" proclaimed Micky as if he was proclaiming a headline from the newspaper.

I blushed. I had known this would happen.

"Shut yer mouth, Micky!" drawled Tim. "I does the speaking around here, right?"

"Yeah," muttered Micky, slinking to the back.

"Well?" said Tim.

"This is Hector. He's been showing me the museum—lets me in for free, he does."

She did not address the insults and barely looked at me, but I wasn't surprised. Bitterness rose in my throat, and I felt the old cynicism falling down upon me like a well-worn cloak. Of course Esther would be embarrassed. I did not belong here. It was not my world. I was the freak, the curiosity. How stupid of me to have forgotten my place.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," I said sarcastically to Tim, and then, nodding at Esther, I turned towards the doors of the museum.

"Wait! Hector, wait!" Esther's hand came down unexpectedly on my arm. "You can't go back there."

"I'll be fine," I said, trying to avoid her face. I did not want to meet her eyes and see there the struggle and then relief she would obviously feel. She had made her effort, and I would help her out by leaving quickly.

"Hey, Esther! Come on! Let's go!" cried Micky.

Esther turned towards Tim and then back to me. "Are you sure?" she murmured. "I just got to go do something, but I can come back . . ."

"I'll be fine. There's Clem and Bill."

"I—"

"Go, Esther. Go with your friends."

"All right then," she said, twisting her face up into an expression of worry.

I simply nodded and made my way to the museum side entrance. As I walked quickly through the snow, I could hear the whoops and yelps as Esther joined the others and they ran off down the street.

# Chapter Sixteen

A disciplined hour of study usually soothed me after the trials of the performance, but, this evening, it failed to assuage the ache of melancholy in my breast or the growing sense of danger from within. It had been two days since Esther and I had parted, and I was trying to harden my heart, sure that I would never see her again. Clem was also gone, away upstate on an errand for Barnum. I longed to feel that reassuring hand on my shoulder, to unburden myself of these dangerous secrets, for I no longer felt bound by my promise to Esther. Clem would know what to do, and I could fade quietly into the background.

I sighed over my work and eventually put the books aside and wandered down to the entrance hall. The museum was closing for the day, and it was, for the most part, empty. Outside, it was turning into another windy cold evening. Gentlemen held on to their hats, and ladies to their skirts, as the wind whipped up and down the street. One man lost the battle, and his top hat went tumbling down the pavement and into the path of an oncoming carriage. He ran pell-mell, trying to catch it, whilst his fellows held their sides, laughing and calling out to him. I was reminded of the strange wind that had sucked everyone's belongings up against the grating. Was that really just two days ago? Sighing, I forced myself to turn away from the windows. What had I expected to see? A flash of red hair? A grimy little face?

I muttered as I kicked my way down the stairs, but then stopped at the sight of a strange man knocking on the walls of the basement. He was not a museum employee that much I knew, but he looked as if he was there on official business. Unexceptional was the adjective that came to mind. Dressed in a suit of dark wool, he looked like the thousands of other clerks and men of business that jostled along the city streets from Monday to Friday. Every so often, he would stop his knocking, take out a small notebook from his pocket and jot down some notes. He would then resume his rapping, moving slowly and methodically down the wall towards the small room at the back that led to the tunnel.

I held my breath and slunk into a dark corner by the stairs. When he moved out of sight, I ran quietly to the fish tank and slid along the glass until I could peek around the aquarium's corner. There he was—closer to the back room. I got a better look at him. Straw-colored hair, deep-set eyes and long thin nose. I had seen him before! He was the man that Jasper was watching so closely, who came in to talk to Lindemann during rehearsal.

From behind and up above came the sounds of a conversation. I fell back to the safety of the wall. Down the stairs came Barnum and two of his managers.

"Beach!" boomed Barnum, holding out his hand. "I thought I might find you down here!"

The man turned and smiled politely as Barnum descended upon him, but remained silent.

"I was considering the question of a traveling menagerie," continued Barnum. "But that all must wait. I am breathless to hear the results of your findings." He laughed and waved the other two men back up the stairs. "Although, I must confess," he added, leaning in closer in a mock theatrical manner. "I can tell you what the answer will be!"

The man called Beach raised his eyebrows.

Barnum laughed and threw his arm around the other's shoulder. "Come, let's discuss this over a cigar. Your secret is safe with me, although you'll have to explain to me again WHY the damned contraption needs to be underground!"

The two men disappeared into Barnum's office, and no qualms of conscience nagged at me as I crept up to the door and listened at the keyhole. This man could explain the mystery of the tunnel. I just knew it. And now I had discovered that Barnum himself knew of the mystery! Barnum was a powerful man in the city. Did his interests lie with those strange and terrifying creatures Esther and I had discovered? And if so, what did this mean and who else might be involved?

I was not rewarded. While the stench of cigar smoke crept out from the space around the doorframe, I could make out none of the exchange. All was muffled conversation interspersed by Barnum's trademark guffaw. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs and was forced to retreat to the tunnel room. Who else was joining the conspiracy? My breathing quickened, and my heart pounded so loudly I feared that it would give me away.

From my hiding place, I strained to see who was joining the meeting. A man appeared at the stair landing, wreathed in shadows. He listened for a minute, and then stepped into the lamplight. I let out a breath and unclenched my fists. It was only Doctor Carroll.

He knocked on the door to Barnum's office and then opened it wide enough so that I could make out Beach sitting primly amongst the clouds of smoke. As he moved to one side, Barnum made introductions. I watched as the Doctor assessed the stranger very carefully. Of course Doctor Carroll was always an observant man, but I could have sworn that he was committing the lines of Beach's face to memory, searching his eyes for the truth. This confirmed my suspicions. I did not know what the Doctor had guessed, but I could tell that he knew that this man, despite his nondescript appearance, was dangerous. Very dangerous. Still I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my chest. The doctor would know what to do. Perhaps I could aid him by finding out as much as I could.

After a few minutes, Barnum shook hands with Beach and watched as he made his way up the stairs to the entry hall. Doctor Carroll watched also and then asked Barnum a question, pointing at a piece of paper on the desk. I couldn't make out the words, but Barnum answered him with a frown, as if annoyed for being called to task. The two men closed the door, and all was silent again.

Though the cold was beginning to cause my legs to cramp, I decided that I would waylay the Doctor when he came out and tell him everything. Perhaps he would think I was crazed or making it up, but I doubted it. He too had his suspicions about what was going on down here below the museum; I just knew it. I should have told him from the beginning, I chided myself. What was I thinking, playing around as if I was acting in some five penny mystery? This was more dangerous than I ever could have imagined.

As it was I didn't have to wait for very long. The Doctor opened the door after only a few minutes, but then he nodded goodbye and stepped lightly and quickly up the steps to the hall. I made to follow him, but he was too fast and Barnum must have heard me. He came to the door and looked out, staring into the gloom for a few moments. I held my breath and flattened myself against the wall. After a few agonizing seconds, in which I was sure that he could see me, Barnum turned back from the door to the desk. He gathered some papers in his arms, locked the door, and took himself up to the first floor, his footsteps slowly fading as silence fell once again upon the basement.

I knew what I had to do. The Doctor was gone, but I could gather as much information for him as I could. I was used to reading the museum's secrets and would start with Barnum's office.

Biting the inside of my lip, I counted to one hundred and then crept across the floor, trying to avoid the creaking floorboards. Through the murk of the tank, one of the whales watched me, turning slowly back and forth against the glass. When I reached the door, the creature exploded into movement, disappearing in a swirl of froth and particulate matter. I jumped and swore in consternation. My nerves were all a jangle.

Taking a deep breath, I focused my attention on the lock. I had never entered Barnum's office. I believed that a gentleman's private affairs were sacrosanct, yet I also knew that the lock could be jiggled open. As I have said, I was adept at reading the museum and solving its mysteries.

With a quick twist I had the door open and then crept inside. The room had the smell of a rich man's library: cigar smoke, leather, and the faint stench of whiskey that belied Barnum's attendance at the Temperance meeting. Here were the account books, the pigeon-hole desk, and the shelves like bowery tenements, packed with assorted novelties and the great man's collection of his own autobiographies.

I started with the first set of shelves, but after awhile I realized that they constituted a dead end. They were laden with fascinating curios—I even found what I think was a mummified finger—but Barnum could return at any minute, and I knew I had to concentrate on the desk where Barnum's present business seemed to be conducted.

Feeling that I had wasted time, I became efficient, moving quickly through the paperwork and returning each letter and page to the exact place from whence I had taken it. There was nothing. Letters that told me much about Barnum's long term plans for the museum's menagerie of humans and animals, about his political aspirations, and about his latest purchase—a French giantess—but nothing about what lay beneath the museum.

I had just picked up a booklet on "The Pneumatic Dispatch," a rather dull exposition on sending letters though tubes underground by means of a revolving fan, when a muffled boom echoed across the floor. I froze for a moment, listening carefully, and then ran for the door.

As I fell back into the shadows along the basement wall, I unclenched my fist and found that I held another pamphlet. Its print was smudgy from the sweat off my hands, and I could barely read it in the gloom. Looking around carefully, I moved into the light that fell from the floor above and peered at what I had taken.

A hideous illustration dominated the left side of the pamphlet, a cartoon of ape-like men and men-like rats swarming from across the globe and trampling beneath them the American flag.

Below was written a short explanation.

We must reduce the number of congenitally unfit, the insane, the criminal, the perverse, the blind, and the deaf. Science holds the answer!

Beyond immigration restriction and race separation, medical sterilization and EUTHANASIA offer the most effective means of stemming the dark tide that seeks to weaken the nation.

Donations: send to the American Eugenics Society, 214 Third Ave., New York, NY

What sickened me, filled my heart with dread, were not necessarily the words of the pamphlet. I had heard the same and worse in the patter of showmen, the jokes of customers viewing the exhibitions. No, what filled me with dread was what the pamphlet so clearly reminded me of. In my mind's eye I could see Eugenia pointing to a series of terrifying black and white drawings. Those drawings and this pamphlet smacked of the same overwhelming force of absolute, yet calmly conducted annihilation. Yes, these words appealed to the mob instinct of fear and hatred, but they also bespoke of rationality, of horrors committed within the confines of Progress, Philosophy, and Science. And Barnum was in on it! What were his real plans for the oddities and freaks that filled his museum, myself included?

One part of me longed to throw away the piece of paper, hurry to my room, and immerse myself in a book, anything to forget what I had read. And yet, the other, while terrified, knew that I had to find out what was going on in the museum and how Barnum and the man named Beach were connected to Eugenia and those horrible rooms where the old woman had pleaded for her life.

The museum was no longer safe. Indeed, if Eugenia could appear at a Temperance meeting in the middle of the day, nowhere in the city was safe.

I crept up to my room to get the lantern and then forced myself back down to the tunnel entrance. Once through the hole, I found myself running madly in the direction of Bill's hideout, praying he was there. Esther's absence felt like a missing limb. I castigated myself for not talking to Clem or Doctor Carroll earlier. Why had I hugged the idiotic secret so closely to my chest?

I was gasping, lungs burning, legs aching, by the time I rounded the last corner. I could smell smoke. Yes, it wasn't my imagination.

"Bill!" I cried, throwing myself threw the narrow entrance.

"Hector!" Bill turned and rose quickly from his seat on the ground in front of the fire. "What's wrong, son? Get yourself warm first and drink this."

A tin mug was thrust into my hand. I tried to push it away, repulsed at the thought of whiskey or some foul spirit, but Bill pushed it back into my hand. "Drink it. It's coffee, with some brandy, but it will do you good."

I tried not to breath through my nose and took a gulp. It was strong, but not harsh, and I swallowed it down, marveling at the sensation of warmth growing in my stomach."

"That's the way," said Bill, soothingly. "Now, come sit down here and tell me what troubles you."

"We found out what's behind that door. I promised Esther I wouldn't tell anyone, but I think Barnum's in on it. They've got people down there. I think they're hurting them. I don't know what to do." I ended on a sob, holding my clenched hand to my mouth to stop myself from breaking down completely.

"It's all right," said Bill. "It's all right. Now start again and tell me slowly whilst I get you something to eat. You're shaking like a leaf."

And so I told him about what Esther and I had discovered in the rooms behind the door, how we had seen Barnum and Eugenia together down on Broadway, and about Beach and the pamphlet in Barnum's office.

"Clem's gone and I don't know what to do or where to go. . . And, Bill, you and your friends, you've got to leave. Who knows when they'll come for you!"

Bill nodded slowly, listening carefully, but all the while feeding me salt crackers and more of the drink from the mug. After I had finished, we sat there for a moment in silence, staring into the ever-changing patterns of the fire.

"I knew something wasn't right, that there was something going on down here and at the museum. I could feel it," he said finally. "I heard the rumors just like you about people disappearing. You've got to show me, Hector. And then afterwards, there's something I need your help with. Something I discovered way down the tunnel, a long ways from here. But we've got to set it right too."

"What? What did you find?" I demanded.

"Time enough for that later, but it's one and the same thing," Bill replied, rising from the carpet and throwing a bucket of sand on the embers. "Show me where you saw the door, Hector,"

I did not want to leave that cave. The temperature was only slightly warmer than outside and the embers barely glowed now, but it seemed a haven compared to the tunnel outside. With one backwards glance, I followed Bimbo out.

We walked briskly. Past the grating with its hint of street traffic. Past the tunnel that led to Hiram's tent village, and past the hole that led back to the museum. Over the hill of rubble, fingers raw from grasping ice-slimed brick and stone. Sliding the last few feet, we came to the door. It was aglow, beckoning me.

"How could I have missed this?" wondered Bill, as I stepped forward. "I've never seen anything like this before."

I pushed against its surface, searching for the handle. It refused to budge.

"Let me have a try," said Bill, leaning into it, but it did not open. From his coat pocket, he took out a collection of tools wrapped in a cloth. Blowing on his fingers to warm them, he tried a bar and then a pick, but there was no gap in which to insert them. The tools bounced back from the door as if a strange force had thrown them back at us in play.

"There was a handle before," I said, frantically running my hands over its surface. Now that I was here, I was desperate for Bill to see what I had seen, to bear witness, to take the cloak of responsibility from my shoulders.

"It's no good, Hector," said Bill, pulling me back and then carefully wrapping up his tools. "We'll try again later. If you're not too tired, there's another job that needs doing. Creatures can't wait any longer. Are you up for a long cold walk and then a bit of petty crime?"

I drew back from the door, intrigued. "Crime?"

"Yes," said Bill. "It's for a good cause. Your Esther and that dog of hers would be all for it. You in?"

I nodded cautiously and then followed Bill into the darkness.

The tunnel made a ninety degree turn to the left and then ran straight for miles, tens of miles, at least that's what it seemed like as I stumbled after Bill into the depths of the earth. At first, I was able, between skirting puddles and uneven ground, to occasionally glance up at the walls. Here and there, brickwork shone dully. But after awhile, I had no idea where we were, in what direction we were going, and, eventually, all I could do was plod heavily after Bill, barely lifting my head.

"Shhh!" hissed Bill, suddenly stopping. "Now we must be quiet."

The tunnel had been getting narrower. Up ahead the ceiling drew down alarmingly. Bill pulled me on a few yards and then stopped. He lifted the lantern and I saw a small door to the right. Holding his finger to his lips, Bill looked at me and then opened the door, revealing a flight of stone steps circling upwards. We began to climb.

The stairs were old. They ejected us into a large hall, gloomy and dirty, but which strangely enough reminded me, if ever so faintly, of the sterile rooms behind the door. In the middle of the hall, stood narrow metal tables. Along each wall, were cages, hundreds of cages.

As we stepped out, all was silent, and then slowly a muffled clamor arose, scraping, banging, and rustling. What kind of creatures had we awakened? Alarmed, I turned to Bill for an answer. Again, he held his finger to his lips, nodded, and then tiptoed to a short flight of steps that lay opposite and led to another door. Pausing for a moment, he pulled his tools from his pocket and began working at the lock. Within seconds he had the door unlocked. He pushed it open and moonlight fell into to the room. He scanned the silvered darkness and then gave a half wave as if to someone outside.

The noise around us rose alarmingly, and my breath came faster. I was terrified, my hands sweating even in the bone-chilling cold that seeped from the flagstones.

"The cages aren't locked," hissed Bill. "The ones down the end, I'll deal with. Just open the cages and let them go free. Don't try to touch them. They're half mad with pain . . . fear. Just let them go."

Before I could respond, I heard the clinking of metal, a scrabbling, a thud, and then something rushed past me.

"Hurry," hissed Bill. "We don't have much time before they'll be back. Open as many as you can. Just let them go."

Without understanding, I turned to the first cage on my left and fumbled at the catch. Hot breath blew against my fingers. I pulled the door open and then stumbled back as a dog half jumped, half fell to the ground. As it saw me, it immediately bared its teeth, drawing back, but when it saw the open door to the street, it scrambled to its feet and darted out into the silver light. It was gone in an instant, but not before I saw the wounds, the skull glistening, partially exposed, the blood streaked fur. I stood, feeling sick, remembering Esther's story about finding Patches.

"Hurry!" whispered Bill from down the room. "Just set them free!"

Stretching up, I reached for the next catch. This dog was as frightened as I was. Cramped back in the corner, it refused to leave, and I had to shimmy in and pull it out by its legs, terrified that it would bite me.

"Please," I whispered, as I dragged it sliding across the metal floor. "Please. I'm scared too. Please. I want to set you free."

Half dragging, half lifting, I got the poor creature down to the ground. It stood for a moment, but when it saw the door, it too darted for the exit, disappearing into the moonlight. I had tried to turn around before it hit the light, but I had seen its back, a gleaming mass of exposed muscle and bone.

"Oh, God, " I moaned, forcing myself to turn back to the next cage.

"God?" hissed Bill. He was way down at the other side of the deep room, but I heard him as if he was whispering in my ear. "God doesn't exist here. Hurry!"

I worked as quickly as I could down that long aisle. My half numb hands would scramble at the catch, slide it open. I'd step back or half help some poor creature to the ground, and then I would move on. At last I came closer to Bill. He undid the last cage, and I saw that he carried in his arms a dog that lay as if dead. Bill bent down and picked up another one, who gave a half moan.

"These ones won't make it. The others have a slight chance. A man named Samuel Luke--"

"Samuel Luke?"

"Yes. You know him? A good man. He didn't show up yesterday, but he said he'd get some men together to help out. They'll feed and take the dogs that will come with them. If they won't, at least, they'll die free, rather than in this hell." Bill looked around the room, as if to memorize each cage, as if each one would be written down in a book of accounts against which someone would be held accountable.

"I'll take these ones to a woman I know. She can ease their pain. Go back now, Hector. I'll find you tomorrow morning at the museum."

Before I could say goodbye, he disappeared out the door into the moonlight. I watched him leave and then hurriedly returned to the staircase. Even the dark tunnel seemed less frightening than this horrifying place. Every instinct in my body told me to escape, to run far away.

At first, my blood pumped from the rescue, and I walked briskly, if not boldly down the stairs and along the passage. Eventually though, the strange echoes of my footfall, the freezing, yet clammy darkness began to erode my courage, and I began to panic, stumbling and sliding for what seemed like hours.

At last I reached the hole that lead back into the Museum. What I longed for was my warm bed. I could see myself falling into my room, pulling off my shoes, and throwing myself onto the pallet, pulling the blankets well over my head to shut out the rest of the world. I knew though that I had a responsibility to warn Hiram and his people of all that was happening. They couldn't stay where they were. I hesitated, bone tired and weary, and then turned back to the tunnel. It was what Dr. Carroll would do, what Bill would do.

As soon as I stepped over the twisted grating of Hiram's side passage, I could hear the fiddle wheezing and wailing as undeniably real as the warm air wafting down the shaft. The thought came to me then that there was nothing stopping me from simply leaving the Museum and joining Hiram's family of vagrants or Bill's group of revolutionary thieves. What indeed was keeping me back? Clem would mourn for a while, but nobody else would miss me. I could forget about Jasper's threats, the conspiracy of secrets, the growing sense of dread, and simply join them. I could step lightheartedly into another world. I could belong.

As I turned the corner, I could see that a party was in full swing. Figures capered and spun around the fiddler, who played above them on a large crate. In the red glare, I searched for Hiram. Eventually a fellow stopped his card playing to jerk his thumb backwards towards a huddle of boxes. When I got close, I heard weeping. Appalled, I drew back for a moment, but then a face appeared. It was Hiram. His eyes were red and swollen; his face a wet mess of tears, snot, and dirt.

"Did ya find him?" he gasped, grabbing my arm and pulling me down into the dark box where we had visited before.

"What? What do you mean? Who?" I stumbled into a cross-legged position and jerked as Calvin suddenly appeared out of the gloom. He winked at me and then began nodding as if we had shared some important secret. I tried not to look at his face. I did not want to look too closely at that decaying hole where his nose had once been.

"No. You don't know then. Ah, and I had my hopes up." Hiram sighed and hastily wiped at his eyes. "Samuel Luke's been missing since last night. I rolled over, and his place was empty. I thought he'd gone to take a leak, and he'd be back any moment, but he didn't ever show up. We've been searching for him all day, me and Calvin here. Up and down the tunnels."

In an instant I remembered how Bill had said that Samuel Luke had failed to show up yesterday. I tried to keep my face from reflecting my growing sense of dread, but, in my mind's eye, I saw Eugenia, the eyes like jewels, the flawless skin. I remembered how the old woman had groveled at her feet, how not a trace of pity, even disgust had marred the blankness of that perfect face. Before I could will the image away, I saw Samuel Luke screaming in agony, his body arched against restraints that bound his wrists and ankles. Eugenia studied him for a moment and then brought a knife down into his eye.

I quickly brought my hand to my mouth. Hiram had not noticed, but Calvin gave me another wink and started mumbling to himself, twisting his hands back and forth.

"Now I don't know what to do. Those drunkards out there-" Hiram took a moment to spit disdainfully towards the dancers. "They just think he's on a bender outside, having a good ole time. But I ask you, why would Samuel Luke just up and go in the middle of the night? And why would he go outside? Ain't nothing for him up there."

Here Hiram stopped and bit the back of his hand as if to stop himself from breaking down. "You know what I think?"

I shook my head, feeling guilty and full of dread. I knew what he was about to say, and I knew he was right. I should have done more to warn them.

"I think he wandered off down that tunnel," Hiram gasped. "And something bad happened to him. Something bad! And none of us." He fought back tears. "None of us were there to help him."

"But surely if he had fallen or hit his head, you would have found him," I said, trying desperately to find something to say to comfort the man. "Did you search the main tunnel?"

"Yep," answered Hiram. "And he ain't nowhere to be found."

Out of the darkness came a crooning sound, and I realized it was Calvin doing his best to comfort his friend. With one hand he still gesticulated wildly, but the other now gently stroked Hiram's shoulder.

Hiram reached up and patted Calvin's hand. "Ah, Calvin. It's just you and me now."

Hiram shook his head and turned to me, lowering his voice. "Samuel Luke's the only one can get Calvin to calm down when those mad fits take him. He was like a mother and father to Calvin here."

I looked over at Calvin, who, apart from the occasional hand twist and nod of the head seemed calm enough. Perhaps his brain had not yet grasped that his protector and best friend had left him. He suddenly looked up, and I was struck by the gleam of intelligence in his eyes.

"I'm sure, Samuel Luke will turn up soon," I said, forcing myself to break away from Calvin's gaze. "How do you know he didn't simply wander up into the church? Maybe he couldn't get back down."

"There's an idea!" said Hiram, his face brightening. "We never though to search that way. Tho' what he would want up there I can't think! We never held with them ministers."

I waited for a moment unsure of what to do, then gingerly reached out a hand and patted his arm. "I think we should go up and take a look, Hiram. Only way we'll know for sure." I tried not to think about how much this offer was motivated by sheer guilt.

Hiram looked up, still suspicious. I smiled, and slowly hope transformed his drink-swollen features. He looked like his old grimy self again. "You saying you're going to come too?"

I nodded and then gestured for him to pick up a lantern and follow me. I harbored no such hope as that which had set him in motion. I knew with certainty that we would not find Samuel Luke up the tunnel or anywhere else. The knowledge stirred like a snake in my stomach. I felt old, ages old.

# Chapter Seventeen

The tunnel was dry and warm. As we made our way up its length, the light from the lantern flickered off an ever-changing tapestry of stone and brick, mortar and timber, layer upon layer of the city's growth. Every so often, Hiram would let out a hoarse shout—"Samuel Luke!" The name echoed along the walls, but we heard no response and saw no evidence that he had been this way.

As we climbed further and further up to street level, the roof of the passageway came down lower and lower until Hiram was forced to go on all fours. I, of course, continued to walk up right, though my palms did begin to sweat with anxiety. I've never liked tight spaces, and the warm air was quite intense.

"That's the way," said Hiram panting heavily, swinging his lantern to illuminate where the tunnel took a sharp turn to the left. "You go on ahead and see if alls clear. Let me catch my breath."

I stared at him sharply, wary and suspicious. Why had I thought that Hiram could be relied upon? Indeed, how did I know that he himself had not dragged Samuel Luke down that long dark tunnel? What proof that he had not been lured in or blackmailed by Eugenia? My mind reeled at the enormity of what I considered. My heart told me this was nonsense, but in the state I was in everyone seemed a potential enemy.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to read the thoughts behind those bloodshot eyes. I could make out nothing, but Hiram did indeed seem winded and was breathing hard, so I crept on until I came to the turn.

Here I was forced to climb over a small pile of rubble and broken pipes into a tiny chamber dominated by what I took to be the furnace. A dim light came from ahead. I looked around. It was clear that the tunnel had been bricked up and that it had either been opened up or that the wall had crumbled over time. This explained the heat that should have been warming the church. It blew against me like a hot desert wind. I continued further on and, squeezing behind the furnace, found myself in a small room.

Slowly I crept out and looked around. Over in the corner was a row of mops and brooms, but there was nothing more except a door, its paint scratched and peeling. A musty aroma rose from the ground and spoke of standing water. Opening the door, I found myself on a long hallway, at the end of which was a staircase.

My hands began to sweat, and I could hear my breath, heavy and fast. In the gloom I could make out little. There were a hundred places in those shadows for someone to be lying in wait for me. I was not a weakling, but I was small. It would not take much to overcome me. Move forward, I urged my feet, but I stood for a moment paralyzed. Images of myself being dragged along those cold white hallways to be stripped and tormented filled my head.

I had just gathered my courage and was starting to make my way slowly down the hallway, when suddenly a hand fell like lead upon my shoulder. I jumped and screamed, but no sound emerged for a dirty hand had immediately clapped itself over my mouth. I struggled and kicked out. Behind me came Hiram's wheezy laughter, soft and clammy at my ear. That and the unmistakable stench of spirits convinced me that it was indeed Hiram and not some mad priest or ghostly apparition that had me in its grip.

"Let me go," I whispered indignantly, quite unnecessarily for Hiram had already released me from his grip.

"Ah, quit yer fussing. We've got to keep quiet as mice along here." Hiram brushed by me and tiptoed down the hallway.

After a moment, I followed him, shaking my head. What on earth was I doing? I knew we wouldn't find Samuel Luke up here. Why couldn't I find the courage to tell him the truth, and then we could get out of this ghastly situation?

As Hiram went ahead and opened each door, peering inside, I kept watch, constantly expecting some monkish figure to appear. At the stairs, Hiram shook his head. "We might as well go on up, but I'm guessing he ain't in the church. Why would he be?"

I nodded, avoiding his eyes.

Up the stairs we crept with very few creaks. Holding a finger to his lips, Hiram pushed open a door that led into a small chamber. From here we could see into the church proper. All was quiet and hushed. Evening service must have ended. The long row of wooden pews was empty, and the altar was the only area still brightly lit.

Hiram began to steal silently into the chapel, when suddenly I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. I had seen movement across the way. Yes, there it was—a figure emerging out of the gloom. Something about its movements seemed strangely familiar. It was tapping at the wall, listening, tapping again, and then bending over to do something with its hand. I peered more carefully, and, as the figure stepped closer into the gaslight, I realized who it was—Beach, the man from the basement of the museum.

"That man—he's dangerous," I whispered.

"A bad 'one, eh?" answered Hiram, scowling.

"I saw him at the museum. He was snooping around the entrance to the tunnel there." My mouth was dry. I was terrified that the man would turn around and see us, but he seemed to be done with his knocking and began to walk back up the side aisle to the large front doors.

"You saw him there? Then perhaps he knows something 'bout poor ole Samuel Luke," said Hiram, and before I could stop him, he had crept out of the chamber and began to stealthily follow Beach up the aisle and then out the front door.

"Curse you, Hiram!" said I under my breath. I had never sworn before, but circumstances seemed to warrant it. Perhaps I was simply getting too used to bad company. Regardless, I was now left alone in a dimly lit church and, if Hiram didn't return soon, would have to make my own way back down the tunnel without getting caught. I prayed that Hiram had left the lantern by the furnace where I could easily find it. I knew that there was no way that I could screw up the courage to go back down there in the dark.

The minutes went by slowly. I was jumpy and terrified lest another hand should fall heavily on my shoulders and drag me to the local station house or worse. What was I to do? Keep waiting for Hiram or assume that he was following Beach for the night? Should I have joined him in case he needed my help?

I was torn with indecision, and then I saw a sight that chilled me to the bone. I had moved my position in order to relieve my cold, cramped legs and now could see more of the area directly in front of the altar. There, spread-eagled on the floor, lay Calvin in a pool of flickering candlelight. He was slowly writhing back and forwards across the stone like some self-flagellating medieval monk in a manner that filled me with revulsion and horror. Suddenly, he began to whisper and moan, erupting into an avalanche of curses and prayers.

"\--I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. And you forgave the guilt of my sin because they are in hell! We are corruption and filth, LORD. Corruption and filth!"

On and on he went, sometimes lowering his voice to the harshest of whispers; sometimes screaming out. The rags on his upper body had been partially torn off, and I could make out the bulging muscles of his forearms. The strength that this bespoke was in stark contrast to the disintegration of the rest of his body. He was strong enough, I thought. More than strong enough to overwhelm another human being and even carry them over his shoulder down that long dark tunnel and over the hill of rubble to where the door lay waiting.

He was mad, sickeningly and terrifyingly mad, and I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. My feet moved of their own accord, down the stairway, down the hallway, into the room. There, thankfully, behind the furnace, was the lantern, still burning merrily as if illuminating some happy gathering in a warm cozy parlor rather than the basement of an eerie church filled with characters from some gothic horror. I grabbed it up and ran down the tunnel. Hiram would have to take care of himself.

From the darkness arose ghostly images—Calvin wrestling a man to the ground, Lucian, sneering as he came towards me with his thin white fingers, Jasper, holding aloft a knife aimed at my heart, Beach, Eugenia, even Barnum. I was suddenly overcome with the hopelessness of it all. Hysteria threatened to overcome me.

I burst into the vagabond camp, sobbing and stumbling.

"Ho there, old fella!" cried a man as I fell into his arms. In the firelight his face was distorted and blurred. I pushed out and scrambled away from him onto a pile of crates. "Take it easy!" said the man, coming towards me. "We're all friends here."

As he slowly came closer, holding up his hands as if I was some wild and frightened beast, I recognized his face. It was the fiddler. I forced myself to breath more slowly.

"That's the way," said the man. "You're safe here at least."

"What he needs is a drink," came a woman's voice. Suddenly I was on the ground, drenched in spirits, all down my clothes. Gasping, I pushed her away.

"Get offa him, Peggy!" shouted the fiddler, pulling the woman away.

She slouched into a heap and began to cry. "I spilt it all!" she moaned. "I spilt it all!"

I was filthy, stinking of the foul liquid, but the encounter had dispelled my panic. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was to get through the ordeal of the last cold dark stretch of tunnel and find my way to bed. I would barricade my door with shelves and wait for the morning. Clem would be back in a day or I would go to Bill.

"A rough night, eh?" said the fiddler, helping me up. "You were with Hiram?"

"Hiram's gone." I said bleakly. "He went out through the church."

The fiddler just nodded.

"Watch the tunnel," I warned. "Don't let anyone go out either way—towards the church or this way." I pointed down the passage.

"You mean where you're headed? Is that the only way back to where you came from?"

"Yes," I croaked, despite my brave intentions.

He nodded. "Come, I'll walk you part of the way."

Picking up a lantern, he led me round the circle of stumbling figures. Most of the group were lying where they fell, unconscious from drink. "We all got to stick together now is the way I see it."

We made our way past the makeshift huts and down the passageway. At the junction with the main tunnel, he surprised me by stepping through the broken grate and walking a few paces with me. He stopped and held up the lantern. The light illuminated a long stretch of the passage. There were no suspicious shadows; no movement except the dripping water, falling monotonously from the ceiling.

"Got far to go?" asked the fiddler.

"Just down there," I said, anxious to get the walk over with.

"Good luck then," he nodded.

I turned and made my way as quickly as possible down the tunnel. Knowing that that friendly light, no matter how small and weak, lay at my back, kept me going on. As I reached the hole back into the museum, I turned and raised my hand. The light flickered, and then I scurried through and over the bricks.

That last stretch alone had almost undone me, and I felt the panic threatening again as I stumbled into the museum basement. I was blind to my surroundings, fear catching me at my throat, as I half crawled, half ran up the steps to the ground floor.

There across the lobby I saw Dr. Carroll. At the same moment, he turned around and saw me. Almost instantly I was in his arms.

"Hector, my lad," said Dr. Carroll, picking me up and carrying me across the hall. "What on earth . . .?"

There on the floor under the grand staircase, he checked my pulse, peered into my eyes, but said no more until he had laid me on my pallet upstairs.

"Now," he said, shaking his head. "Why don't you start at the beginning? This is what? The third time I've caught you skulking around in that basement? The most unsanitary place for someone of your physical condition."

"Thank God you're here," I said, trying not to grab at his coat in sheer relief that he had appeared once again when I needed him most. "I have something to tell you, but it's an amazing tale . . . perhaps you won't believe me."

He smiled and rearranged the blanket, so that it covered my chest. "Try me."

"There's a hole down there. It opens into a tunnel system—under the museum, under the city,"

"A tunnel? Under the museum itself?" asked Doctor Carroll. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes.

"We haven't explored very far, but—did you know people have been going missing?"

"What people?" he asked sharply.

I suddenly had a vision of how little the people I was referring to mattered in the outside world, how little they counted as "people" at all. Still, Dr. Carroll was their champion. He would instantly start an investigation to help them.

"Mainly street people, I think. More and more each week."

"The cold, Hector. This year has been colder than anyone can remember. Unfortunately, we have seen a corresponding death rate in the--"

"No," I interrupted. "They're being taken. I don't know why, but there are rooms down there with the strangest people. I know they have something to do with it. No one will believe me, but you have to see them yourself. They aren't like us at all. And, God, the dogs--"

I rushed through my speech, constantly expecting the Doctor to interrupt me with an expression of disbelief, but he listened carefully and quietly. I had forgotten that this was one of the qualities that made him so admirable, this ability to make you feel that you had a right to speak your thoughts and ideas.

"Go on," he said encouragingly.

"Esther and I found a door. We opened it and went inside. That's when we were almost captured by them—they all look alike, not like you and me and everyone else. And it's even worse. Esther and I saw one of them outside—out there at a Temperance meeting."

"Who did you see?" he asked quickly.

"The lady. She's beautiful, and I think she is queen or the leader of these people. She knows Barnum."

"Barnum!" the Doctor expostulated.

"I know it sounds fantastic, but it's true! And there's another man—Beach. I found a pamphlet in Barnum's office. It talked of sterilizing people and worse. What does that mean?"

"This is a lot to take in, Hector" said the Doctor, looking up at the shelves with a distant expression.

"I know," I answered glumly. "I don't expect you to believe me, but if you'll go yourself, you'll see it's all true. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what they mean to do."

"Have you told anyone else about all of this? Clem? Your friends?"

"I wanted to tell Clem, but he's been gone. Esther knows, but she's not here either." I paused. "And Bill. I told him"

"Bill?" asked the Doctor sharply.

"He performed here. Went by Bimbo."

Doctor Carroll nodded slowly and then sat for a few minutes, thinking. As I relaxed beside him, I felt the weight of this dreadful knowledge lifting from me, shifting to his able shoulders. I was still terrified of what lay out there, but the Doctor would help me. Perhaps he might even find me work elsewhere. The museum, my old home, was no longer safe.

The Doctor still sat quietly, lost in thought. Did he not believe me? Did he think perhaps that I had lost my mind? I scoured his face for signs of what he was thinking, but his expression was guarded. My heart sank.

"You don't believe me," I said.

"No, Hector," he said, patting my hand and ending his meditations. "I know you wouldn't make up stories, but I need time to investigate this myself. And after all, you have no proof of any connections between these disappearances and these people you speak of."

"No," I said. "But they are evil. There is something unearthly about them."

The Doctor tsked and smiled. "That's very unscientific of you, Hector. Anyway, we'll let it pass. You've had a scare.

"Here's what I want you to do. Stay here in your room tomorrow morning until I come for you. I'll find some colleagues and do a little exploring myself. These tunnels sound fascinating. Tomorrow I'll come and find a safe place for you. It's obvious that you cannot stay here any longer."

"You'll come tomorrow?" I said worriedly.

"I promise," he smiled. "Just let me do some investigations, and then I'll be back for you. We'll clear this up, Hector. Not to worry."

With one final pat of the hand, the Doctor rose and shut the door. I lay for a while in the light of the lamp, allowing my limbs to relax as I grew warmer under my blanket. But eventually I rose and pushed a small chest of drawers across the door. It would not stop anyone from coming in if they wanted to, but it was the best I could do, and it would at least alert me to their presence.

I then tumbled back onto the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

# Chapter Eighteen

I slept soundly, but early in the morning around dawn, I fell into a series of nightmares. I dreamt of the awful time when Clem had left me in the hands of two of the other managers. They had thought it would be funny to dress me up as a wild creature, like a half-monkey. For two days they exhibited me as a "Crogg, the Brazilian Wild Boy," but the joke grew old very quickly. Bewildered, I simply sat at the back of my cage and refused to come out on cue. Then Clem came home, and I was exhibited again as "Colonel Peanut." I do not know if he knew what had happened, but a week later came the day that he threw one of them against the wall. I never saw either of those managers again.

In the dream though, Clem did not come home, and I sat in the cage until the lock rusted and the shadows grew so dark I could not see. Finally I could stand it no longer, and I rushed to the front of the cage, flinging myself against the bars. Beneath my hands they turned into knives and then into green flames that beat me back. My panic grew as I realized that there was nowhere to go, that I was trapped. Further and further I retreated until I felt myself falling backwards in space. Screaming, I grasped at the floor as I fell. My hand slid off as it tilted toward me--a giant mirror that showed me my own reflection as I fell back into nothingness.

I awoke with a jerk, pedaling my legs and flailing my arms, to the sight of Esther devouring a muffin, as she sat cross-legged upon the chest of drawers I had drawn across the door last night. Patches lay on the floor, snapping up crumbs.

"You were dreaming something awful," she said with a concerned look, although her mouth was full of muffin. "My ma always told me not to wake a dreamer. You okay now?"

I nodded, rubbing my hand over my face, still a little groggy and bemused.

"I got one for you too," she said, pulling another muffin from a bag.

"How did you get in?" I faltered. The door was still shut, but the drawers had been moved slightly to the side.

"I couldn't believe you didn't wake up. Me and Patches made a whole heap of noise getting in, though we were trying to be quiet. You just slept through the whole thing." She jumped down off the drawers and handed me the muffin with a wink. "Got these at a discount."

I was still dazed from sleep, my eyes gritty, but it didn't take me long to notice the huge welt across her face.

"What happened?" I asked.

She scowled and instinctively touched the weal that ran like a red snake across her pale skin.

"It ain't nothing. They just didn't want me coming back up here for awhile."

"Oh Esther!" I exclaimed. "Who did this?"

"No matter," she scowled, looking ashamed. "Helluva lot more dangerous up here. You got to leave, Hector. I've got an idea"

I smiled, touched. She had come back. She hadn't deserted me. I was just about to tell her about the Doctor when there was a loud knocking on the door and a voice called out: "Open up!"

I froze. There was no mistaking Jasper's snarling tone.

"Get out here, dwarf boy! I don't have all day."

Esther was on her feet, Patches too, but I quickly shushed them and slid out the door, closing it tightly behind me.

Immediately Jasper had me by the collar, shoving me back against the door, but his face lacked the crazed violence of the night when he had threatened me with the knife. He simply seemed pleased to have a chance at pushing me around once more. The stench of his hair pomade was overwhelming.

"So this is the hole you call home is it?" he sneered.

I swallowed and nodded, trying to breath shallowly.

"Suits you," he said and spat to the side, narrowly missing my leg. "Lindemann's calling another rehearsal. Wants everyone down lickety split. I came up to make sure that you remember what we talked about." He leaned in closer. "You do remember what we talked about?"

"I remember," I said in as a submissive tone as I could muster. I imagined wrapping my hands around his neck until he begged for mercy, but this would never happen.

Then his hand pushed me further up the wall until I was standing on tiptoe. He was muscular, incredibly so. I could feel the power almost shaking along his arms. Suddenly all my doubts and confusion fell away. I was sure that he was in on the conspiracy, that he was Eugenia's henchman. All the pieces began to fall into place: his interest in Beach, his hatred of his fellow human beings, his threats and warnings. He was a dwarf like me and yet strong, stronger than most full-sized men. His tumbling feats and theatrical gymnastics had built his body so that it would have been easy for him to knock someone down and carry them.

My mind cleared and I knew what I had to do. I had to get him out of here before he saw Esther or the Doctor. "I remember," I repeated. "I'll be there right away."

"Make it fast then," snarled Jasper, letting me go. "And remember—if you so much as try to show me up—" An evil smile split his face. He drew his finger across his throat and then obscenely across the front of his trousers. With one last shove, he disappeared down the hall and left me leaning against the door.

"Hector?" came Esther's whisper from inside. "Hector?"

Looking around to make sure nobody else was in view, I opened the door and slipped back inside. "Did you hear what he said?"

"Sure. The damned coward."

"Look," I said turning to Esther as I gathered up my clothes quickly. "Last night I told the Doctor everything. He's coming round this morning to get me. He'll know what to do." I pulled on my shoes and drank some water from the jug. "I shouldn't be long, but I can't let Jasper guess what we're doing. You stay here just in case the Doctor comes while I'm gone. We should have told him ages ago, Esther. He'll soon have all this sorted out."

In my haste I had failed to notice the expression on Esther's face. "You told that Doctor everything?" she asked after a brief pause.

I stopped at the door. "Of course. He believed me. I wasn't sure he would when I first started telling him about the tunnel and Eugenia, but I should have known he wouldn't let us down!"

"Oh, Hector. I don't know." She looked worried.

"Come, Esther. I thought you liked Doctor Carroll now?"

"I don't know," she said suspiciously. "You can't just trust everyone. That's your problem, Hector. You're too trusting. Me—" She struck her chest. "I trust you, Patches, and myself. That's it. Nobody else. You got to be more careful."

I blushed with pleasure, but I was in a rush to convince her. "I know we can trust the Doctor, Esther. He's the best man I know—apart from Clem—and he'll help us."

"I don't know . . ."

"Just make sure to warn him about Jasper. He's involved in all of this somehow."

Esther nodded with a look of resignation. I didn't let it bother me because within a few hours, she'd see that I was right. I felt hope course through my body and a renewed sense of determination. All I had to do was get through this last rehearsal with Jasper and keep him from getting suspicious. If I could do that, the Doctor would take care of the rest. That was what heroes and great men did.

Rehearsal was easier than I thought. Lindemann wasn't even interested in seeing my tumbling scenes. He simply wanted to try out a new musical number involving the pirates and Madame Kovakowski. For most of the time, I crouched down in a corner, watching the other actors and keeping an eye on Jasper. When it came time for the finale, I kept to the rear of Jasper and even cut out some of the tumbles I usually performed.

When Lindemann let out a loud guffaw at one of Jasper's tricks, my heart soared. I could see Jasper visibly swelling with pleased vanity. If Jasper was happy, he'd be less suspicious of me. My plan was to wait and leave quietly.

"Good work, Jasper!" Lindemann cried out as we left the stage. "That foot of yours must be all healed?"

Jasper nodded and then strutted to a row near the front, where he sat like he was the star of the show. Some of the less popular actors even came up to congratulate him. He preened and laughed at his own jokes, every action dripping with affectation. I listened halfheartedly as Lindemann barked out his commands for improving the next show. I guessed that I might have to continue performing whatever the Doctor did, but even then it all seemed of so little importance compared to what was going on beneath the museum. I felt as if a volcano was simmering beneath us all, threatening an eruption that would change all of our lives. What did it matter if Madame Kovakowski stepped out of the ship instead of being lifted by one of the pirates? Indeed, what did it matter if we all simply failed to show up?

Lindemann droned on for another quarter of an hour, and then we were free. Jasper was too busy laughing and sucking up to his new admirers to notice me leave. Let him have his moment, I told myself sternly. The Doctor would uncover him, and he could spend the rest of his life rotting in prison.

The thought heartened me, and I raced up the stairs, eager to get back and find out whether the Doctor had arrived. By chance, a sharp sliver of sunlight glimmering out from behind a heavy cloud caught my eye as I passed one of the dusty windows on the last landing. I peered out into the street for a second, and, in the dim winter's light, I saw the Doctor walk across the street and step into a carriage. I had missed him! Frantically, I banged on the glass to get his attention, but it was hopeless. I was four stories up, and he was on the far side of Broadway.

As he opened the carriage door, a woman's head was framed in the doorway as she leaned forward from inside to greet him. My head spun. Black hair worn like a crown. An inhumanly beautiful face caressed by a fur stole wrapped around her shoulders. She laughed and offered up a set of ruby lips. Doctor Carroll leaned down and embraced her. It was Eugenia.

I fell back from the window, grasping the sill instinctively to stop myself from stumbling backwards. The enormity of the betrayal hit me all at once, and I couldn't seem to get enough air into my lungs.

After a minute, my throat loosened, and I focused on breathing regularly. Calm down I told myself. Calm yourself. Think carefully. Think! After all, what had I seen? Did I really believe that Doctor Carroll was in league with Eugenia? Where had such a belief or rather lack of belief in my hero come from? Of course there was a better explanation. This must be part of his plan. And Esther would have the answers.

In an instant my heart filled with a vague, but growing dread. Esther's stories about Patches and the tortures he had undergone at the hands of a doctor filled my mind. It couldn't be. Doctor Carroll wouldn't do that to a harmless creature I reminded myself, but I tore up the remaining stairs and along the hall.

The door was open. Wide open.

"Esther!" I cried, stumbling into the room. "Patches!"

Neither she nor the dog were anywhere in sight. Frantically I threw myself behind the shelves, praying that she was simply hiding behind one of the trunks.

Then over behind a box, I sensed rather than saw a movement. Foolishly—since I didn't know if it was she or an enemy—I scrambled, half on my knees, across the room.

In front of me lay Patches. He was still breathing, but something was wrong. There was no blood and no sign of any injury, but the poor animal could barely move. In his eyes I saw the same naïve faith in me that I suppose had been in my eyes when the Doctor had reassured me last night. I groaned and remembered how I had told him everything. What had I done!

Patches struggled to stand, but fell heavily against me.

"Oh Patches!" I cried. "Where is she? What happened?"

The animal had obviously been drugged. Had he been lured by some dainty treat or had he simply been injected first thing? Had he had to watch helplessly as his mistress was carried off? Was she even still alive?

"Oh God," I moaned. There was no way they would keep her alive. She and I knew too much. Our fatal secret. My fatal trust.

Patches licked my face, trying to stay upright. His eyes pleaded with mine to do something, to take command.

I stood up. I knew where she was, and I knew where I had to go. I threw on my coat and put my knife in my pocket.

# Chapter Nineteen

Patches had a hard time negotiating the stairs and then the icy puddles of the tunnel. Half a dozen times I wondered whether it would have been kinder simply to have left him back in the room. My mind raced back and forth on what I would say to Bill, but it drew back, as if from a brink, from the thought of Esther, Dr. Carroll. I could not imagine Esther's fate, whether she was alive or dead. I only knew that I had to get to Bill. He would help.

As I stumbled into the cave, the only face I saw was Jim's. When he saw it was me, he scowled and hurriedly got up from the ground.

"You! What are you doing here again?"

"Where's Bill? I panted, ignoring his question. My heart was pounding in an alarming fashion. "Where is he?"

"What's it to you?" Jim said suspiciously, moving closer.

Patches stiffened by my side. I knew he was ready to attack anyone who threatened me. The knowledge straightened my back, and I lay a caressing hand on his head.

"My friend's been taken—Esther. I need Bill's help."

Jim's scowl remained, and panic again rose in me, causing my voice to wobble a little. "Look, she's in trouble. They'll kill her. Don't you understand?"

"You think she was taken behind that door?"

"Bill told you? Then you know the danger we're all in. Tell me where he is for God's sake?"

"I don't know," said Jim despairingly, throwing himself down on one of the stools. To my horror he actually began to sob.

I felt only anger and impatience. "Jim! Esther could be dying as we speak."

"She's not the only one," he sobbed back.

"What do you mean?"

"I think they've taken Bill. He told me about the door, but he's been missing since then. He was supposed to meet us here late last night."

As Jim spoke, I could feel my heart grow heavier and the fear grow inside me. Bill was gone? It couldn't be. Bill was supposed to help me. Suddenly I too felt like sitting down and sobbing into my hands. Only the feel of Patches, rigid and tense underneath my hand, kept me standing. I frantically tried to think what this meant.

"Then he needs our help too," I breathed out finally. "We'll go to Hiram—the hobo camp down the passage. He'll help us."

"It's no use," said Jim, his voice breaking with fear. "They'll get us too. . . I can't . . . What can we do?"

"I told you," I snapped impatiently. God, every minute I wasted here was a minute that Esther could be in pain, even dying.

I felt a sob rising in my own throat, but swallowed it down. "Well, if you won't come with me, then I'll go alone. You should get back to the Museum. You'll be safer there than here."

Jim raised a woebegone face. The hair around his face was sodden with tears. Then I felt a small stirring of pity. It could have been me bawling my eyes out. Somehow, I had found a modicum of courage, but it was nothing to be superior about.

"Come on, Jim. Go hide somewhere in the Museum. Then find Clem, the animal trainer. He'll be back soon. He'll protect you."

Jim nodded and followed Patches and I out the door. When we got to the passage that led to Hiram's camp, I flashed my lantern and told him to run as fast as he could. "Tell Clem where the door is. That I've gone to get a friend."

He gave me a quick look of shamed gratitude and then disappeared into the darkness.

I pushed Patches over the grating and into the side tunnel. He wagged his tail as if to confirm that my decision was a good one and ran eagerly forward.

"Hiram!" I shouted up the passage. "Hiram!" There was no answer, but I could hear voices and the noise of boxes being moved.

As I came around the bend, I was amazed at the desolation. The shantytown was gone. Some boxes and crates lay scattered about, and a few figures were huddled together over a remaining lantern, but for the most part the tunnel lay bare.

"Is Hiram there?" I cried to the shadowy group.

"I'm here, lad," said Hiram, stepping forward out of the gloom. "Though not for long." While the rest of the world had turned upside down, changed forever, he seemed to have recovered all of his usual self-assurance and buoyant good spirits.

"The man Beach?" I asked quickly. "Where did he go? Did you find Samuel Luke?"

A look of hopelessness momentarily flashed over Hiram's face, but he swallowed, and the look faded. "No sign of ole Samuel, and that Beach fella—well, I reckon he ain't got much to do with it. We kept a watch on him. Just a businessman. Some kind of inventor or such."

I was unconvinced, but hardly had time to argue. "Hiram. They've taken Esther. She's gone. Will you help me?"

Hiram dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry, lad. We got to get out of here ourselves. Too dangerous to stick around. More people disappearing."

"Please, Hiram!" I begged, on the verge of tears. First Bill, now Hiram. I was only a boy, a dwarf boy at that.

A man took Hiram by the arm. "Hiram, you ain't got no business going nowhere 'cept with us. We stayed here too long as it is."

"Yep. Time to go," said another figure in a thick coat, man or woman I could not tell in the dim light.

"I'm sorry—" Hiram started, but I interrupted angrily: "Then at least take Patches. He can't go with me. They drugged him. I have to find Esther!"

"Alright. We'll take the poor animal," said Hiram, pulling Patches to his side and fondling his ears. "You got a piece of string there, Caleb?"

I gave Patches a last scratch and looked him in the eye, silently promising that I would find her. He strained a bit at the rope as I turned to leave, but then his eyes blinked for a moment in what seemed like understanding. I picked up the lantern and hurried down the tunnel.

"Wait! Where will I find you?" I called back at the last minute.

"The lot behind old Quincy's tavern—down by the Cooper Institute. We'll be there."

I waved and plunged back down to the main tunnel, hurrying as fast as my legs would take me.

# Chapter Twenty

The door was still there, glowing like a living creature somehow separate from the stone and rock in which it was embedded. Everything about it shouted out its singularity, its wrongness—the green light, the strange construction, its temperature—neither cold nor warm. Fear grabbed me by the throat. This was not the terror of murky passageways and dim basements, but the bright-lit horror of indifferent cruelty.

I took a shaky breath, searched for the handle, and pulled.

It opened easily as I somehow knew that it would, and, once again, I found myself in the long corridor filled with a strange buzzing. There was the door of the room in which we had first seen Eugenia. The room was empty and bare as bone. I crept further down the hallway, holding my breath each time I had to peer through the glass to check each room. But they were all as empty as the first.

At the end of the hallway, I pushed open the door only to find myself in yet another long corridor stretching out before me, stark and white. A row of doorways each with their window stared at me blankly.

At first, I continued to move slowly, terrified that my every breath would alert someone to my presence. But there was nobody at all in these endless halls—no sign of life, no sound of human presence. On and on I walked.

After minutes—or had it been hours?—I finally came to an intersection. To the right a short passage led to a locked door. To the left, a door had been left ajar. I crept through it and gasped as I entered a long passage lined with tiny glass-fronted cells. I stepped up to the glass, arms stiff, and pressed my hands against the cold surface as if in denial of what lay before me.

For here were the people—all of the people, all of those who had gone missing from the streets above. They had been stripped of their clothing and lay with eyes closed on low metal tables. Their nakedness was appalling. The bodies glowed unhealthily in the violet white light, that horrible light that showed up bruises, cuts, and wrinkles, all the signs of age and poverty, with a merciless severity. Were they dead or unconscious? I could not tell, though I forced myself to watch one man's chest for any sign of breath. There was nothing—no rising of the chest, no blink of the eye--and yet I did not feel certain that he was dead.

I moved on down the hallway, my head flicking from the right to the left and then back again as I examined every cubicle. Each room was the same: the bodies laid out for view in the very center of the space, the blank walls, the ceilings radiating light in large panels. Only the bodies were different. At first I noticed individual characteristics—red hair, black skin, short, stringy mustache, a pretty face, fat, young, weak-chinned—but eventually the numbers overwhelmed me. I searched for only one set of features, and I did not find them.

As I drew near the end of the corridor, I heard soft noises—a swishing and a series of small clanks. I also heard voices. I slowed and then peered round the corridor. Two steps led down into an enormous room filled with strange machines, small colored lights that flashed, and long white tables. At the end of one, Eugenia sat, gazing into a large black microscope. Pacing back and forth alongside her was Doctor Carroll.

Betrayal and disbelief stabbed through me once more. How could he of all people be my enemy? A series of images flashed through my mind like a magic lantern show: the Doctor at my bedside when I fell ill two years ago, his dark blue eyes holding my gaze steady; the books he had handed me with a smile and a kind word; being carried in his arms last night—just last night! I had adored Doctor Carroll, worshipped him as only a boy bereft of a father can worship. By what strange progression of events had we ended up here?

But there he was. Could I still believe he was on our side?

Eugenia looked up at the Doctor with an amused smile. "--But it is you, my friend, who are so dreadfully barbaric. Our experiments are painless. The subjects are barely even given time to feel fear." She spoke as if they were resuming a friendly and familiar argument.

Dr. Carroll stopped and pointed at a machine in one corner that I had failed to notice. Connected to it was a moving table that was in turn connected to a small window in the wall. Boxes and glass jars moved from the window, along the table, and then were fed into the machine—it looked like some sort of incinerator. As I watched, horrified, a body appeared on the table. The incinerator gaped open, flames blazed up, and in an instant, the body was gone. Another appeared immediately and suffered the same fate.

The Doctor turned from the machine. "But the waste, Eugenia. The numbers. It's incredible."

Eugenia let out a tinkling laugh. "Yes, we are back to our old argument. You "waste" a similar number of other species, but you insist on some unscientific moral difference. We waste these people; you waste other creatures. We don't understand why you make this difference, and, indeed, I thought you had overcome this prejudice.

"And, your ends cannot justify your means. You have had no success. We on the other hand . . ." She shrugged as if her conclusion was too obvious to state out loud.

The Doctor sighed. "I know, Eugenia. I know."

"Listen, my friend," said Eugenia, getting up and laying a hand on his arm. "Don't berate yourself." She leaned in closer, smiling. The Doctor was entranced, his eyes fixed on her hers. "Physically, mentally. I almost believe that you must be one of us."

My mind worked slowly and clumsily as fear and disbelief coursed through my body. Who was she? Who did she mean by "us"? What in God's name were they doing down here? I bit down on the knuckle of my right hand to keep the panic from overwhelming me. With my left I searched my pockets for anything I could use as a weapon to defend myself. There was nothing.

The Doctor was breathing heavily, his face flushed. He reached for Eugenia, but she had already stepped back to her microscope with another tinkling laugh.

"Think of the good we are doing, my dear Doctor. We came not simply to experiment as so many of your own scientists, but to bring the benefits of civilization. Once the procedures are completed, your race will resist disease, show increased mental output, and, above all, will more nearly meet the High Aesthetic.

Have you been able to enlist the aid of this man Barnum?"

The Doctor barked a harsh, scornful laugh, changing the lines of his face until he no longer looked like my old friend. "Barnum makes money from the abnormal, the unhealthy, so I doubt he'll sell them to us. That man is a disgrace. His main customers are now the Irish, the Germans, the worst dregs of Europe."

Eugenia shrugged. "It matters little."

A door opened behind the Doctor, and again, I felt the shock of unreality. Here in this strange white world was Calvin. If even the handsome and polished Doctor appeared to disadvantage against the perfection of Eugenia, imagine the horrific contrast between the cringing creature that made his way into the room, his face a rotting mess, his clothes literally falling off his body, revealing the sores and the scabs, the filth and pollution.

The Doctor suddenly realized Calvin's presence and flinched away from the hand that had reached out to gain his attention.

"Yes? What is it?" he asked with barely contained disgust.

"I wanted to ask the lady whether it was my turn yet," Calvin whimpered. "I've done all she said. I've been brought them all here."

"Not now," said the Doctor with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We're busy, and you really shouldn't be here. You know that."

"You promised," begged Calvin, grabbing hold of the Doctor's coat. "You said she would fix me."

The Doctor shook him off with a gesture so violent that Calvin stumbled to his knees. The poor wretch collapsed on the floor, muttering. Soon his words rose above the humming of the machines, filled with the power of madness:

"An'tipas the faithful martyr . . . Because thou hast kept the word of my patience, I will also keep thee from the hour of temptation . . ."

Eugenia looked up for a second and then returned to her microscope, undisturbed by the contemptible scene occurring feet from where she was sitting. Suddenly, Calvin raised himself and began shouting: "The sin, the sin. It burns! Help me! It burns!"

"You promised!" he screamed, as the Doctor attempted to drag him from the room.

"Eugenia! Surely you can call someone to remove this creature."

Eugenia looked up from her research and smiled patiently like a mother watching a couple of children whose naughty, but familiar antics amused her. Reaching across the table, she languidly pressed a button on the wall.

Just at that moment, Calvin began shouting in earnest: "Thou sayest, thou sayest. Behold! And the angel and the voice." He pranced and jiggered, screaming out nonsense and then ran towards the moving table, which had again brought in another pale body. To my unspeakable horror, I recognized the face—it was Samuel Luke. He lay on his back naked and as still as death. In an instant the doors opened, bathing his body in a rosy hue, and then he was gone. I grabbed hold of the wall as a wave of sickness took hold of me, but there was worse. Another body appeared. It was Bill.

Without thinking I rushed forward, pushing Calvin out the way. The Doctor stood motionless for a moment as if completely taken aback at seeing me, but then he grabbed me up in his arms, before I came anywhere close to poor Bill.

I was too late. A scream of anguish burst from my throat, and I watched helplessly as he was pushed into the flames. I turned my head away and sobbed, slumped in my enemy's arms.

"He was dead, Hector," said the Doctor. "He was already dead. Pray don't disturb yourself with horrific imaginings."

At his words, life returned momentarily to my body, and I twisted in his grasp, fighting madly to escape. But it was no use. The Doctor held me tight and then with a gesture motioned to a man who appeared from the inner doorway. I felt a sharp pain in my arm, called out, and then everything faded to dark.

# Chapter Twenty-One

The purple white glare glanced off the gleaming counters, floors, and walls, stinging my eyes, so that I could not let my gaze rest in any direction for too long. To the left orange lights flickered on a counter covered with strange buttons and what looked like door handles. Occasionally the lights danced with an added frenzy and were accompanied by high-pitched screaming noises. This was frightening enough, jolting one as it did, but what made the panic rise in my throat was the ominous humming that lay all around. I could not identify where it came from. It was as if the air was alive with invisible creatures, crackling and buzzing.

I was slow and befuddled from whatever they had injected in my arm. My bones ached from lying in the same position so I knew that I had been unconscious for some time. Groggily, I pulled myself up, shaking the bars that made up the front of the enclosure they had put me in. They were metal, cold to the touch and slightly loose.

"Esther!" I screamed. "Esther!" My shout rang through the room, frightening me with its loud audacity, so that I cowered back against the wall. Would they come for me now? Far better to remain quiet; not fight. Give in. Give in. Sleep.

"Esther," I whispered, half sobbing. "Esther!"

All was quiet again, my outburst absorbed into the unremitting buzz. I felt a wave of dizziness descending upon me, but across the room I saw a door open and Calvin limp in. He began to peer into the cages, mumbling to himself in a voice increasingly hoarse and almost bestial. At first I pressed myself back away from the bars in fear and disgust, but as much as I loathed the man he at least was a tie to the world I had left behind. Would he help me escape? At least help me find Esther?

"Calvin!" I hissed. "Over here. Calvin!"

His head lifted, and he shuffled over to me. Up close he was a thing of absolute horror. The face was now one rotting sore upon sore. His eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot, and a constant thin string of saliva fell from his scab-lined mouth. My hand went unconsciously to cover my own mouth and nose.

He nodded at me and leered, as if recognizing and defying my revulsion. "She's going to fix you, sonny. Don't worry. Don't worry," he crooned. "And soon as she's helped you, she's going to fix me. She promised. The Lord will keep her to her promise."

I straightened myself and moved closer to the bars, trying to hold his attention. "Calvin, can you get out of here? Can you help me?"

He cocked his head on one side and considered for a moment. "She'll help you. She's an angel of God," he said finally and turned as if he would leave.

"No, Calvin! I want to leave, to get back to the tunnel. Can you do that?" I could hear the growing note of hysteria in my voice and forced myself to breath. "Can you do that?"

He paused. "Don't worry, she'll fix you."

The panic began to grow again. My only hope was this mad man. "Esther, Calvin. Have you seen Esther? Do you know where she is? I have to find her."

A look of pain and confusion crossed his face, but I seemed to have reached him. "Sometimes it goes wrong," he murmured.

"It goes wrong?" I asked bewildered.

"They don't come out right. Their skin's all funny." He began to weep, his tears mixing with the saliva that dripped down his chin. "Ah, Samuel Luke. She said she'd fix him. They put him in the fire." He covered his face and then began to hit his head against the metal rim of the top of the cage.

Samuel Luke. I groaned and turned away.

"Samuel, Samuel, Samuel!" Calvin cried, his voice rising to a howl. I felt no pity. Suddenly, I felt anger rise in me as if I could murder him. Then the faintness returned, but I tried one last time. He was howling so loud now that I feared we had only moments before someone came in to check on the noise.

"Calvin!" I begged, forcing myself to grab at his filthy trouser leg, anything to get his attention and to keep him from leaving. "Where is Esther? You remember the girl? Where is she?"

Suddenly he swung around, his face looming up close to the bars. "She went into the flames too. The slut, the harlot. They're all the same! She's dead, sonny." With a hideous grimace, he pushed himself back from the cage and limped away, muttering and calling out. I fell to the cold floor. For a moment I could not breath. Then I took a deep gulp of air, and that was it. She was dead. She was gone. I was alone.

A moan escaped me as the nauseating dizziness descended again. The room faded and then reappeared as the poisons that they had injected into my body thankfully took over. Light flashed, fragmented, and then there was blessed darkness.

When I next awoke, the room was no longer empty. Men and women in white coats, exact replicas of Eugenia, moved efficiently around a set of tables, adjusting knobs, peering at panels where lights in the shape of numbers and strange figures leapt and glowed. I lay still, hoping they had not noticed I was awake.

Noiselessly a cart rolled into view inches from the metal bars of my cage. I caught my breath. I did not know the woman who lay upon it naked and vulnerable, but I knew she must have come from the rows of small rooms I had passed on the way to the laboratory. She lay as if asleep, her pinched features and thin wrists signifying a life of poverty and hardship. I wondered if she had family--a husband, children? Were they searching the back alleys for her or did they already imagine her dead?

As I watched with eyes half closed, the cart magically hovered above the ground and slid into an enormous glass tunnel. Two women followed, but neither, to my amazement, had touched the cart. It had moved of its own volition. I could not see properly, but it seemed as if they were applying wires and needles to the woman's limbs. They then stepped out from the glass, and, with a soft sucking sound, the door sealed shut. Two men began to move their fingers across a row of buttons on a table nearby, while one of the women stood near the glass tunnel, taking notes on a strange-looking clipboard.

Suddenly there was a flash of violet light from behind the glass. The men's hands continued to range quickly across the rows of buttons, but the woman moved closer and waved her hand across a panel.

"I've increased the dosage," she said turning to the men. "Make sure you account for that, but it looks like its working."

"She genetically matched the first batch," said one of them, strolling over to the case. "I've said all along that we need to concentrate on that factor more closely." He spoke as if commenting on the color of someone's parlor curtains. The tone of his voice chilled my blood.

They would have no mercy, not because they enjoyed cruelty, but because they were devoid of emotion. They would not understand my pleas and screams anymore than I understood the scrambling of the half dead insects that I swept up with my broom every morning.

The door opened, and the cart again hovered in the air and floated gently out into the room. I bit my finger to stop the cry of shock that had almost burst from my lips. Was this magic or science? The woman was no longer there. In her place lay an almost exact replica of Eugenia. Instead of the pinched, worn out features, the woman's face glowed with beauty and health. I now understood what Eugenia and the Doctor had been speaking of. They had learned to turn us all into angels. Beautiful angels with faces and bodies of absolute perfection absolutely reproduced.

Then Doctor Carroll emerged from somewhere behind my cage. He peered in, checked his watch, and pressed a series of buttons on a pad attached to the bars. The door swung open.

As his hand reached in for me, I instantly recoiled, banging my head on the back of the cage.

"Get away from me!" I rasped.

He did not draw back, but his face looked sad. "Hector, I'm not here to hurt you—although, God knows, I wish you had not come."

Rage spurred by a fresh sense of betrayal forced the words from me: "Yes, I'm sorry to have interrupted your tortures. Perhaps you mean to cut out my tongue for the good of society!" I was shocked at my daring. "You should be locked up . . . How could you do this?" My brave words ended in a pathetic sob. "You killed her!"

"Hector, it's not like that. Please, come on out. I'll explain everything."

He held out his hand again. I stared at it for a while, and then, realizing that I had nothing to lose, I allowed him to pull me out. Stumbling, I almost fell to my knees, but the Doctor's hand was there, lending support and guiding me to a step stool near another set of cages.

I sat down, feeling nauseous and extremely weak. The Doctor leaned against a table.

"Hector, you know I've always worked for the greater good. You must trust me. Everything we're doing here is actually the culmination of all I have ever worked for—no different from what we've spoken of on a number of occasions.

I looked up at the noble lines of his face. God, how much I wanted to believe him!

"It was you, wasn't it?"

"What?"

"Performing all those experiments on the animals? The stories were true?"

A look of impatience crossed his face. "Of course I perform scientific experiments. What scientist doesn't? This is all beside the point. I was about to explain that—"

"You tortured them!" I spat, horrified at his indifference.

Forcing myself to my feet, I fell back heavily against one of the cages, crying out as I felt a hand on my arm. It clutched my forearm tightly, pulling me towards the cage. I turned around in horror, pulling at the fingers, only to feel a thrill of joy jolt through my body.

In the cage beside me, Esther was pushing herself to her hands and knees, her eyes groggy, but full of anger. "Get away from him, you monster!" she hissed.

"Esther!" I cried, grabbing at the handle of her cage. "Esther!"

"Keep your voice down, Hector!" said the Doctor, looking around the room.

"Let her out of here!" I yelled, pulling at the handle. "Let her out!"

The Doctor turned to me with a look of irritation. "Will you remain calm, if I do? I really don't have time for all this."

"Let her OUT!"

He sighed and punched at the pad attached to the metal bars. The door swung open without a sound, and in an instant Esther was clasping my hand and straining against the hold Doctor Carroll had on her neck.

"Are you hurt?" I demanded, noting the blood, the cuts, and the tears in her clothes.

"I'm all right. I knew you would come."

The warmth of her body, the sound of her voice—I had not known until that moment how much the chill of being all alone had contributed to my terror and dread. I felt new strength come into my limbs.

"What is going on here, Doctor? This is highly unusual."

I looked up. Eugenia had joined the Doctor. His face wore a look of anger, and yet I could tell he was nervous, ill at ease. "It's nothing. I was worried the boy would hurt himself. Believe me, I know what I'm doing.

Eugenia looked puzzled as if she had encountered an idea so foreign to her that it was beyond comprehension. "They have to be eliminated. We cannot have the labs compromised until we've finished here. We've wasted time enough on these two."

To give him his due, the Doctor looked worried. "Why not use them, Eugenia. If it works, there will be no need to close their mouths."

Eugenia shrugged her slim shoulders. Even this gesture was that of a goddess. "As you like," she added indifferently.

The Doctor's body visibly relaxed.

"What are you talking about?" hissed Esther, struggling against the Doctor's grip. You ain't doing nothing to me."

"Nor me," I chimed in, suddenly defiant. "What, you think you can ease your conscience this way?"

"Wouldn't you like to be whole, Hector?" he asked kindly, his blue eyes full of friendly concern. "To have a body to match those fine brains of yours?" His voice, his familiar voice, rang with reason and good sense. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine we were back at the museum and that nothing had changed.

"Think," the Doctor continued. "We are offering you the chance that you've been dreaming about all these years. You are superior, more fit, than these others to whom we will give the very same opportunity. Racially you're of pure blood. If anyone deserves a healthy body, it is you."

"No," I said, shutting my eyes tight.

"Hector, there is no pain, nothing to fear. Be reasonable. I know you hoped to become a Doctor like me for this very reason. Why would you turn down the chance when we have the very means to accomplish the goals years ahead of what you could ever have hoped for?"

"No, you want to make me like her. That's not the same," I said, fighting an inward battle against his persuasion. It would be so much easier just to give in.

I imagined myself tall and fit. No longer would I have to hide in the Museum, no longer put up with Jasper's threats and taunts. I could leave my storeroom and go out into the world, travel and work like any other man. Then came the most potent temptation, something I had not even allowed myself to consider before: I could search for my family, find out where I came from and who I was.

But this was not what they were really offering, and I knew it.

"I want to be me, just ordinary-sized," I whispered.

"And well proportioned, with properly working limbs, and with a chance at longevity and children," the Doctor said angrily. "Come, Hector. You know as well as I do that there is more to it than height, and that is exactly what we are offering. We can make you perfect!"

"You're offering bull!" shouted Esther. "Don't listen to this lickfinger. He'll do whatever she tells him to do, like a dog in—"

Her words ended in a shrill cry as the Doctor drew back his arm and slapped her to the ground. "Filthy Irish! Your kind doesn't even deserve sterilization. We should eradicate the whole lot of you."

"Doctor!" cried Eugenia, visibly disgusted by this act of violence. "I don't understand your ridiculous distinctions. Why does it matter to you if they are Irish, Black, Chinese, or small, like this one? You are all inferior. That's what we're here to correct." She shook her head and turned away to scan a panel full of colored lights.

I looked down at Esther, scowling up at the Doctor, blood pouring from her mouth, and then I looked back at him. I felt hate welling up inside of me. How could I have not seen the cruelty that lurked at the corners of that sardonic smile, the glimpse of ruthlessness that lurked in his handsome blue eyes? Now, in the harsh light of the lab, I could see traced in his face the lines that loudly proclaimed his enjoyment in acts of violence and pain, his quest for knowledge and power at any price. The world of the museum was one of dim lights and shadows, but here I saw the face that countless poor creatures must have stared at as they writhed in agony on the tables under his knife.

"Go to hell!" I spat.

"Your choice then," he snarled, turning away. His face was flushed, his hair in disarray.

"Doctor, please. Calm yourself. This is most unnecessary." Eugenia murmured, looking away again, as if she would wash her hands of the entire affair.

She was about to move away, when the ground beneath us shuddered, sending all of us to the floor. Boxes clattered to the ground, and shelf after shelf of strange tubes and other glassware collapsed in a tremendous crash. Esther threw her arms over her head to protect herself from the glass, and I imitated her, curling myself up into a small ball.

As the noise tinkled at last into silence, we cautiously looked up. Eugenia was already on her feet. "Simmons, find out what that was," she called out to a man, pulling himself gingerly up against a counter.

He ran his finger down a panel, poking and prodding with his index finger. "The intensity and frequency levels have both increased," he said finally.

"We gathered that," snapped Eugenia. She seemed rattled. "What are the numbers?"

"These earthquakes," said Dr. Carroll. "Couldn't they be caused by something more simple than your theory about juxtaposition?"

Eugenia ignored him for a moment, as she checked the screen herself. Finally she sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Dr. Carroll, I appreciate your input, but there is nothing to worry about. We just need to find away to stabilize the situation. Speaking of which--" She turned and looked at Esther and I. "Either secure those two or eliminate them as I suggested. I don't have time for this."

The Doctor moved forward as if he would say something and then grabbed our arms, motioning to another man in white.

"Last chance, Hector." He looked genuinely regretful. I wanted to hit him, to hear him cry out, but I didn't answer him. I'm not sure I could have if I had wanted to. My mouth was swollen and dry with fear. Only Esther's presence kept me from breaking down and pleading for my life. She fought him every step of the way, cursing and snarling, twisting in his grip. She refused to give in, refused to beg.

And then, in a confusion of arms and limbs, we were thrown into a cage.

It wasn't until the door snapped shut with a soft click and the Doctor had walked away that I realized we had been given a reprieve. We were alive. My breath caught in my throat, and I looked down at my hands; they were shaking uncontrollably. Esther grabbed them and held them still.

"We're going to get out a here, Hector. Don't worry. I've been in worst jams than this."

I looked up into her face. Those bright green eyes were fierce with determination, and more. In their depths I glimpsed hope. She actually believed that we would cheat death. And I believed her. My breath slowed and my hands slowly stopped shaking. They grew warm within her grasp.

Then I noticed a metallic gleam. I lifted my hands. Underneath Esther had hidden an odd-looking contraption.

She grinned and winked. "Told you we're going to get out a here. These folks are as green as they come. I could've taken their clothes off and they wouldn't of noticed!"

I laughed loudly and then held my hand to my mouth. The sound had resonated in the sudden quiet and had sounded vaguely hysterical.

Peering out through the bars, I saw that we had been left alone. All I could hear was the muffled whirring and beeping that seemed a constant in this strange new world.

"What is that? It isn't a gun is it?" asked I, peering at the machine she held.

"I don't know; I think so," said Esther, fiddling with a button. "What do you think this one does?"

"Don't!" I cried, terrified that she was about to set something off.

She ignored me and turned the contraption over in her hands. After a moment, she finally put it down and hid it underneath her ragged petticoats.

"You don't know how glad I was to see you, Hector," she sighed. "How did you know where I was? And Patches?" She suddenly looked frantic. "They didn't hurt him did they?"

"He's fine. I left him with Hiram. I saw the Doctor get into a carriage with Eugenia and then I knew. Oh, Esther. I thought you were dead."

She nodded. "Me too, but then they just dragged me on down here and locked me up. That creepy ole Calvin helped them out. It was him all along, God damn him to hell."

"I know. I saw Samuel Luke. He's dead."

Esther drew in a sharp breath. "You think Calvin brought in him? To them? Why, I thought they were pals!"

"I saw his body—I saw it go into some sort of incinerator. Calvin is mad. He thinks they're going to make him good as new, cure his disease." I paused. "And Bill. Bill's dead too."

I bit my lip as I saw hope die in her eyes.

"Esther, how are we going to get out of here?" I tried not to let my voice break, but the desperation of our situation hit me again full force.

Esther leaned forward, a frown creasing her forehead like a knife. She looked awful. Half of her face was covered in smears of blood, but her eyes were shining now. "I don't know, but if I can fight off my ole dad, then I know I can beat that yellow-livered Doctor."

"Your dad--" I faltered, distracted.

"Yep," she said grimly. "The same one as gave me that damn bruise the other day. I said I'd do one more job with Tim and the gang for him, but that was it. That's why I went back with the gang. Thought I'd least do him the courtesy of telling him face to face. I should've known better."

I was flabbergasted. I had never imagined her as having a father, indeed any relations at all. She seemed like the quintessential orphan, a child of the streets.

"I'm done with him for good. When we get out a here, I'm going try to get a job like you, cleaning out a museum or something. Maybe not as grand as Barnum's, but there's lots of those dime museum's now. What do you think?" She scratched her head thoughtfully.

Before I could reply, we heard voices coming back towards us. It was the Doctor, Eugenia, and the assistant who had helped throw us into the cage. Esther gave me a look and squeezed my hand again. Her boundless optimism was amazing, but comforting.

Eugenia stopped by a panel and moved her fingers back and forth across its surface.

"Well, what did you discover--"

Her words were suddenly cut off as a shudder threw Esther and I together against the back of the cage in a huddle of arms and legs. Before we could right ourselves, it was followed by another one that sent the whole world reeling. The floor seemed to bend beneath us, and a noise filled the air like the buzzing of a million insects.

There was a second pause. Silence, and then all hell broke loose, and we were thrown back and forth against the metal bars. Everything went dim as the lights flickered and then flashed on and off. Over the thunder and crashes, I heard screams and terrified shouts.

I grabbed hold of the bars and held myself facing forward. Sparks and flame flew from panels, shelves smashed from one side of the lab to another, but through the chaos I could see Eugenia tapping at a panel and the air shimmering and sliding in strange patterns. Slivers of glass glittered in her hair like diamonds as she regally surveyed the damage and then strode quickly to the door.

Suddenly something exploded nearby, and the cage was filled with harsh smoke that burned my lungs and stung my eyes. There was someone at the lock. The Doctor!

Esther pushed me aside with one strong push. "Open it, you bastard! I'll do it. I swear I will!"

She had the metal weapon she had stolen pointing at the Doctor, his handsome face a mask of blood, grime, and sweat. He gave her a surprised look, and then the door swung open and he was gone.

I caught one last glimpse of him, as we threw ourselves onto the lab floor. He was racing toward the door. That was the last I saw of him. I never saw him again.

In the midst of the flames, Esther and I stood for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. We knew not where to go, in what direction safety lay. Across the room I caught sight of Calvin, his clothes aflame. He was dancing, screaming and laughing wildly as his body burnt as if on a funeral pyre. For a moment I could still see his face. Then the flames surged up and he stumbled and fell into the inferno that had had engulfed one side of the room.

Beside me I heard Esther reciting. "Hail Mary, full of grace. . . . Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

There was the smell of sulfur and something agonizingly sweet. I grabbed her hand, and we ran back towards the door where I had stood and viewed Samuel Luke's body go into the incinerator.

As we fled, small explosions echoed all around. Nearing the door, a cabinet fell in our path in a shower of fire and sparks. Esther screamed. Her clothes were aflame. I threw her against the wall, trying to smother the flames, and then we were running once more.

We made it to the door and down the passage past those silent bodies out to the hallway. The smoke and noise was less here, but still we ran, feeling the heat and tension growing behind us.

Then the world erupted into a storm of blistering air and noise. A hand grasped mine tightly, and that was all that made sense. We tumbled through the door into the wet of the tunnel, shining from the fire like one of Lindemann's productions. Esther was on all fours, her hand pulling mine.

I remember a puddle of water, deliciously cold on my burned and scraped knee. I remember being blown forward so that I was thrown against the ground. A cacophony of screams and thunder. Then there was a wet snout against my neck. I felt teeth through my shirt pulling me up and forward. It was Patches.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Behind us the section of tunnel next to the door had erupted into a solid wall of fire. Coughing and choking from the smoke, we stumbled away from the flames, Patches leading the way, coaxing and nudging us as we clambered up another slope of rubble away from the door and the museum.

I did not know how he had found us, how he had escaped from Hiram and threaded his way down through the dark ways to rescue us in our hour of need. Indeed, at the time, I simply accepted it as the hand of Providence. All of my strength had been expended in getting us out of the laboratory before we died in the explosion, and I was incapable of thought or decision. Now, as I look back, I understand to what lengths Patches had gone to in order to find Esther and me.

"Come on, Hector," said Esther, holding my arm steady as I stumbled up the slope. "Just a little further. Can you see that gap?"

"There's nothing. Nothing. We're trapped." I sobbed, begging her to let me rest. But Esther and Patches were obdurate. Cursing, Esther dragged me up the incline littered by chunks of earth and stone, while Patches licked at my scalp encouragingly. Then I saw a faint grey circle against the darkness up ahead. I knew it was an illusion, and tried to tell Esther this, but my breath came in gasps, and my thoughts swam in disconnected fragments. At last I collapsed and, blessedly, they let me be.

I must have fainted, for when I awoke, Esther was climbing up the slope towards me, pale light etching her figure from behind. She wore a gigantic grin and pointed behind her. "You ain't never going to believe this, Hector. I think we found heaven."

My first thought was "poor girl." The smoke or a fall must have disordered her brain. I was weak, but I knew we weren't dead, at least, not yet.

I looked around me. The air was hazy with smoke, but it was clearing. We were on top of a hill of rubble that stretched out behind me into smoke and the flickering of flame, but up ahead lay a smooth tunnel illuminated by light I knew must be artificial. I was at the junction of two different tunnels, straddling a large hole in an immense slab of rock. Our tunnel had originally ended here. What lay up ahead was something new.

Next to me loomed a large machine—a gigantic barrel with both ends punched out. It had obviously been used to dig this new tunnel, and now lay barely quiescent as if it had just ceased its labor. I reached out and touched the metal. The machine was still warm to the touch and vibrated softly.

"Someone's been digging another tunnel," I murmured.

"Yep. And creating a regular commotion," Esther replied dryly. "Looks like it broke in here." She gestured to the jagged rock ceiling above us. "And caused that 'splosion and the fire"

I could barely recognize her. Her teeth, gleaming out of a face begrimed with dirt, smoke, and blood, were the only part of her untouched by the disaster we had left behind us. Her body was a mass of cuts, slashes, and tatters. I looked down at myself and realized that I wasn't in any better condition.

Patches suddenly appeared, wagging his tail as if Christmas was right around the corner. Esther laughed and extended me her hand. "Come see."

I made my way gingerly down the rock pile, using Patches' dusty head to steady myself, until I stood within a rough tunnel whose jagged sides were undoubtedly lit from a light source up ahead. Suddenly I tripped and fell heavily across a series of metal rails on the floor.

I scrambled up in confusion. "A train?"

In answer, Esther pointed up ahead where the tunnel narrowed and became ribbed. Some yards in front of us, I could now make out the gleaming front of a circular passenger car.

"Come on," said Esther, pulling me forward. "It's not moving. Let's get past it before it does.

Trying not to think about a steam locomotive hurtling out of the darkness, I forced myself to move forward. I kept as close to the tunnel wall as I could, but I knew that if the train moved forward, there would be little space in which to escape.

After an agonizing series of minutes, we came flush to the train. Curious now, I peered inside the carriage. It was richly upholstered in green velvet and looked like it had never been used. The woodwork gleamed as if newly polished, and the glass windows positively sparkled. Between the plush cushioned seats were small tables supporting globe lamps.

"That's odd," I said. "Look, this is the end of it—only one carriage and no engine. How on earth does it run?"

"That's what you think is strange?" Esther asked with amazement. "What about the fact that there's a train down here in the first place? I mean, where does it go? Who built it?"

I shook my head.

"And this ain't got nothing to do with Eugenia. It's a weird shape, but it's not that different from a regular ole train. And look." She pointed to the gleaming red letters that ran down the train's side: "New York Pneumatic Express."

As we moved away from the locomotive and further down the track, the light grew brighter and brighter. Suddenly the tunnel wall fell away. I stopped for a moment, staring at the ceiling from which faint orange light fell through circular windows. Esther pulled me on, pointing to a recess in the wall to the left next to a set of steps. In the recess was an enormous machine—a fan over twenty feet high and almost as long across. I thought of the strange wind on the day Esther and I had gone out into the city, of the men and women being blown towards the grate up on Broadway.

"Esther," I gasped, putting it all together. "That's how the train works."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "What? You mean that train's blown down the tunnel?"

I nodded, but she shook her head with disbelief. "I don't know . . . that seems plum crazy."

I leaned in to look at the machine more closely, but Esther grabbed my arm. "Wait, Hector, you got to see upstairs. You ain't going to believe it!"

She wasn't lying. Up the stairs we went, and there lay what looked like an enormous parlor or saloon. It was a waiting room for this strange underground train, but paintings and frescoes decorated the walls and chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Over in one corner stood a grand piano. Patches bounded up onto one of the settees as if this amazing room was his own discovery, which I suppose in a way it was.

I stood, looking around with mouth hanging wide open.

"I told you," said Esther with evident satisfaction. "Now what on earth is all this doing down here?"

To my right a fountain splashed merrily. Behind it a large ornate fish tank stood empty, apparently awaiting the scores of tropical fish with which one filled a fish tank in an underground tunnel. Long wooden benches with crushed velvet seats lined the walls interspersed with large gold statues.

I stared in amazement and bent down to touch the black and white marble floor. It was covered with a thin coat of dust as if it had just been laid that evening. Who had done this and why?

"Hssssst!" came a sudden voice. My hand went to my heart in a gesture straight from one of Barnum's melodramas.

"Hiram!" cried Esther as our friend emerged from behind a ticket stall.

"Can you believe this?" hissed Hiram, half crouching, half walking towards us. "No one's going to believe what's happened tonight. Maybe Calvin had it right all along. This must be the end of the world!"

"How did you get here?" I croaked, grasping his hand. I was overjoyed to see him, close to tears. Exhaustion and fear had brought me to an emotional pitch.

"That dog of yours ran off down the tunnel. Led me a fine chase down some rabbit holes. When we got here, there was a giant BOOM, men fleeing up them stairs. They must have dug into a gas line or something. Then ole Patches, he took off down that way." Hiram pointed to the way we had just come. "I was plum tuckered out, so I just sat down on one of these here comfy divans and waited.

"But you found her." he nodded, pulling Esther close. "You both look like some kinda creatures from the dead, but you found her."

Suddenly a voice echoed from above.

"Down!" hissed Esther.

Instinctively I threw myself behind the fountain, pulling Patches with me. Bewildered as I was, my body had not forgotten that we were still in danger. Hiram crept forward and then beckoned to me to come look. Keeping a tight hold of Patches' collar, I peered around the stone basin. Two men were coming down a flight of steps. One was young with wispy blond hair that hung around his head like a mad halo. The other was Beach.

"I'm not sure what it is we've hit, father," said the young man. "But the men will have nothing to do with it. They claim the machine broke into an old tunnel and that there was a huge explosion and that bones rained from the ceiling. They think it's an Indian curse."

Beach harrumphed irritably.

"I know, father, but there's no convincing them. They say it's the last straw. You know the trouble we had last week with the echoes. And if it's an older tunnel they've hit, we're going to need to patch that up as well."

"Fred, you'll just have to find some way to convince them. Tell them that every man that comes back tomorrow night receives double pay. We're so close, son. A few more days and we'll be ready to open to the Public. Boss Tweed be blown!"

"I'll try," said Fred, but he didn't sound too convinced himself. "Still, we had better assess the damage. I'm not sure what the machine's broken into. I know we've been rocking those buildings up above for the last few weeks. Lucky we haven't brought anything---" He broke off suddenly, strode to the door, and hauled out a small figure. It was Jasper.

"Let go of me!" he shrieked, legs and arms flailing.

The man called Fred, threw him to the ground and stood over him as if daring Jasper to complain. "I thought I heard someone breathing."

Esther turned toward me with a questioning look. "That's Jasper," I mouthed. She raised her eyebrows, and we both edged closer to the end of the tank near Hiram, straining to hear.

"Who are you?" demanded Beach, "What are you doing down here?"

"I'm not doing any harm," wheedled Jasper. "I'm a friend." He gave a horrible smile and groveled around on the ground like a rodent trying to decide which way to run. Fred winced as if he smelled something atrocious.

"What on earth is he on about?" said Beach irritably, turning to his son.

"No idea." Fred shrugged. "I suggest we hand him over to the police. He had better not be down here spying." He gave Jasper a prod with his foot.

"Now, now," said Jasper, scooting away and getting to his feet. His voice became louder, more confident. "I don't think any of us want to be calling in the police." He straightened his coat and folded his arms, sure of himself now.

"Oh no?" demanded Fred.

"No." said Jasper confidently. He grimaced at Beach. "I don't think either of you want to be calling in the police. After all, what do you think they might say when they catch a glimpse of all this?" He gestured broadly to the piano, the seats, the fish tank, and train. "Won't they be surprised to know that someone's been drilling a tunnel right under their very noses."

"Who sent you?" interrupted Beach. "Who are you working for? Let's just get this over with before we hand you over to the work crew." Fred laughed.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Jasper backing up. "We are all gentlemen here, isn't that so? I simply thought we could talk some business--"

"He's working alone," snorted Fred. "God help me! A dwarf blackmailer!" He burst into peals of laughter. Beach simply looked annoyed.

A horrible look passed over Jasper's face.

"I've been on your trail for weeks," he hissed, his hands working as if Beach's neck was already between them. "You never knew, but I knew something was going on down here—the tremors, the crews coming in at night, the cart wheels all muffled with cloth, Barnum acting so secretive and smug. . . . Well, you're going to have to make it worth my while not to say anything. I'm sure the Herald would be very interested in the fact that someone's been tunneling under the city. Very interested."

There was a moment of silence, and then Beach began to laugh.

An expression of bewilderment crossed over Jasper's face, but he recovered quickly. "So?" he snarled. "What's it to be?"

Beach looked at his son and again broke out in gales of laughter. He smacked his knee with his hand and then worked it up and down, as if trying to regain control. "Oh," he chortled. "I don't think I've laughed so hard in months!"

Fred clapped his father on the back. "A dwarf blackmailer!" he laughed. "Who could have imagined!"

"He'll tell the Herald!" gasped Beach. "It's perfect!"

Suddenly it all made sense to me. Jasper had not even come close to discovering the most important mystery that lay under the museum—Eugenia's experiments on those poor human beings, who had now perished in the fire. He had simply figured out that Beach was secretly working on building this strange new underground train and wanted to make some money from his knowledge. I remembered how Jasper's eyes had never left Beach's face when he had come into the Lecture Room during rehearsal, how he had immediately spoken to Lindemann about their conversation, obviously trying to gain information. He was simply a blackmailer, as Fred Beach had said, and not even a very good one I was guessing, given the expression of mirth on both men's faces.

"Are you sure you want to tell the papers?" asked Beach Senior.

"Don't try and threaten me now!" hissed Jasper.

"Look," said Beach, sobering up. "You've given us a good laugh. We needed that. So we're going to let you go and forget that you were ever down here. I suggest you do likewise. Unless you do want to tell the newspapermen, but that's only going to help us. You see, we're all done. The publicity would be wonderful!"

Jasper made as if to lunge for his throat, but Fred immediately struck him down. Jasper fell to the ground. "Don't you ever try that again!" Fred threatened, his arm still raised. "Now get the hell out of here!"

Jasper sprang up, shot them both a look of such hatred that I drew back further into the shadows, and then raced off through a dark doorway that led off from the waiting room.

"Fred!" remonstrated Beach. ". . . the poor creature."

"I'm sorry," said Fred, looking ashamed. "I shouldn't have . . . " He trailed off. "Father, look!" A black cloud of smoke and ashes was creeping its way slowly along the tracks. The two men jumped off the platform and began running back along the tunnel.

Esther saw her moment and immediately scrambled out the other side of the fountain, making her way to the flight of steps. Hiram passed her, Patches at his heels, and was already up the stairs, but I grabbed Esther's arm, halting her for a minute.

"Should we tell them? What if--"

"They'll figure it out," she said, turning to leave.

The clouds of smoke had slowed, but there was a horrific stink of burning chemicals. Esther began to make her way up the stairs. I still held back, staring around at the magnificent oil paintings, the upholstered benches.

"Nothing makes sense," I muttered.

"You're telling me. Who in their right mind is going to want to ride in a train like some animal in a hole. It's giving me the heeby jeebies being down here at all. Think of all that earth up there, just waiting to crush us. Let's get the hell out a here."

She shivered and moved back up the stairs. I took one last look at Aladdin's cave, and then followed my friends at a run.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

At the top of the stairs, we found ourselves in a large room hung with shirts, jackets, and trousers. The garments were softly lit by an orange glow that fell from the windows high up at street level.

"Devlin's Clothing Store," I said wearily. My brain was beyond being surprised by anything this night offered. It dragged on like some interminable dream that hovered back and forth between nonsense and nightmare. One moment we were in an underground laboratory locked in a cage, the next in an underground train station dressed up like someone's parlor, and now here we were in a department store!

"Samuel Luke's always saying he's going to get a suit out of here one day," chuckled Hiram. "Look at those hats!" He picked up one with a broad rim, running his dirty fingers caressingly across the top.

Esther shot me a look. My stomach clenched with the knowledge of Samuel Luke's horrible end, of Calvin's dark treachery. I glanced back at Esther, but she was now purposefully looking away at a display of pink shirts. It would have to be me. I had to tell him.

"Hiram," I began, holding him back as he made his way up the stairs. "I found Samuel Luke--"

"You found him," he said eagerly, grabbing my hand in turn. "Why didn't you say so right away."

My heart sank, and I cursed my clumsiness. "Hiram." My voice broke. "Hiram--"

Time dragged out as we stared at each other. Then I saw in his face that he knew, that his body, before his mind, had understood my own body's signals.

I blurted it all out. "Hiram, he's gone. I saw his body. He didn't suffer. I swear it."

Hiram's nails dug sharply into my wrist. I saw him shake, as he strove to recover. "And Calvin?" he croaked after a moment.

"Yes," I nodded. "Calvin, he's gone too. It was that explosion."

His head sank to his chest; his eyes closed.

What need had he of the knowledge that his friend had sold out his other friend? Indeed, had actually helped abduct him, knowing that he would be experimented upon. Why should he live with that? Kindness outweighed the truth.

"They were good friends, Hiram. They didn't suffer."

Hiram was silent for a moment, and then he made a strange crooning noise that he tried to break off, his fist at his mouth. It was the most awful sound I had ever heard.

"Don't, oh don't!" sobbed Esther.

"It's too much for me," said Hiram, striving to hold back the tears. "Too much!" And with that, he fled up the stairs.

I heard a door open and slam shut up above. He was gone. My shoulders slumped as my thoughts went to Bill. How many times would I have to play this scene out, imparting the bad news, swallowing back my own tears? I felt old. What was the point of it all?

Yet, we had survived, Esther, Patches, and I. We had survived.

"Come on," I said wearily. "Up the stairs, we shouldn't be too far from the museum. I remember people talking about this shop being nearby."

With tired, jerky movements, we climbed our way up the final set of stairs, Patches at our heels.

As we emerged from the dark stairwell, our ears were assaulted by the insistent clanging of bells and a roaring as if a thousand lions surrounded us.

"What's that?" asked Esther, pulling me up the last of the stairs.

"Fire . . ." I faltered as we stared at the scene before us lit by a garish orange light.

We had come up on Broadway near the Museum. Crowds filled the street, their faces all turned toward the museum. As we stepped forward, the building that had been my home for as long as I could remember tumbled inward in a mass of burning lumber and clouds of smoke. For a moment the scene was obscured by a haze of blackness. When the smoke cleared, and the fire once again appeared, the museum was gone. While we had been climbing out from the cool dark underground, thinking we had escaped from the fires in Eugenia's laboratory, the museum and all of its denizens had been engulfed in an explosion of flame. The fire had let us go, only to race down the tunnel toward Barnum's showcase built from layer upon layer of dry timber and filled with reams of paper, cloth, and kerosene.

Covering our mouths with the backs of our arms, we pushed through the shouting crowd. The mass surged toward the fire, even as people bent over coughing from the smoke or screamed as embers fell upon their clothing. Firemen all in red shirts to match their fire-flushed sweaty faces rushed around the scene. They looked like the tiny demons from the Inferno illustrations that had frightened me as child.

It was a terrible scene, but the fire, while still blazing, had reached its peak. Indeed, I thank God that we had missed the show that was put on for that unfeeling crowd as animal after unfortunate animal tried to fight its way free of the flames. The laughter and jokes, however, that still arose as people recalled the sight filled me with a blinding anger. I was only stopped from attacking the man next to me by the nausea that suddenly rose in my throat when I thought of my friends' agonizing deaths. As I bent over, retching and sobbing, a man placed a solicitous hand on my shoulder, trying to help me up, but I angrily shrugged him off. Human cruelty overwhelmed me, and I felt ashamed to belong such a race.

When the convulsions stopped, Esther dragged me to the back of the crowd, and I curled up on the steps of the church. I could feel her shivering next to me, but I didn't care. I would keep a vigil to the very end.

As dawn approached, the scene began to subtly change. The firefighters had long ago ceased to battle the destruction, but now they rolled away their hoses and drove away in a clamor of clanging bells and shouts. The crowd too had thinned. The mob of drunks and thrill-seekers were stumbling home to be replaced by those whose workdays began in the early morning hours. The museum lay in a smoking pile of rubble and brickwork.

When the sky began to lighten to a soft pink haze, I caught sight of Clem picking his way over the sodden mess that was Broadway. When he saw me, he stopped for a second and passed his hand over his eyes as if gladness threatened to overwhelm him. It was only for a minute, and his pace, as he started toward me, belied this rare show of emotion, but I understood, and it soothed my sorrow. Steadily he crossed the street until he was directly in front of us.

"Who's this?" he asked kindly, gesturing toward Esther. She had fallen asleep with her head in my lap, my arms wrapped around her, hers around Patches.

"A friend," I answered my voice catching. I was trying to hold myself together, but I was overcome with the relief of seeing that familiar face making its way toward me. "Oh Clem." I said. "They're all gone. All dead."

He bent down and for a moment I felt his arms strong and warm around me. "Best come home with me, son," he said, straightening up. "She have family? If not you can bring her too."

"She's been living in the Museum," I said, a little shame-faced.

She has has she? Sounds like you've got a tale to tell. Let's get some place warm, Hector. The dog too? Ah well, I'm sure one more won't matter."

I shook Esther awake. She got up, stared bleary-eyed at Clem, and then followed us without a word as we walked away from the only home I had ever known. Perhaps Esther was used to change or perhaps she had simply been pushed beyond her limits. We had been on our feet since the morning before, had neither drunk nor eaten, and had suffered numerous injuries. My entire body was one huge ache, and I could barely make my feet work.

Even so a voice caused me to look up. Across the street firemen still worked on the site. One of them had hold of a man, all in black, who was complaining vociferously at the top of his lungs.

"You have no right to hold me! On what authority are you acting!" The man fought to free himself, but the beefy fireman with arms like two logs held him effortlessly. It was Lucian. I tugged at Clem's jacket and nodded toward the scene.

"Clem!" said Lucian, catching sight of us. "Tell this idiot that he's got the wrong man. I have a very good idea who's set this fire, and I need to speak to Mr. Barnum immediately."

"What's he being accused of?" said Clem curiously. "This man is the Museum's porter."

"He may be," said the fireman calmly. "But we got a dozen witnesses saying they saw him with a lantern setting this fire."

"That's ridiculous!' screamed Lucian. "I've been keeping an eye on the museum for months now. I knew there was something going on. There's a conspiracy I tell you." He struggled hard, slipping on the icy pavement. The fireman simply looked bored and retained his hold.

"If you're telling the truth, you've got nothing to worry about," said a second fireman with an enormous axe. He leaned wearily on its shaft. "You can tell us all about it once we get our boss here."

"Lucian," said Clem, stepping closer. "Best do what they say. This will all be cleared up in no time."

"What!" Lucian shrieked. "Tell them who I am, Clem. You're not going to just leave me here!" The pathetic creature writhed in anger.

"He's mad I reckon," said the fireman with the axe to Clem. "He's probably set a dozen fires."

Fruitlessly, Clem tried to calm Lucian. The soothing words and firm voice he used with the animals only seemed to incense Lucian further. Finally Clem gave up and turned away, shaking his head.

All this time, I had remained quiet. I knew now that Lucian was not our enemy. His threats seemed like something from another time, another story, compared to the horror we had just been through. Still, I did not speak. Later I would feel the twinges of remorse. Had he been brought up on charges? Had Barnum held him responsible? But at the time, I simply did not care. Perhaps and most probably, Lucian had simply been snooping around, his curiosity tweaked by the same strange happenings that Esther and I had encountered. But he was a bad man, and when so many innocents had died, what cared I whether he went to prison.

I was tired, bitter, and heart sick, not myself at all, which may be why Clem did not or could not believe me when I gave him our version of events as we headed home to his apartment further uptown. The fact that Esther told the same story obviously swayed him, but at the end I could see the doubt and confusion written plainly on his face. He didn't know what to say. How could I blame him? The whole tale was fantastical. Underground passages and laboratories! People who magically appeared and disappeared! Machines to transform people into living replicas of each other!

"Well, we can talk about it when we get you some place warm," said Clem when we had finished, pulling the tramline to alert the driver to make a stop. "I'm sure you can use something hot and filling."

I shrugged resignedly and followed Clem off the empty tram into the grey morning slush and then up to his home on the fourth floor of a plain and sturdy-looking apartment building.

"Not allowed dogs," said Clem gruffly. "So, he'll have to be quiet and behave."

"He'll be good," I jumped in. Esther shot me a grateful look, and Patches rubbed up against my shoulder.

Clem ushered us in and then gave us some blankets and stoked up the stove, for we had begun to shiver uncontrollably. Our bodies had born as much as they could bear and were now breaking down.

We were almost asleep by the time Clem warmed up the beef stew. We ate quickly and then curled up near the stove. By the time Clem locked the door on his way out, I had fallen into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

We stayed at Clem's for a week. Esther and I came down with violent colds and were kept to our beds for the first couple of days. I suppose we were fortunate that they did not turn into influenza, and that our burns, cuts, and bruises mended so quickly. Still, all I remember is a throat that ached, as if sliced by a thousand knives, a constant thirst, and a fever that burned like fire. Most of the time I believed that I was back in the tunnel.

The illness also absolved me of the responsibility of breaking the news of Bill's death to Jim and his friends. Clem did that for me. Jim had found him only hours before the Museum went up in flames. Clem had somehow found Anna and left him with her before he went back himself to fight a losing battle against the fire. I wondered what they do, now that Barnum had lost his Museum and was no longer a powerful enemy to be fought against. What would happen to their Revolution?

Despite his own injuries, Clem nursed us both back to health and out of danger. He was a gentle and patient man and knew quite a few remedies from taking care of the museum animals. Of the fire at the museum he refused to speak. I gathered the tragedy was too raw. He said he had given his notice in to Barnum, and he stayed at home with us.

On the third day after the fire, I awoke around one and sat myself down at the scratched and well-scrubbed kitchen table ready to plan out my future. I no longer had a home, and as much as Clem cared for me, I knew he expected me to pick myself up like a grown man and make my own decisions. I did not expect any handouts.

Clem looked up from slicing a loaf of bread and smiled, but we said very little. I wanted to talk about the fire, the lab, but one look at his face told me that he still did not believe Esther and me; indeed, that he did not know what to make of our fantastical story.

The awkward silence was broken by Esther coming in, yawning and red-eyed. After asking her how she had slept and handing her a plate, Clem cleared his throat and looked at me.

"Fellow down South wants me to take charge of a small circus and side show he won in a poker game. It's good money, but I leave in a week."

"Oh," I said. This was soon. My stomach tightened as I imagined myself out on the cold New York streets, alone, without shelter. The moment passed, and I pulled myself together. "Congratulations," I offered.

"Yes, well . . ." said Clem, brushing some crumbs off the table. "It's where I was last week. Incredible luck on my part, but I just couldn't stand seeing one more of those animals sickening and dying on me. This fellow's letting me have full rein. I get to decide how things are run, and I also get to hire whoever I want, so what do you say Hector? Are you interested?"

"Me?" I asked, doubtfully. "I don't know--" Again I was taken by surprise. I had half hoped that Clem would suggest some such thing, but I had worried that our story had made him question my sanity and, to tell the truth, I hadn't planned on leaving New York. I had thought that eventually I might start taking some classes at the Cooper Institute. Moreover, I didn't like the sound of "side show." I had no fears that Clem would push me in that direction, but I knew what could happen. I would start by helping with the animals, but would soon encounter pressure to "entertain."

Into the silence, Esther spoke up. "I'd like the job. I'm betting you're going to need more than one assistant." She grinned round at us, teeth glinting.

Clem coughed awkwardly. I colored, embarrassed for her. How was I going to tell her that Clem hadn't meant the pair of us, that she hadn't been invited? She so innocently assumed that we would all stick together, one big family. Now I imagined _her_ being turned out into the cold bleak streets, and I felt sick at heart. Poor Esther. But just as I had decided that I would not leave her behind, Clem began to laugh, a slow wheezing laugh that grew in intensity and volume. "You're a forward little thing, ain't you?" he chuckled, wiping his eyes.

Esther frowned. "I guess so," she said. "Still, I'd make a good helper. Why I love animals. I bet I'd be pretty good at it."

"Is that a fact?" said Clem, smiling. "Well, I reckon we could find something for you." He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't afraid of them big elephants are you?"

Esther started to spit, glanced at me, and then stopped. "Elephants, tigers, lions—bah! I ain't afraid of them ole softies."

"Well good," said Clem, brushing off his hands. "Looks like we're all decided. You won't need much. Just pack up a few things and we'll leave first thing on Wednesday."

Esther grinned; Clem winked, and then they both looked at me, expecting me to say something. I pressed my lips, searching for the right words.

"Hector?" asked Clem, looking puzzled. "You don't want the job?"

"Of course, he does!" scoffed Esther. "We're going to have a great time." She made to get up as if the conversation was over.

"I don't know," I muttered. "I'd thought about getting some schooling." This came out more defiantly than I had meant.

Esther sat down with a thud. "What? How're you going to go to school, Hector?" she demanded. "You ain't got no money, no place to live . . . why I thought everything was all planned. We was going to all go together." She burst into tears.

I stared at her amazed. Clem looked down at his hands as if he wished he were some place else. I had never seen Esther cry, and hadn't realized that I actually might matter to her. Indecision suddenly warred within me. I had friends now. What was stopping me from simply going where my heart demanded? _Yes, but the Doctor was a friend too_ , said a voice within me. _Best stick to your original plan. Friendship can't be relied upon like hard work and resolution._

But Esther and Clem are different, I cried inwardly. And where would I stay in this city? Where begin? Why shouldn't I go with my friends? Take a job that promised to allow me to be self-sufficient?

"I haven't said I wouldn't go," I fumbled. "Of course, I'll probably go. And the offer is very much appreciated, Clem, you know that. I just need . . . I just need a moment to think about a few things."

"I understand, son," said Clem, giving me a smile, but when I looked up into his kindly old face, my heart smote me. He too looked disappointed. Still something in me refused to agree right then no matter how much I wanted to please them.

"Hmm!" said Esther and flounced out of the room.

For the rest of the day, I sat upstairs in the tiny bedroom, looking out the window at the street below. I could not make my mind up.

I watched as Clem left the protection of the covered porch and headed out into the falling snow, jamming his hat tightly down on his head. He had business to take care of before he left and didn't plan on being back until late tonight, maybe tomorrow. Esther too had left the house. I knew she was still furious because she hadn't even bothered to come tell me where she was going. I assumed she was heading back to Five Points. Perhaps she too had business that needed wrapping up before she left. Remembering the welt on her face, I hoped she would be careful and almost went out after her, but the malaise held me, and then it was too late.

It would be so easy to fall in with Clem's plans, to travel with friends and to know that I would no longer be alone, but I felt that I was at a turning point, that the fire, the destruction of the museum, our capture, marked an end to the old way of life, demanding more from me. Now was the time to discipline myself and put my plans into action as every self made man had done before me. I dreamed of becoming a doctor, and now was the time to start on the difficult road to achieve that goal.

The problem was that Goddess Science had fallen from her pedestal. No longer did Medicine seem the epitome of all that was good in this world. I could barely stand to even think about Doctor Carroll and his betrayal. Who and what did I want to become now?

I watched that street until darkness fell, and it was late afternoon. The neighborhood was different from Broadway—quieter, the people more soberly dressed. I still hadn't made up my mind when Esther returned. I heard her quick footsteps on the stairs and a loud thumping. Before I knew it, she had thrown open the door, and Patches was licking my face, knocking me off my perch.

"Good boy!" cried I, kissing his face suddenly as exuberant as he was. I hugged that dog tighter than I had ever held anyone before. In that moment he seemed to represent everything that had been lost and everything that I had so recently gained. He was mad with joy, one moment knocking us over and licking our face, the next racing around the room, his body wriggling as if he would burst.

Esther came and sat down on the floor next to me. There was a moment of silence between the two of us. Then: "You should do what you want to do, Hector, what you think is best," she finally blurted out.

Relief rushed back through my body. Awkwardly I grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"He was already letting us out, you know," she added. "It weren't the gun. He had that lock open afore I shoved it in his face."

I stared at her confused.

"The Doctor, I mean. Just thought you should know. Not every friend's going to stab you in the back, and even those who do, well, you still meant something to 'em." She coughed, embarrassed. I looked away, but then before she could get up, I grabbed her hand again.

"Why did he do it, do you think, Esther? Why did he help those people? Was he insane?"

Esther clenched her fists and then released them. "Lot's of people like that. Everybody thinks they know what's best for everyone else. He thought something was wrong with us, and he could fix it."

"But he was willing to torture, to murder."

Esther shrugged. We sat silent for a minute, listening to the ticking of the clock in Clem's bedroom.

"So those people weren't that different from us then?" I ventured at last.

"I don't know 'bout that," answered Esther, frowning. "They looked like human beings, but I don't think they were."

"I meant--" I interrupted.

"I know what you meant, Hector, 'bout whether we're all evil. I just ain't sure. I'm more worried 'bout whether they all got blowed up or not."

In my mind I saw the laboratory ablast with flame, people scurrying to get out. Was Eugenia still alive? Could she come back?

"I've been thinking," continued Esther. "I think they maybe came from the moon. They're Moon People. It's the only thing that makes any kind of sense."

I laughed. "Moon People?"

Esther looked a little hurt. "Well, what else could they be? Suppose you think they're fairies or ghosts or something," she added scornfully.

I laughed again and shook my head. "No, not fairies, so perhaps you're right. Either way nobody is going to believe our story."

The next day, Esther accompanied me to the Cooper Union. We were just about to cross the street when a newspaper boy suddenly called out behind us "Museum Fire: Accident or Arson? Read all about it! Barnum vows to rebuild!"

Esther gave me a nudge, and I turned to look at the newspaper the boy held above his head. Under a picture of the burning museum was another showing a host of well-dressed men and women entering the circular train Esther and I had seen in the tunnel. The article was entitled: _"An Underground Railroad! A Fashionable Reception held in the Bowels of the Earth."_

I drew out a thin sliver of a dime and handed it to the boy. Esther frowned and tried to force my hand back into my pocket.

"Don't waste it on that" she hissed. I raised my eyebrows as I watched her fingers wriggling by her side. The thieving impulse was second nature to her, but I waved her aside and grandly handed over my coin as if I was any other businessman buying a newspaper for the journey home.

"Well, what does it say?" demanded Esther as we scurried across the street.

"Let's get out of the wind," I answered, tucking the paper under my arm. She rolled her eyes, but hastily followed me along the pavement.

I waited until we had arrived at the steps of the Union, and then I found a sheltered spot behind a large stone lion. I flipped open the newspaper and began reading to Esther:

"Certainly the most novel enterprise that New-York has seen for many a day is the Pneumatic Tunnel under Broadway. And herein lies the solution to the mysterious rumbling, quakes, and miniature whirlwinds that have caused such an uproar in recent months--"

"What's 'newmatic mean?" interrupted Esther.

"It means it was operated by air. Remember that fan we saw?"

Esther folded her arms and wrinkled her nose. "Sound fishy to me."

I sighed dramatically and then continued reading:

"A myth or humbug the tunnel has been called by every body who has been excluded from its interior; but hereafter the incredulous public can have the opportunity of examining and judging its merits. Such as expected a dismal and cavernous retreat under Broadway were astonished at the elegant reception-room, the light, airy tunnel, and the general appearance of taste and comfort in all the apartments."

The article went on to describe the grand piano, the fish tank, and gilt-framed paintings, ending with a grand pronouncement that "Pneumatic Dispatch Across the Globe would be the Transportation of the Future!"

Above the article on Beach's train was a brief story that contradicted its provocative headline. Investigation had determined that the Museum fire was an accident, not arson. Barnum was quoted at length. Not only did he plan to rebuild the museum along grander lines, but would begin another enterprise—a "Grand Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan, and Circus." "We ought to have a big show," Barnum proclaimed. "The public expects it, and will appreciate it."

I scowled. Nothing dampened the enthusiasm of that man of business. Thousands of animals had died horrible deaths in the fire, hundreds of people had been experimented upon and lost their lives beneath his museum, and what did he care? How much had he known about what was going on? I would never know, but I would not place my life in the hands of such a one again. I would not be a product to be bought and sold, exploited and then left to die.

"Business as usual, I guess," said Esther, anxiously watching my face. "Don't get too het up 'bout it, Hector. There just ain't no use."

Her solicitude still took me by surprise, like finding a nickel lying forgotten on the floor. I nodded and tried a smile.

"What gets me is that they ain't putting two and two together." She continued, hitting the newspaper with her hand. "Why it's right there in black and white."

"I wonder if Beach knows it was his tunneling that started the fire?"

Esther gave her usual shrug. "If he does, you can bet, he ain't saying nothing. Why Barnum would take him to the cleaners, underpants and all!"

I snorted, causing a passerby to turn and stare. Esther made a face at him, and he hurried on, occasionally looking back as if could scarce believe his eyes at the sight of a dwarf and street urchin strolling down the middle of the sidewalk.

"Come on Esther," I said, dragging her around to face the large building that housed the Cooper Institute. "Like you said, there's nothing we can do about it."

I pointed up to the large front doors at the top of the steps. "Look, it's open. We might as well go on in."

I said the words, but my steps slowed and I hesitated. As I stared up at the six storied-brownstone, I considered my future. I would be fortunate to find space in one of the night classes in applied sciences. If I worked hard, perhaps I could become an engineer or architect.

"You could make an underground railway like old Beach," piped up Esther, as if reading my thoughts. "Why, you could become anything. You've got all that book learning and all. Why I've bet you've read every book they've got!"

Could she read my fears and anxieties that well? I did need some encouragement. Part of me yearned towards the earnestness of that brown building and the chance at purposeful study and achievement, but I also worried whether there was a place for a dwarf like me there. Would I be accepted on my merits or would I face laughter, humiliation, and failure there too? Also, I must admit, that the part of me brought up in Barnum's world, rebelled against the drabness of that brown and practical future. It craved the gaudy lights and glare of make believe and humbug, the delight of costume and spangle.

I remembered how the monkeys would greet me every morning, so gay and cheerful even in captivity, and I thought about Bill. Could I go back to that life and perhaps lose it all again?

I sighed and felt Esther's small grubby hand in mine. I was no closer to a decision.

As we stood indecisively on the steps, a man came trotting down the stairs and barreled into us. He sported a beard so large and fluffy it looked like a stylish wool muffler.

"Pardon me," he said, surprising us. We had expected a quick cuff to the head for being in the way or at least a lecture. "I didn't see you there."

"Sorry, Sir," I replied. "We're just leaving."

"Taking some classes, eh?" smiled the man. He was dressed simply, but expensively. I could not imagine why he had stopped to speak to me. Esther stared at him without bothering to conceal her suspicion.

"I'm not sure," I said hesitantly.

He pulled a little at beard. "Got a decision to make?"

I stood up straight and looked him in the eye. "I do, Sir."

The man nodded. "Well then, here's my advice, son. Write it all down. It helps to get it all out on paper. Write it all down. But start at the beginning. You'll soon see your way," He then doffed his hat and trotted down the steps to the street.

"Did you know that that was Mr. Cooper?" said a boy about my age, heading up to the doorway, his arms full of books.

"Of the Institute, you mean?"

From the doorway the boy called back: "Peter Cooper himself. He's a self-made man. Did it all himself and now wants to help all of us workingmen. You can't go wrong listening to him." He waved and then disappeared into the building.

Well, Dear Reader, I took Mr. Cooper's advice. Using an old workbook, I wrote down my story from beginning to end. All afternoon and the next two days I wrote until blisters rose along my right index finger and my hand cramped. Esther brought me meals to eat, and Clem left me alone. The result is this poorly written story of my life that you now hold in your hand.

It surprised me how much pleasure I received from what I had at first conceived of as a useful chore. Perhaps we all desire to tell the story of our lives to a captive listener who cannot speak back and scold us for being self-indulgent. And Mr. Cooper was correct: it did help me muddle towards a decision, although the final choice was made in a less time-consuming fashion. My poor little manuscript! Perhaps it will at least serve to document the real events behind the great fire at the Museum, if nothing else.

And so, the story of my life draws to a close. Esther has just been in. Her scarce belongings have long been wrapped up ready to go. A comb with missing teeth, a dirty rag doll, and a small knife. They look so pathetic wrapped up in a small bundle, but Esther is on top of the world, sure she will make her fortune in the sunny South.

She didn't try to persuade me one last time; she simply placed a new penny on the desk by my hand and covered my mouth when I asked her where she had found it. "Let it decide," she said and then thumped down the stairs.

I've stared at the coin for a while now. What an idiotic and unscientific way to plan one's future career! I pick it up and toss it up to the ceiling, watching as it performs its tricks, flashing in the sunshine.

I think I will need some new clothes.
