Lair of Dreams

Page 154

Woodhouse wrote it down on his pad, sneezed again, and moved out into the crowd. He bumped hard into a young man, knocking off his cap.
“Apologies,” Woodhouse said, brushing dirt from the brim as he handed it back.
“No trouble,” Arthur Brown said as he donned his cap once more. He leaned against the hot dog stand, watching Jake Marlowe move through the crowd clean as a newly made promise. His eyes scanned the whole of the fairgrounds, taking in everything.
“This exhibition’s gonna be the biggest thing to hit this city in a long time,” Woodhouse said, nodding briefly toward the adoring crowds before scribbling more notes on his pad. “Gonna make a big bang.”
Arthur nodded, then tipped his head and looked up at the wide, blue, American sky, where not a cloud could be seen. “It surely will,” he said.
At the appointed hour, Jericho waited for Jake Marlowe in his private tent bordering the fairgrounds, which were already bustling with industry, the air a symphony of hammering, shouting men—proof that the great Jake Marlowe intended to make good on his promise to erect the fair quickly. The inside of the tent had the feel of an officer’s quarters, as if the two of them had come to plot the next battle surge. A long table housing a diorama took up the center of the room. Jericho walked around the table, admiring the clean-lined perfection of the model’s buildings as he read the title cards beneath each one: HALL OF PROSPERITY. HALL OF AVIATION AND ROCKETRY. STANDARD OIL PAVILION. ATOMIC ENERGY PAVILION. EUGENICS EXHIBITION TENT. RADIO. MACHINES. MEDICINE. AGRICULTURE.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Marlowe entered the tent, wiping the dirt from his hands. “You’re getting a first look at what we’re building—the greatest exhibition of its kind dedicated to the advancement of American business, ingenuity, and ideals. A utopian vision of an American tomorrow.”
“Sounds like an advertisement.”
“I suppose it is,” Marlowe agreed, laughing. “But why not take pride in this country? It’s the envy of the world. A place where any man can realize his dream. We, the dreamers, built this nation.”
“The Indians and the slaves might disagree,” Jericho shot back.
“Did you come to lecture me about American history, Jericho? Or did you need this?” Marlowe held up a vial of blue serum.
If there was anything Jericho hated, it was this. He hated being at the mercy of a man he both admired and hated, someone who’d saved his life and enslaved it.
“Now, now, no need to look embarrassed. I’m glad you’re here. I was very pleased to get your letter. Here. Take a seat.” Marlowe offered Jericho a chair, settling into the one opposite him. Casually, he poured coffee from a silver pot and handed the cup to Jericho, who was grateful for the warm drink. “I heard about what happened to you up in Brethren.”
“How?”
Marlowe stirred two cubes of sugar into his own coffee. “You don’t get to be top dog without knowing how to get the information you need. That was reckless of Will. And to think he dragged his niece into it, as well. This foolish obsession of his is going to get people hurt.” Marlowe’s expression went somber. “So is this Diviner business.”
Jericho wished he could tell Marlowe about what they had done, how they had stopped a maniacal demon from manifesting in New York City. What they had done wasn’t reckless; it was desperate. They had saved lives, and the public would never know.
“Believe me, Evie can’t be dragged into anything she doesn’t want to do,” Jericho said.
“The Sweetheart Seer. She is quite something,” Marlowe mused. “Isn’t she engaged to that Sam Lloyd character? Well, she could certainly do better. A good man like you, perhaps.”
Jericho looked down at his shoes, and it was all the confirmation Marlowe needed.
Marlowe was still watching him closely.
“What is it?” Jericho asked, annoyed.
“And have you had any strong feelings of aggression or agitation?” Marlowe asked.
Strong feelings of aggression and agitation pretty much sum up being eighteen, Jericho thought. “When I was shot, but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Good. Very good.” Marlowe gulped down his coffee and put the cup and saucer aside. “I’m glad you brought up the subject, Jericho. You know, I’ve been thinking—what if you were to come out to California and work with us at Marlowe Industries?”
“What could I offer you that you don’t already have?”
“You’re my crowning achievement.” Marlowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. That face the press lionized was no less impressive up close. “If we could study you, find out why you’ve survived against the odds, well, think of the good that could be done for America, for mankind. And for you, Jericho.” The great man looked Jericho in the eyes. His gaze was powerful. Inescapable. Jericho could feel the idealism pushing out from Marlowe like rays of sun on the first day of spring. “I’d like to make you the star of the Future of America Exhibition.”