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“You can only get it on the Nitemarket,” Paul said. “Though it’s damn expensive these days, from what I’ve heard.”
“It was a little easier to come by during the war,” Dottie explained. “Sammie always made sure we all had a good supply of it, just in case.”
“Do you still have some?” Esta asked, but the three performers shook their heads almost in unison.
“Sammie might,” Gracie said. “I can ask when he gets here.… It sure is taking him a while, isn’t it? He usually comes fairly quickly.”
They all seemed to look at the clock on the wall at once, and suddenly it did feel like it had been a long time. Not long after, though, Sammie finally arrived, looking more than a little harried.
“I think I lost them,” he said as he locked the door behind him, making sure to secure the extra latches.
“You always do.” Gracie welcomed him back with a kiss, but Sam’s posture didn’t relax at all with the greeting.
“It wasn’t as easy as it usually is,” he told her. Then he turned to Dottie and Paul. “It should be safe enough now, but maybe take the long route home?”
“Will do,” Paul said. “It’s been… interesting,” he told Harte and Esta with a quizzical smile. Then he turned to Sam. “You want us to drop Gracie off too?”
“Sam can take me home later,” Gracie said, curling into Sam’s side.
He gave her a quick squeeze but then released her. “I think it’s better if you go with Paul and Dottie tonight, sweetheart.”
“I thought you said you lost them?” Her nervousness was apparent, even to Harte. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but better not to take chances, right?” Sam chucked her affectionately on the chin. “You have two shows tomorrow, anyway.”
Gracie frowned up at him. “But you’re still coming by later?”
“I can’t promise anything. Not tonight,” Sam said, his expression faltering a little as he glanced in Harte and Esta’s direction again. “I have a couple of things that need to be taken care of first.”
Harte didn’t like the sound of that at all. Neither, it seemed, did Gracie, but she didn’t argue any further. A few minutes later, they finished saying their good-byes. Once the others were gone and the door was locked behind them, Sam located a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard above the stove and took a couple of long swallows before offering it to Harte.
Harte shook his head. “What happened after we left?”
Sam’s expression was bleak, like he’d been wrung out and put up to dry. “The watchmen were on a tear, all right. They questioned me for a long time, and not particularly nicely.” He took another long swallow straight from the bottle before pinning Harte with a knowing gaze. “They specifically wanted to know about you two.”
Harte could feel the exhaustion of the day creeping over him, but he willed himself upright. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing,” Sam told Harte, lighting a cigarette and loosening his cuffs as he talked. “People always think that giving up information will save their sorry asses, but I’ve been around too long to make that kind of mistake. If you tell the Committee anything, they usually make sure you don’t talk again.”
Harte felt some of the tension drain from him. “Thank you,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with all the sincerity he could.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sammie said. “They’re still looking for the two of you. They know you’re in town, and they’re not going to stop until they find you. As good as it is to see you again, the faster you get out of town, the easier it’s going to be on everyone.”
“We can’t leave without the Dragon’s Eye,” Harte said.
“That’s the thing.…” Sam took a long drag on the cigarette before expelling the smoke in a slow, steady stream. “Like I told you, I don’t have it. I sold the crown at the Nitemarket years ago—back in ’38. I needed the funds to start the Pearl.”
“Who did you sell it to?” Harte pressed, thinking that maybe they could find the buyer.
“Who knows,” Sam said. “No one uses real names when they’re buying or selling at the Nitemarket. It’s safer for everyone that way.”
“But you know when you sold it.” Esta gave Harte a look that made his stomach sink. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
“No, Esta…”
“Think about it, Harte. We know where Jack will be now. If we go back to 1920, we could get the Dragon’s Eye, and we could take back the Pharaoh’s Heart and the Book as well. We could stop Jack from taking office, and we could make it so this Reticulum nightmare never existed.”
“You’re talking like you have some kind of time machine,” Sammie said, trying to laugh off the idea, but he grew serious when they didn’t join him. “You’re not actually talking about a time machine?”
