Dan Simmons - The Fifth Heart

“I wouldn’t worry about Moriarty,” said Holmes, patting James on the shoulder like a tutor reassuring a child. James was not fast enough to bat away Holmes’s hand, but he wished for hours later that he had been.

“Not worry about Moriarty?” cried James. “But certainly he must take priority in your searches. Professor Moriarty is the . . . in your words, I believe . . . the mastermind behind all the murders and violent uprisings to come. Surely you must seek out Moriarty as your primary duty and allow others to take care of this . . . this . . . boy . . . Lucan Adler.”

“No,” Holmes said bluntly. “What we have to concentrate on first is stopping Lucan Adler from killing the president. Then I shall deal with Professor Moriarty. You need to trust me on this, James.”

James could only shake his head in frustration and amazement. “And do you know how to do that? Stop the assassination from happening?” he asked at last. “Do you know where the assassin will be shooting from, how he plans to escape, and . . . most of all . . . what on earth you could do to stop him?”

“I believe so,” said Holmes. “We shall find out in less than three days, shan’t we? Oh, and I shall expect you to help me when that time comes, James.” He had the effrontery to pat Henry James on the shoulder again before Holmes went to the connecting door, waved the waiting servants in, and said, “Shall we join the other gentlemen in the smoking car?”

Henry James had never in his life felt the urge to kill anyone—save for a few brief stabs of that emotion aimed at his older brother William—but now he felt he could take a carving knife to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He went into the smoking room and found a seat as far from the detective as he could get in the long carriage.

Henry Cabot Lodge’s special World’s Fair Express train arrived in Chicago on the morning of April 29 with everyone well-rested and amused. Everyone, it seemed, save for Sherlock Holmes, who seemed further and further lost in his own thoughts.

Lodge had let everyone know that their special cars were going to be parked on a private siding less than fifty yards outside the Columbian Exposition’s western gates where all the trains deposited visitors who went through the gates and onto the Parade Ground, flowing ahead to the Administration Building and the Court of Honor and then into the rest of the White City. All of his guests were free to come and rest or freshen up at any time of the days and nights they’d be there. The servants and cooks were on constant call.

But their first stop that morning was at a downtown-Chicago pier where everyone was ferried out to Don Cameron’s “Great Lakes Yacht”, the stately Albatross , where they were each shown slightly smaller but still luxurious rooms they could use whenever they wanted. The yacht was also heavily stocked with servants who would bring a cold drink or fix a full meal on a minute’s notice. Cameron gathered everyone together before the expeditions to the Fair began and explained that messengers would run any notes from the Albatross to anyone who decided to stay at or visit the luxury train cars and that there would always be at least one, and usually two, steam-powered longboats to rush them to or from Casino Pier at any hour of the day or night.

And with that, the explorations began. John Hay and Cabot Lodge had made sure that everyone—even young Helen—had the all important special visitor badges that allowed them the run of the White City and the newly vitalized Midway Plaisance at any time. Lodge explained that the director of the entire Columbian Exposition, Daniel Burnham, had said that there would be a lot of last-minute cleaning-up going on—rubble moved, temporary tracks being taken out, last-minute fields of flowers and even trees being planted, some of the huge buildings getting their last spray of white paint—but if they were careful, they shouldn’t be in anyone’s way.

Finally, Lodge warned them to be careful on the mile-long strip called the Midway Plaisance. Burnham had told Henry Cabot that everything and everyone was in place save for the . . . Lodge didn’t use the word Burnham had . . . doggoned Ferris Wheel which should be completed in June. Meanwhile, the Midway offered complete Algerian and Tunisian Villages where they could sample the exotic food or watch even more exotic jugglers and dancing girls; the Barre Sliding Railway—a water-propelled ride that guaranteed screams and squeals of delight the whole length of the Midway; the Bernese Alps Electric Theatre where visitors in a hundred-seat diorama took a frigid (thanks to electrical refrigeration) trip over thirty simulated miles of Alpine peaks.

There was the captive balloon, which Lodge didn’t recommend to the ladies, as well as the Chinese Village, Dahomey Village, Turkish Village, and German Village, all populated with hundreds of appropriately dressed natives. For those seeking out culture along the Midway Plaisance, there was Hagenbeck’s Zoological Arena placed conveniently near the Hungarian Concert Pavilion where Gypsy bands would play and dance in native costume. Also nearby was the Vienna Concert Hall and Café.

There was a perfectly realized Street in Cairo—along with native Egyptians in their robes and with their dogs, snakes, and monkeys—as well as a huge building for the Kilauea Volcano for those who wanted a thrill. If they grew too warm in their weekend visit, there was the Natatorium indoor swimming pool. This Saturday night and Sunday night, the White City would be lighted only by its gaslights and the full moon, but Lodge promised that after President Cleveland turned the magic key on Monday, May first, the White City and its extended Midway Plaisance would become the most brightly and dramatically lighted place on the planet.

Everyone—wearing their darker suits and dresses for almost the last time before light summer linen clothing became appropriate on Monday—got onto the waiting power boats and went ashore. Sherlock Holmes left the others when he reached the pier; he had scheduled meetings with Colonel Rice, Agent Drummond, and the Chicago Chief of Police Robert McClaughry.

Henry James decided to stay aboard the Albatross —Lake Michigan was so calm at their anchorage that there was almost no discernible movement of the large yacht—and to take a nap in his mahogany lined, silk-and-velvet-cushioned stateroom.

He awoke sometime after dark to find the yacht empty save for crew members. Everyone must be partying somewhere ashore.

They’d left a power launch and boatman for him and, as James came to the boat ladder, the man at the helm said, “Take you into the White City dock, sir?”

“No,” said James, his heart beating so quickly that he found it hard to take in a breath. “Take me to the main Chicago pier.”

He had decided that he—Henry James—would track down the elusive Professor Moriarty. During the hours of his sleepless “nap” that afternoon aboard Don Cameron’s yacht, James had convinced himself that Moriarty and his accomplices at the train station had not been searching for him . Searching for Holmes or someone else, perhaps, but not for him. What was he to Moriarty or Moriarty to him?

No, he’d assured himself, it had just been coincidence that he’d spotted the evil professor at the train station. James trusted again in his own anonymity—at least in terms of being a target for either the Adler boy or his dark master, Moriarty.

Telling the boatman to wait for him there at City Pier, no matter how late it might be, James took a trolley into the dark heart of Chicago and boarded one of the elevated trains there.