1
Standing at the foot of the gangplank, Nate finally believed they were going. He had made a dozen trips to the tailor, accompanied his mother on numberless shopping excursions for travel necessities, and endured three bon voyage dinners with his aunt's elderly friends. He had even sent a note to Ace Winchell, his onetime partner in crime fighting.
Suitcases, trunks, and hatboxes with enough clothes for his mother and great-aunt Alice—a whole year's worth—were already stowed in the first-class cabin Nate would share with them. At this point, they simply had to climb the narrow, steeply angled wooden gangplank—the first-class gangplank—and follow a ship's steward to their cabin.
But Nate had learned enough about life—the hard way—to value a warning Houdini had given him: "We can never really tell what is ever likely to happen." Nate had climbed only a few steps when he heard his great-aunt's voice below
"I should not be here, Deborah," she told her niece-in-law, Nate's mother.
"We should go to our cabin. You will feel much better when we settle in," Deborah Fuller replied.
"That is not true. I am far too old for foolishness like this." Aunt Alice shook her head dramatically "I should never have allowed myself to be bullied and badgered."
"It's just last-minute nerves, Aunt Alice. I have them myself."
"It is not nerves, Deborah, it is clear thinking," Aunt Alice insisted. Nate's mother sighed slightly, searching for the right thing to say
"Pardon me, ladies," a portly, well-dressed man standing behind them said. "May I be of assistance? If you need help boarding, I will gladly go first and send a steward to aid you."
"I do not need a steward, sir. I need to return to my own home," Aunt Alice said decisively
"Aunt Alice, let's step aside and let others board while we discuss this," Deborah suggested. "Nate, go ahead and send a steward to us."
"In a flash," Nate said, turning and climbing the gangplank quickly enough to escape his aunt's protests. Touching foot onboard the enormous ship made him quiver with anticipation. He was incredibly eager to explore the length and breadth of every deck of the enormous vessel, but a uniformed officer purposefully blocked his path.
"Your name, sir?" the officer asked in a polite, accented voice. The ship was owned and mostly staffed by Britons.
"Nathaniel Fuller. I am traveling with my mother, Deborah Fuller, and my great-aunt."
The officer flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "And your great-aunt's name is . . . ?"
"Mrs. Ludlow, Mrs. Alice Ludlow"
"Yes, I have the Ludlow-Fuller party in B-6, a three-person saloon-class accommodation on B-deck forward . . ."
"I thought that we were in first class," Nate said. "My aunt can't bear the thought of saloons. She certainly isn't going to sleep near one."
"And she will not, my young American gentleman," said the British officer, choking back a laugh. "Our saloon class is the height of luxury, far exceeding your expectation of first class."
"So saloon class doesn't mean saloon, it means first?" Nate asked. "Why not call it first class?"
"Some people think that Americans and British are one people separated by the sharing of a common language," the officer said, as if that answered Nate's question. "But are those two ladies standing by the side of the gangplank your mother and aunt? Why haven't they boarded yet?"
"My aunt is . . . reconsidering the trip."
"A bit late in the day for that, wouldn't you say? Let's go down and sort things out."
"I don't think my going is the best idea. I could never convince my aunt to do anything. Certainly not to change her mind. But I don't think she will let me sail to England by myself."
"I'd take a flyer on that," the officer said, winking for emphasis. Nate was unsure what precisely "taking a flyer" was, but translation could wait.
"You said we are in Cabin B-6?"
"Yes, quite a spacious forward cabin. It's toward the bow on the starboard side—that is the right side, you know—of B-deck," the officer said.
"And port is left and the rear is the stern," Nate said.
"Jolly good. Now, when I return with your mother and aunt, this steward will guide you."
"No need for that. I can find it myself, after I attend to some business." Nate hotfooted it away, happy to let a stranger lock wills with his great-aunt.
"Business!" an eavesdropping steward whispered skeptically to himself. "The bairn's hardly old enough for long pants. Business indeed!"
2
Having spent his entire life—so far—in the company of Aunt Alice, Nate knew that disappearing from view was the smart thing to do. Every second he lingered near the gangplank, he ran the risk of his aunt digging in her heels. If she had waved her arm and cried, "Nathaniel, come down this instant. We are going home," he couldn't have defied her.
Ducking out was really doing a kindness for his aunt, Nate reasoned. He was just as certain that his mother would not resent his disappearance. She wanted to make this trip as badly as Nate did.
And Aunt Alice needed to make the trip. At least that was what her lawyers and friends urged. She had still not completely gotten over the shock of being hoodwinked by a murderer turned medium. Small wonder! The charlatan had convinced her that the spirit of Nate's dead father had come back to denounce Nate's mother and demand that Nate be disinherited. Aunt Alice nearly went insane—and she would have been murdered, if Nate and Houdini hadn't saved the day.
Thinking of Houdini reminded Nate that he had a goal in mind: confirming his skills of observation. He had five days before docking in Liverpool, England, to sight all the Pier 54 spectators he had decided were "sailing." Of course, he could never satisfactorily prove the negative. If he failed to see some of the people he had guessed were "not sailing," it did not prove they were not on the ship. It proved that he didn't see them. Sighting the "maybes" would teach him the most.
The word teach stung. This was all just an exercise in observation and deduction. Nothing like his life-or-death experiences escaping from a kidnapper and tracking down a murderer before he could strike again. Nate actually missed the fear and panic and sheer excitement he lived through only months ago. It wouldn't ever happen again. Not unless he made hunting criminals his career—a choice he knew his mother would hate.
Even though Nate hadn't seen him since July, he knew that Houdini understood. Why else would Houdini have loaned Nate his own heavily annotated copies of Professional Criminals of America and Recollections of a New York City Chief of Police—two great basic textbooks about crime and deduction? And all the Sherlock Holmes novels Nate bought at the used book stalls on Fourth Avenue were instructive.
But Nate's favorite was Houdini's own book The Right Way to Do Wrong: An Exposé of Successful Criminals. Nate had read it at least five times, learning scads about burglars, pickpockets, jewel thieves, and swindlers of all sorts.
Deep in thought, reviewing the entries in his journal, Nate was oblivious to the hurly-burly surrounding him in the grand hallway of the Lusitania's main deck.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," a strongly accented voice broke in, "this isn't the best place to have a quiet read."
Nate looked up, around, and finally down before locating the speaker. He was a boy probably no older than Nate himself—twelve, maybe even thirteen—but quite a bit shorter. In his tight-fitting blue uniform with two collar-to-waist rows of shiny buttons, the boy clearly was a crew member.
"I could guide you to your cabin or point you to the proper reading lounge, if you like," the boy offered.
"Are you a steward? Your uniform isn't like the others," Nate remarked.
"I hope, one day, sir, to be a steward. But that's years away. I am a bellboy at present."
"You carry people's bags to their rooms? That's what bellboys do at hotels," Nate said.
Excerpted from A Houdini & Nate Mystery by Tom Lalicki.
Copyright © 2007 by Tom Lalicki.
Published in First edition, 2007 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.