Read Online Gideon Smith and the Brass Dragon by David Barnett - Free Book Online Page B

top button on his breeches. “That’s a turkey, sir. We generally have it for Thanksgiving, in November, and at Christmastime. I thought I’d have one cooked early, for my important visitors.”
    â€œCan’t beat a plump goose at Christmas,” said Bent, holding up his glass for the waiter to refill with wine. “But that wasn’t a bad spread at all.”
    Lyle smiled. “I am gratified it met with your approval, Mr. Bent.”
    The wood-paneled room, brightly lit with gas sconces on the walls, had a large window looking out into the dark gardens of the Governor’s Residence. Beyond, pinpricks of light picked out the black pillars that rose into the deepening violet sky. Lyle caught Rowena gazing out at the towers.
    â€œSkyscrapers, we call ’em, Miss Fanshawe. They say New York is the city that never sleeps. Those lights will burn all night in some quarters.”
    â€œWhy do you build upward, Mr. Lyle?” asked Rowena. “One thing you’re not short of in America is space.”
    Bent chuckled and quoted, “‘And they said, Go to, let us build a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven.’”
    Lyle smiled. “Is your knowledge of history and geography as broad as your grasp of Scripture, sir?”
    Bent waved his glass. “I get by. I daresay Mr. Smith here would benefit from a recap. You know young’uns today; don’t know what they teach them in schools.”
    Lyle pushed back his chair and hauled himself up. Behind him on the wood paneling a furled Union Flag and a portrait of Queen Victoria flanked a large chart of the American territories. He took up a cane and pointed at the East Coast.
    â€œNew York, also known as the Empire State ever since Queen Victoria graced us with her presence back in ’sixty-six.” He tapped a little way to the north. “Of course, Boston is the official capital of British America, but down here in Manhattan is where the real work is done, where you’ll find the real America. They come from all over the world to New York. Italians we have, and Bohemians. Irish. Germans. They come here looking for a new life. They get to New York and stop. So we build upward, to accommodate them all. We even have a few French.” He smiled. “The Frenchies backed the wrong horse back in 1775, of course. Had the rebels won, America would look a very different place today, I daresay.”
    â€œBut they didn’t win, of course,” said Gideon. “America remains British.”
    Lyle tapped a forefinger on his full lips. “Are you named for Gideon, the great American mystery man?”
    â€œI don’t think so. My mother was a churchgoer.”
    â€œQuite. But it was Gideon, I’m sure you’ll remember from school, Mr. Smith, who foiled the rebels. He took down the terrorist Paul Revere, stopped him alerting the revolutionaries to the arrival of the British forces. April 18, 1775—British troops marched into Lexington and Concord and arrested the ringleaders of the rebellion. You can go to Boston if you wish and see the pickled heads of Samuel Adams and John Hancock.”
    â€œThink we’ll give that a miss,” said Bent.
    Lyle said, “And America, as you say, remains British. At least here on the East Coast.”
    Lyle swept the cane across the broad expanse of the map. “Over here, on the West Coast, that’s Japanese territory. Or rather, the Californian Meiji. The son of the old emperor, tired of waiting for his old man to die, set up shop here in ’sixty-eight. The Spanish used to hold it, but not very well. We were making inroads into settling when the Japs turned up. We’d a small town, San Francisco, which we’d taken from the Spaniards. The Japs took it from us. Nyu Edo they call it now.”
    He circled the middle of the map. “This? Empty land. Up for the taking. The land of the free, you might say. We have settlers