Chapter 100: Chapter 44: Found things

> “A letter arrived from England. The century-long negotiation has been completed, thanks to Lord Theo’s yeoman-like work. Soon we will reclaim one of our lost treasures. If only it could be useful to us now.”

Every limb in my body felt like it was going to detach as I lowered myself onto the bar stool in front of the shiny espresso machine the next afternoon at BSG. Svetlana handed me a warm cup of cocoa spiked with vitality serum, and I downed it as if I was competing in an Oktoberfest beer chugging contest.

“You look like you’re on a mission,” she said, taking back the empty mug. “And not from a heavenly deity.”

“Correct on both accounts,” I said, closing my eyes as the serum’s effects washed over me. I stood up slowly and shook my arms and legs to find all the soreness and stiffness gone. Thanks to Dalia’s spot-on embodying of Sergeant Hartman and some additional well-selected electrum beads, I foolishly believed I could probably make it through the first week of Navy diving training with flying colors. Whether that would be enough to survive the 100-foot depth of the Hell Gate’s waters, I had no idea.

“I hate to drink and run, but I have an appointment with a random stranger.”

“Sounds about right,” said Svetlana. “Let me know how it goes.”

I waved goodbye and hurried out the door. Fortunately, Essex Street Market was only a short walk from BSG and I soon reached the gleaming building on Delancey and Essex. Despite it being midday and midweek, the market’s aisles were packed with a flurry of people lined up at the various vendor stalls. I navigated through the crowds, searching in vain for stall 20A, but after three laps, came up empty, and finally decided to rest at the counter at Shopsin’s, which somehow had a single stool open. After downing an Oreo brown sugar pancake and marveling that it only cost $8, I worked up the courage to ask the waiter where stall 20A was, only to be looked at like I was crazy.

“That’s across the street,” he said.

“OK, thanks. So toward the front or-”

“In the old market. It’s closed.”

He shuffled away to serve one of the other customers, leaving me to ponder how to break into an abandoned building. Thankfully, it was super easy, barely an inconvenience, as the second door I tried pushed open without a fight, and I was soon walking through a very different market. Empty shelves, deserted fixtures, and random debris littered the place. Where in the new market the glass cases were bursting with fresh produce, meat, and fish, here they were barren and cold. And yet, despite the void that had been left by the migration, I felt that this space was still very much alive in a way that the shiny development would never be.

I heard a soft meowing in the distance that repeated over and over again, and walked on to discover its source. Sure enough, it was coming from exactly the place I was looking for, Stall 20A, which had seen better days. In its past life, it had been a fruit and vegetable stand. Or maybe a craft beer shop? Or possibly a Japanese deli. It was impossible to tell, as remnants of all three were scattered across the small enclosure.

And standing in front, at attention like a sentry, was a single black cat. It looked at me with its green eyes and purred before rubbing against my ankle and then circling several times. Then, with one final meow and a too-long-for-a-cat stare, it retreated back into the abandoned stall.

“Hello?” I called. “I’m here to see Izzy?”

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself,” called a voice. “If you are, say it with conviction.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I am here to see Izzy Weston. I need his help.”

“That much I know,” said the voice again. The guard cat reappeared, this time perched on top of an empty display refrigerator. At least, I think it was the same cat. Because another cat suddenly scurried between my legs from behind and then ran off as quickly toward the voice. A moment later, its source appeared. He had unruly curly black hair and the same piercing green eyes as the cats and he was wearing a slightly tattered brown trench coat that fell the length of his body.

“Are you Izzy?” I asked.

“Depends who’s asking,” he said. “Ghost thinks you’re trustworthy enough, else I wouldn’t even have come out, but Mystic isn’t so sure. So, can you shed a little more light on the purpose of your visit here?”

“My name is Jen Jacobs,” I said. “I’m a member of the Guild. I was told you could help me find something.”

“Which Guild?” asked the man.

“Umm, the Worshipful Company of Alchemists,” I said.

“Hmmm, never heard of that one. Plenty of Guilds where I came from, not all of them good. But not all of them bad, either. A Guild’s only a reflection of the people who decide to stand against the bulwark of its past, you know?”

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“Not really,” I said.

“Well, you seem good enough. And Ghost has a better nose than Mystic, anyway. That’s why I keep him around while the others are out gathering.”

“Gathering what?” I asked.

“Food, information, whether the mail will be on time.”

“You get mail here?”

Izzy laughed.

“No, not for me. I find that the delivery of the mail is a good barometer. When it’s early or on time, that means everything is A-OK. When it's late, it means something bad is going to happen.”

“I see,” I said. “Do you get many visitors down here? Seems like you don’t want to be found.”

“Oh, absolutely I don’t,” said Izzy, who somehow produced a can of tuna and had opened it for Ghost to eat. “I’m still in hiding. Still on the run. Although I haven’t run much lately.”

“Who are you hiding from? Maybe we can help you.”

“Can’t say, won’t say,” he said.

I decided not to press the subject.

“I’m looking for the plans for an old ship. The HMS Foxhound. Have you heard of it?”

“I haven’t,” said Izzy. “But that doesn't mean I don’t know where the plans are. Just give me a second to gather my thoughts. Ship plans that are old and made of paper. Paper comes from trees. Trees grow in the ground. The ground is made of dirt. Yes, yes, yes, that all makes sense.”

“It does?” I asked. “Well, I’m glad it did to at least one of us.”

Ghost meowed three times.

“Two of us,” said Izzy. “Ghost was just saying that he ran through a plant nursery on Rivington the other day and on the wall, there was a giant framed plan of a ship. It seemed odd to him, but this neighborhood is a bit eccentric. Anyway, that should be the ship you are looking for.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Quite sure. Ghost has an excellent memory.”

“Thank you, Ghost,” I said as I bent down to give the cat a playful scratch on the head, which he leaned into. “I’ve been on too many adventures lately and was worried this was going to require another cross-country excursion.”

“I’d like to have one of those when I can stop running and hiding,” said Izzy, a sad note in his voice.

“I’d like that for you,” I said. “And thank you as well. I appreciate the help. If you need anything in return, just name it.”

“That’s a kind offer,” he said. “But the cats are all I need.”

“I’m glad you found them, then,” I said.

“Don’t be silly, young lady,” said Izzy with a smile. “The cats found me.”

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“Not sure why you had to go back and steal the actual plans,” I said to Ty. “The picture I took was fine for our purposes.”

“They won’t realize what they’re missing,” said Ty, who had unrolled the purloined parchment onto a card table in the middle of the deck. “Besides, do you want to get all the way down there and not know where to go because your dumb phone camera didn’t have enough megapixels?”

“Point taken,” I said. “But tomorrow you’re swapping them back.”

We were anchored just off of the Hell Gate Bridge in the East River. It was 5 a.m. but between the choppy water, the summer breeze, and my anxiety, I was shivering. Beatrice had provided the marine craft, reluctantly, and had barely let her eyes off of the teenager since we left the dock.

“You’re a noble bright,” said Ty. “It’s admirable. Sometimes. Anyway, according to these, the captain’s cabin was toward the rear of the ship. That’s the first place you should check. Then, if it’s not there, you’ll punch your way through the floor to the Board Room. If it’s not there either, then you’ll resurface and we’ll reevaluate.”

“This is nuts, did I mention that?” said Beatrice, shaking her head. “You’re going to let her do this, Gilbert? And you, Jen, I still can’t believe you agreed to any of this!”

“As crazy as it sounds,” I said, “I can do this. My body remembers. All I need to do is make my mind follow.”

“Easier said than done,” said Beatrice. “Especially when you’re a hundred feet down in the dark.”

“We don’t need your negativity,” said Ty. “Just your helmsman skills and your alchemy. And besides, we have our little mechanical friend here to help guide the way.”

She tapped a rather expensive looking underwater drone with her foot before unceremoniously tossing it into the water.

“Still not sure why the robot can’t just get the Relic,” said Beatrice. “It’s got a claw. It can pick up the sword. Or we could hire, you know, an experienced diver to go down and retrieve it?”

“Yes, that would be a good alternative,” said Ty, “if we didn’t want Jen to be the rightful owner of Curtana. I guess she could always challenge our hypothetical diver friend to a fight to the death over ownership, so maybe instead you could go get those tanks you promised?”

Beatrice wisely decided not to pick a further fight with her former arch-nemesis/now-teenager and rolled two canisters toward me.

“The red button on the hose releases strength, the blue one speed, and the green vitality,” she said as she hooked the tanks onto my back next to the air. “Use them sparingly. I know you practiced punching through boards earlier this week in the shallow end, but the pressure will be much greater down at the wreck. It won’t be as simple.”

“Speaking of, here,” said Ty, handing me a tablet that looked like an oversize Tylenol.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Your deepest dive has been 30 feet. You would pass out in five seconds if you tried to get all the way down to the Foxhound without training another month. This fixes that. At least for the next 90 minutes. And it also spares you the hassle of half a dozen safety stops down to the bottom.”

“Fantastic,” I said, swallowing the pill. “Alchemy saves the day. What happens if it takes longer than that?”

“It won’t,” said Ty. “Because you’ll run out of air before then. Remember, efficiency is the name of the game. Your goal is 10 minutes down, 10 minutes to find Curtana, 10 minutes to surface. So nothing to worry about.”

“It sounds so easy when you put it that way,” I said as I fastened the last sets of snaps on my alchemic wet suit, which Dalia had reluctantly fashioned in the span of 24 hours.

I walked and sat on the edge of the boat. Beatrice handed me the full-face scuba mask, which I gingerly pulled over my head, while she finished attaching the intricate tank get-up to my air supply.

“Come in, Red. Come in,” said a voice in the mask’s speaker.

“Red here, over,” I said. “And why am I Red again?”

“Because everyone else in the Guild thought you had red hair,” said Ty. “So the name stuck.”

“Great,” I said.

I turned around and Beatrice give me a thumbs up, which I returned.

“Clock is ticking,” barked Ty in my ear. “Time to get in the water! The drone will be right behind you.”

“Getting in the water,” I said.

I bent my knees, took a deep breath, and plunged into the abyss.