One Night in Baltimore

I wrote this one as a Writing Battle Challenge as well. This one made it through 3 rounds before it lost in round 4 of 10. The Genre: Alternative History, Location: Arcade, Character: Magician.

“If you do everything right, then no one will notice the changes.” 

These were the last words my boss said to me as she pushed the illuminated button. I had thought to reply but before I could, I arrived in Baltimore, Maryland on September 27, 1849. I materialized into a booth in Joey's Inn, seated exactly as I had been in my office. I've never been to the past before and the sudden smell of life before air purifiers shocked me. I assessed myself, pulling a cotton handkerchief over my nose. I'm wearing a high collar shirt, low cut vest and long frock coat that made me look like a Victorian standard male. In my specialty made interior coat pocket I have the teleporter controller to take me home and $100 in contemporary currency worth about $5,000 to the commoner. 

I started in his last known location but not finding him here decided to leave to find my target. I must get to him or he dies on October 7th. My one mission to the past and it's stuck on a man I dislike. 

Why do I dislike him? Well, it's not because he's a poet. He married his 13 year old cousin when he was 26. It disgusted me. My own first cousin, Heather, had a similar relationship. She was 15 and he was 28. I have always thought it was deeply problematic. She went through hell with it, having too many babies too young. They are still together, three kids and nine grandkids later. So what do I know? I'm unmarried and childless at 40. Though that's by my own choice. 

The target’s wife is dead anyway. And he needs to get to New York and marry this wealthy widow Sarah. If that happens then the target is going to be a big part of the American Renaissance. Big enough to stop the Civil War, hopefully, kick off the Civil Rights Movement 100 years earlier? That's my hopeful goal. 

As I walked into the chilly day my mind scanned each face looking for familiar features. Classes on this subject streamed into my memory. “One prominent theory suggests the victim may have fallen to "cooping," a form of voter fraud prevalent at the time. Bullies selected individuals then forced them to vote multiple times in various locations. Often excessive alcohol was used.” Our event was selected for us at random by the Academy and we studied for it intensely. 

“This wouldn't kill most people but if your guy is already ill or susceptible to alcohol related injury as we believe…” And then I saw a white moon face. There he is! And he's not alone. 

My guy is approximately 5’8” with a large head, dark unruly hair, intense eyes and wimpy mustache. He was orphaned at 2, fostered but never adopted, sent to England for education, flunked out of college, failed out of the army and then married and lost his child bride. She died of the same lung disease that killed his mother. No wonder he's so dark and Gothic. 

He is wearing a dark hat, fitted frock coat, narrow trousers, loose neck tie and lavender waistcoat, holding a worn leather briefcase. He is being harassed by two tall, white men, one yellow haired and one ginger. Both in homespun sack coats, blue trousers and oversized wool hats screaming their impression of laborers.  

I approached as if I knew them, smiled wise, "What say you, sirs, on a day such as this?" 

The blond man on the right seemed put out with a scowl on his wide face. The red haired man on the left responded, “oi, what's it to you?” His thickened Irish accent made the words hard to understand.

My mind raced back to class as I closed the gap. There are several gangs in Baltimore at this time. The Plug Uglies are the most violent. This notorious gang was involved in multiple documented cases of intimidation and violence, with one member even being convicted of murder in 1954. 

“Beat any raps today?” I tried a jovial tone.

“Why sure,” Blondie wrapped an all too familiar arm around my mark's shoulders and said, “we are taking Eddie here to the poles. Say, are you a voting man?”

My mind suddenly recalled the court case where Peter Fitzpatrick testified that he was kept in Plug Ugly member Raz Levy’s coop. He was tormented and recalled that fellow captive, a German immigrant, “had a large beard, and Crab Ashby took a candle and . . . burnt it off.”

“I'm looking for Crab.” I said confidently. “Got a note from Raz Levy.” I tapped my coat, which had no exterior pockets.

This seemed to confound both men. Then my target said, “well, I really must be going.” It was then clear he was intoxicated. He shrugged the man’s arm off his shoulders. As he stepped towards me, the red head put both his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders and he seemed to sway him back and forth with a pincer grip. 

“Now Eddie, you owe us both 3 votes. Don't think you can get away without doing your American duty. Remember how badly you lost those poker games? You want some damn Democrat to win this election?” His mocking tone was hard edged. He spun Eddie around and guided him by his neck, “Why don't you come too, stranger?” Then the blond man had me by the tall collar too. 

They escorted us about 30 minutes down to Eastern Avenue in the Fell's Point area of Baltimore. We approached a row of simple houses with businesses on the 1st floor and residential accommodations on the 2nd. The sun was dipping into the west and I knew that this is where the fall of my target happens. 

As we walked onto a farmhouse style porch I noticed two skinny women dressed in loose bodices and half open eyes. I see a mailbox that says in fancy painted script, “Manley’s.” 

Before my brain can pull the right information, a fiery woman steps out the front door shouting, “James! Just where in the hell have you been? Who are they?” Her hands on her hips in outrage.

The big blond man, James, dropped off Eddie, stepped forward, took off his hat and dipped into a bow, “my dear lady Ann,” he then raised his face in seriousness. “I'm working for the election. What is the matter?” 

“We got company that don't want to leave.” She waved her hand inside and the red head pushed us toward the door. Inside 3 men dressed in suspenders, and a distinctive stovepipe hat indicating they are volunteer firemen. The rowdy, drunk men began to yell at James as soon as he got inside. 

While our captors were distracted I motioned to Edgar, “Eddie” with my chin that the front door was still open and unguarded. He did not understand and his glossy eyes conveyed his confusion. I looked around and locked eyes with Ann. She had her arms crossed, clearly upset.  

I reach into my interior coat pocket and pull out a $5 bill from the money. I quietly displayed the bill to her. She stepped closer to me. 

"He's ill. I'm taking him to the doctor.” My whisper was low, barely audible over the argument happening. “Tell them he's too drunk to be worth three votes now. I'll pay you.” 

My target had been docile until he saw what I held. At the sight of the money, he grasps towards it, “sir! You mustn't…” and then all hell broke loose. 

The firemen threw a kerosene lantern and the parlor wall was aflame. James started a fierce fight with the firemen. A chair was tossed into the spot we had been standing in moments before. Remarkably, the two women from outside came inside, blocking the door. Their bodies seem to be enlivened with the bloodshed.

I shoved the bill into Ann’s hand. My target, following the money with his eyes, realized what was happening, grabbed my hand and led me to the back of the house as Ann pointed the way and physically blocked the men.

 "Enough of this!" she screamed, distracting the angry brutes as we fled out the door. Our fear pushed us into a hard run. My legs burned but we heard the shouting grow faint before we slowed.

The darkness sweeps the sky and we travel for nearly an hour before we stop at Lucky’s Arcade, a cheap eating house built awkwardly into an inn. Two poker tables sat in the back and six dining tables filled the rest of the room. 

Edgar said brightly, “I got my supper here for 16 cents last time and it consisted of a plate of heaping portions of roast turkey, vegetables and an excellent tart.” The prospect of a warm meal had put more life into his face than I had thought possible. 

I considered him. He had trusted me and despite what I thought about him, he was disarmingly earnest. “Mr. Poe, I wanted to thank you for leaving that situation with me.” 

He looked at me with such sincerity. “Truly sir,” he said, “it's I who must thank you. I don't even know how I got tangled into such a mess.” 

“I can help with getting your magazine started. I have $94 I can give you, does that sound like enough?” 

He reacted by saying nothing. He stared at the white linen tablecloth for several heartbeats. His hands opened and closed. My concern grew and he said, “Why?”

My mind raced. Did we cover this? I don't think I have a ready response for my motives and then I blurt without thinking, “because of your prose. People adore your writing.” 

His brows furrow and loosen as if he tried to understand. 

“Only you have the voice to articulate the future. We need an American Renaissance and I think you must be a leader in it. Your story must continue.”

He reached into his briefcase, still with us after all the adventure, and pulled a simple journal. “The Light-House?” 

“Uhh, yeah. I hope you'll revise Eureka, a prose poem too. It felt like it could change minds. Your philosophy and debunking of pseudoscience is really impressive.”

Poe nodded thoughtfully.

“This could get me on a train to New York and I could get The Stylus printed.” 

“And marry Sarah Royster.” I suggested. 

He smiled as he put away his papers. “She's loved me since childhood.” 

“And give up the boozing. The alcohol will be the death of you, Edgar.” I said sternly. I handed him the money, save for $1 to pay for our meal. 

We ate hot roasted chicken and rutabagas with a mash of potato and cheese. The ale was almost pleasing. But it was the dinner rolls that exceeded my expectations. After we dined we walked to the train station and purchased a ticket to New York that left tomorrow morning. He expected me to leave then, but I insisted on following him home, shared with Muddy, his Aunt/ mother-in-law. 3 North Amity Street is a small brick house in a rough area. I camped out in the yard and passed the cold night uneventfully. I woke to Edgar standing over me with a crooked smile and large suitcase. 

“You really won't tell me who you are or where you are from?” He pestered me again as we walked to the train station. 

“I am merely a fan.” I said placating as I had every time he asked. 

“Gadzooks” His curse was said sourly but then he smiled. “Then I must declare you an Angel.” 

The steam locomotive shrieked as it approached. I was eager to return to my own time to see if my mission would be a success and to what degree. I felt accomplished as I pressed my return controller. He waved as I disappeared from 1849 and reappeared in the Academy.

My boss greeted me with a smile. "Well done!"