We've moved again. More trouble with the Pinkertons. More trouble with them locals. More trouble all around.
Little Jack's been kidnapped, so we're trying to find him. Apparently some fella in Saint Denis, Senor something or other, took umbrage to our presence and kidnapped him or, heaven forbid, worse.
We burnt down Braithwaite Manor when we went hunting for him, in an almighty scrap.
Then we got spoken to again by Agent Milton. This time, he asked us for Dutch's head on a platter. We got him to leave, but they ain't too pleased with us.
So we headed into Saint Denis to find little Jack. We was told he'd been kidnapped by some local gangster, this Italian feller called Bronte, a local tough guy. We ain't found him, but he's found us. Dutch and I headed into town and I managed to get myself robbed by a bunch of children. This was a new low, even by my standards. Anyway, we found Mr. Bronte and are going to pay him a call. We better get the boy back soon, not least because if we don't Abigail will kill the lot of us. All this after we burned down the Braithwaite Manor house looking for him and made some real enemies of ourselves back in that country. We're now hiding deep in the swamps, trying not to get eaten by wildlife or sunk too deep in the mud. I cannot decide which I like less - the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles and slime, but the swamp's prettier.
Dutch is trying to think of where we can run next, but in the meantime, we are deep in the swamps. Hiding in some disease ridden old plantation house, mostly swallowed up by nature. Guess we will find Jack, get some money, then flee, but where?
These bastards ain't giving up. We're a long way east of land we know and far from real open country.
Met a pair of fellas from a chain gang. Black fella named White. White fella named Black. They wanted to kill each other. They begged me to clear off some wanted posters for them.
Collected the posters. Old White and Black weren't so innocent as they seem.
I always heard Saint Denis was one of the 7 wonders of the world. If this is so, I don't care much to see the other 6. It's a depressing place that shows you the only thing worse than people is a whole lot of people. I have not ever met a lizard in a suit before, only now I have and his name is Angelo Bronte.
He is either our salvation or our damnation. This city's strongman, arrived from Italy a few years ago and now knows and controls everything and everyone. He had not harmed Jack, other than feeding him strange food, and Dutch seems to think that maybe we can get something from this oily dictator. Personally, I don't trust him more than I'd trust any hungry animal not to try and eat me, but for now, we are somewhat safe and hidden. Whole place gives me the creeps.
Found a crazy young woman, real strange looking. Locked in a kind of outhouse, hidden on Braithwaite Manor. World ain't a kind place to folk like her.
Mary wrote to me.
WANTS TO SEE ME AGAIN.
Oh, Mary, what fools we are, what a fool I am.
Met a crazy man in Saint Denis - a Professor no less. Marko Dragic. I'm still amazed by what I experienced. He had me control a tiny boat, remotely. How? I have no idea. I did not understand any of it, but even though he was annoying and a sharp mouth, he seemed obviously highly intelligent. Was I duped? I have no idea. Wouldn't be the first time I've fallen for the rantings of an intelligent man telling me how to think. Only he didn't tell me how to think. Whole thing was odd. Told me to come see him at his lab at Doverhill. MAYBE.
Met a curious French man in a bar. Bought him a drink and he gave me a picture. Said he was an artist, although I'm not sure I see what is so good about it.
Met a monk. Helped him free a couple of poor bastards from the islands someplace who were kept prisoner. The Monk - what was his name? Brother something or other, was a good fellow. One of these innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and even about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.
Met a weird fella - wants 100 gallons of moonshine. For love? Never heard such nonsense in all my life, and I know some talkers of nonsense. Guess I'll go ask that clerk - Alden? Trelawny's disappointed friend - if maybe he knows a way of finding it, as I think there's money in this.
Took the shine to the fella in Saint Denis. A professor no less. Andrew something or other. He's built an electric chair as a kind way of killing folk as needs killing. Oh, the irony of it all. Even more ironic, me so tough and him so weak and I never got paid.
My lord, now I have done everything. I went to a ball, like a fool in a fairy tale. The mayor of Saint Denis. Dutch got us invited by old Señor Bronte and off we trooped, trussed up like turkeys for Thanksgiving and waxed and polished and primped to within an inch of our lives. Bronte did not mingle with the other guests but lorded over the place like a Roman Emperor deciding who to have killed for his fun.
Place was full of drunks, lunatics, liars and clowns. But the thing was kind of fun. Managed to not get into too much trouble and may have some business opportunities on account of enquiries there. We shall see, I guess. Seeing Bill dressed up like an ambassador and awkward as a school girl was one of the funniest moments of my life. Met Evelyn Miller, the writer, which was amazing for Dutch. Met the mayor.
Dutch and Hosea seem to think this dump is a world of possibilities. They want to look into the bank and some other business opportunities. We shall see. As long as we can keep ahead of the Pinkertons and Mr. Cornwall and the rest of them for a while, maybe we shall be okay.
Saw Mary and the awful Daddy, who has taken to drink, which unsurprisingly ain't improved him a whole lot. What a foul pig he is. Taken to hawking off family heirlooms and cursing the world for it. Still a stuck up son of a bitch.
Now Mr. Linton has passed away, I wonder what he wants for his daughter? Funny thing is, I love her and yet am a bad lot.
Old Daddy is a good, upright man and yet he treats his daughter like a possession to be mistreated and abused as he sees fit.
Strange creatures, men.
I don't know.
All I know is that I love her and she both loves and detests me. It never worked before and it won't ever work now, yet it gnaws at me, the idea of it gnaws at me like a sickness. I've got to give all that nonsense up. I'm an outlaw, a murderer, a man with a code different to ordinary folk, and Mary ain't never going to be for my world.
We went to a Vaudeville show in town.
Dancing from France. Quite a business. What is wrong with me? Do I really think I can retire someplace nice and live a normal life with a wife? Am I a big enough dolt to believe that is possible?
Met this fella, Algernon Wasp. Not sure how to describe him, but I won't forget him anyway. I could not do him justice. Different kind of fella. But he says he'll pay good money for assorted feathers and eggs and whatnot for his creations for various rich women. Gave me a list of things he wants.
If I want to get paid for this nonsense, I got to find a bounty - name of Wilson J. McDaniels - so he can be humanely disposed of, at enormous cost to everybody, as opposed to shot in the head, like I would do. Still ain't been paid for this.
Went to see the professor at his lab. He had built a sort of mechanical son. He seemed to think it was amazing but we could not get the thing to work properly. I was not half as impressed with him as he was with himself.
Took McDaniels in, and watched him fry. Weren't very nice. Weren't very humane. The professor got upset, and got involved before possibly killing himself with electricity. And I never got paid. If they catch me, I pray they hang me. That chair is the work of the devil.
I went to an art gallery. Seems fine and fancy living ain't quite so different from life in the wilderness, robbing stage coaches. Was an exhibition of paintings by the artist I met a couple of times, Charles something or other. French fella. Seems he'd been doing more than painting his models. Their husbands weren't so keen on the liberties he'd been taking with his subject matter. Whole thing descended into a brawl. Had to help him escape.
Met a real pair of, well I don't know quite what they were. Names were so ridiculous I won't even begin to try to remember them, but they were Greek or Latin or Gibberish. Pair of twins, dead keen on insulting each other and hitting each other to impress a woman. I done lots of stupid things to impress women but this was ridiculous. I ended up being William Tell. I think they was college boys. Guess education ain't always the answer to mankind's problems. Nice enough boys, but odd as hell.
Got into a fight with a drunk giant with a tiny head. Yes - that's what happened. Fella was strangling a bar keep who had turned off his liquor supply. Part of some kind of circus act. The show was run by a woman - Marjorie, I think. She's missing a tiny magician. I suppose we all are. He's run away into the woods. Said if I saw him, I'd send him back to them.
Went back and someone or something had killed the professor. His mechanical creature had been stolen.
Went back to see Calloway and Levin. Calloway still a drunken clown. Had me kidnap some old adversary - Slim Grant - they ended up shooting each other and then Calloway turned on me. Less said, the better, but Levin has himself a book and I will slide back into obscurity. Gunslinging ain't the life for me. I prefer good, honest killing with none of the pretensions.
Found the little magician and reunited this odd family. Fella tried to give me the slip a few times but in the end, seems they love each other even more than they hate each other, or at least it was close. Want me to see their show sometime in Saint Denis, and say they'll reward me then as they were broke now.
Somehow got myself involved in the charming business of Saint Denis culture. The mayor, who knew we robbed him a while back, invited me over to his mansion again. Strange man - nice and awful. Cynical and caring. Wants to make his city thrive. Doesn't seem to care how he goes about it. Threatened me in order to make me threaten some art professor on his behalf. Why? So the art professor will verify that a bunch of paintings ain't the forgeries he believes, they are the genuine article he thinks they aren't, in order to fill the people with joy that they are looking at a real work of genius, not a good copy of a work of a genius. Yes - I was pretty confused by the whole thing, but I did as I was bid to do, and the professor changed his mind once he saw that I would be happy to turn his mind into nothingness.
Found Charles the artist dressed as a street walker, trying to flee from assorted men he'd offended, fleeing to the South Seas. Wonder if we'll see him there.
Saw them weird boys again with the equally weird names. This time, they asked me to give them a beating. I cannot even try to understand them.
Found the mechanical creature on top of a hill. Whole thing real strange.
Saw the two strange boys and the girl they claimed to love once again. This time, it was real strange. I mean, it was strange before but this time it was, well, real strange. They got me to push them off a waterfall in a barrel. They both somehow survived, just about, but then they turned on the girl and went off together like two happy peas in a pod. Not sure what to think about the whole business.
Apparently, that weird sketch he gave me is worth a lot of money and Charles is a world famous artist.
Took medicine to that creepy pair as they'd poisoned themselves something proper. They survived but I doubt they'll make it for much longer. Like a pair of circus clowns.
Met that writer Evelyn Miller in the street. He remembered me from the party - apparently my petty crime did not go entirely unnoticed. Better keep my head down a little better. He introduced me to a couple of Indians. Father and son. Son angry, father with an air of, of what exactly? Of something both impressive and frightening and kind about him. A great man, defeated by powerful and awful forces? I do not know, but his eyes, his very manner spoke to me. Somehow, I've agreed to help them. Seems they, like us, have problems with that gilded ape, Leviticus Cornwall and his foul empire. We shall see how this pans out.
Kieran that poor kid we spared from O'Driscoll's gang up in the mountains is dead, killed by the bastards. He saved my life and I could not save his. They chopped his head off and tried to kill the lot of us. Mrs. Adler fought braver than any of us. She is driven by powerful forces I scarcely understand. That's what love has done to her, I guess. I feel like an animal, living out in the mud here. Whole place gives me the creeps.
K. RIP +
Again doing Mayor Lemieux's dirty work. I think that's how it spelt. His first name is Onry, only he spells it Henri. (Guess my French is nearly as bad as my English). Now I was threatened into threatening a newspaper man into donating to the noble cause of truth and learning. I had to make this guy support a library. He didn't want to. Then he did.
Old blackmailing Lemieux has himself been threatened by his own assistant - a chap I never liked too much name of John Mark, I think. So I go hunting for John Mark. Only John Mark is a noble believer in truth and honesty and cannot stand his boss's lies. I'm charged with killing him.
I cannot do it. John Mark is irritating, but the mayor is worse. The mayor is all that is bad in those who would rule over us. And it ain't my business at all. So I let him live and let them deal with it themselves. I guess I'm through with politics.
Seems those of us who thought Angelo Bronte was a lizard in a suit was right and them as thought he was a gentleman thief eager to help us on our merry way was wrong. Bastard sent us into a trap in town. Told us to rob a trolley station - no money but the entire police force waiting for us.
Dutch nearly died.
Lenny fought real hard - the kid is good in a fight - and saved us. Dutch is planning some big escape for us all. Some grand master plan. Everything we are attempting here seems troubled. I hope we can get out of here ALIVE. Right now, it don't seem likely. Dutch is raging about Bronte's deception or betrayal or whatever quite it was. Dutch don't like being made a fool of. Even Micah with all his teasing and needling plays it real cool with Dutch. I would not want to be Bronte right now.
I cannot see Dutch letting this pass.
Show was interesting to say the least. And also dreadful. But I got paid.
Went to teach Angelo Bronte a lesson. Taught him something, I guess. Taught him alligators have a nasty way about them.
Dutch is torn between his dreams of escape and his need to prove something or other, I don't quite know what. Not sure he does. Wants us to make one last big haul of cash $$$, then flee for TAHITI. Retire and become farmers. Where the hell is Tahiti? I guess they don't have Pinkertons there, at least. All them years we dreamed of being ranchers out in virgin lands in the WEST. Now it's bananas and coconuts and long boat rides. Guess anywhere the train can get to, the law can get to. Dutch probably has it right. This country really don't want folk like us no more.
From ocean to ocean, place is going to law abiding and decent and dulled and rigid, until folks have frozen themselves into nothingness.
The people in this city are worse and more desperate than the nastiest gun slinger I ever met. They'd shoot you in the back and make you pay for your own funeral. They throw shit on you for sport. They walk past the lost and starving like they can't see them. Keep feeling sick but I'm sure it's nothing. This damn swamp. Ain't natural.
- Hosea +
- Lenny +
My lord what a goddamn mess. Everything. The bank job we planned so hard was a goddamn SET UP.
Hosea got himself killed, Lenny got shot in the head, Marston got himself arrested and is awaiting trial. We fled, leapt on a ship, sailed into a storm, the ship sank.
Whole thing like a dream, like a fool's nightmare. I survived that, and being lost at sea... and got washed ashore on an island called Guarma.
Whatever Tahiti is like, I hope it ain't nothing like Guarma. Some nasty bastard name of FUSSAR had the people by the throat and we ended up in a fight with a goddamn army. Javier nearly died. I nearly got killed.
Met some real decent folk, brave folk living in a land of hell.
We got a boat out of there, just about, after some real nasty fighting. Don't think I met many folk deserved killing more than that piece of shit, FUSSAR.
Upon returning, found the folk again, at least them as ain't dead. But within a few hours, the Pinkertons had found all of us. Old Agent Milton wants us all dead and yet somehow we survived and is now planning another escape.
Not sure what happens next. Whole thing has been hard on all of us. Most of all on Dutch, who seems half crazed by all we gone through.
H. +
Turns out, I'm not very well. Got tuberculosis. Doctor did not know how long I would last. All them bullets shot at me, all them horses threw me, all them fights and it was beating up that pathetic little fella Downes that killed me, I reckon. He's the only man I been near was real sick. He begged for mercy and I beat the bastard and he died. And now I'm dying, too. The way of the world. My mind is racing, of course. That monk and that nun, Downes's widow, Abigail, Mary, Dutch when I first knew him, Hosea, my dead Pa, the no good bastard, the whole crowd of people. And what kind of man have I been? What kind of man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairy tales?
Man ain't got much good in him. I ain't got no good in me, I don't think, and yet, I see goodness. I see it, if not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging, not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself.
Maybe I don't want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death. Well, here it comes, I suppose.