Which gave Jesse an opportunity to take the shopkeeper aside and ask about the price of the book, which was predictably astronomical. He said, “Don’t you have any less expensive editions?”
The shopkeeper glanced at Elizabeth, who feigned interest in a display of commemorative ribbons, and leaned toward Jesse’s ear. “That’s an astute question. You’re right, the book has been copied to a contemporary edition.” He tipped open a drawer to show Jesse a crudely bound volume on which the words The Shining were stamped in flaking gilded letters. “Completely unexpurgated—you understand the need for discretion. If you’re interested—” He quoted a number, less than half the price of the original but still startling.
“I am interested,” Jesse said. “If I can come back for it later.”
“The edition is nearly sold out, and it’s not available at other vendors.”
“Well, in that case.” Jesse took out his wallet. “Will you hold a copy for me?”
The proprietor nodded knowingly and scribbled a receipt. Jesse accepted it and said, “Can you tell me whether there are other items like this for sale in town? I don’t mean books exclusively. Any artifact or object. But authentic ones.”
“City people don’t approve of such transactions, so that’s a ticklish question. Such items do come up for sale from time to time. Mainly on the south side of town. More than that I’m reluctant to say.”
Did he want to be bribed? Jesse had been supplied with enough cash to appear convincingly prosperous, and more was available if they needed it. But if the shopkeeper had any sense he would have negotiated an arrangement with the other clandestine sellers in town. “Any recommendation would be welcome,” Jesse said flatly.
“Well … there’s a certain vendor on Lookout Street. The shop is called Onslow’s. Onslow might be willing to show you his private stock. But his goods aren’t cheap, and he only deals with genuinely interested buyers.”
* * *
“This whole town,” Elizabeth said, “is August Kemp’s nightmare.”
They followed Depot Street until the sidewalk ended in a clutter of squatters’ shacks, then crossed the street and turned back toward Lookout, dodging a flock of female tourists with sun umbrellas and bright calico day dresses. “What does Kemp have against Futurity Station? It hardly seems to threaten him.”
“Kemp tries to keep a strict wall of separation between our guys and your guys. Guests from the twenty-first century get a guided tour of 1876, and guests from 1876 get a sanitized glimpse of the twenty-first century. But they’re not supposed to mix, except when Kemp arranges it. Policing the wall between them is how he makes his money.”
“Looks like there’s plenty of money being made here.”
“But it’s not Kemp who’s making it. It’s diluting his product. Authenticity is everything when it comes to the revenue stream. People who pay to see the Old West don’t want some kind of theme park where ersatz cowboys kick back in the ranch house with Netflix and a bag of Doritos. They want the real thing.”
“Or so they think.” Jesse had met a few cattlemen. He did not despise them, as a class, but he couldn’t imagine spending money for the privilege of looking at one of them.
“That’s why Tower One guests coming from the City go directly to the tour trains, no dallying at Futurity Station. Kemp won’t give them more than a glimpse of this town, because it reeks of—well, lots of things, but from Kemp’s point of view it reeks of inauthenticity. And authenticity is what he sells.”
“I suppose I see what you mean. But Kemp gave up true authenticity as soon as he built the City, didn’t he? It changes everything just by being there.”
“That’s why the City has a limited life span. Five years as a tourist resort in what still plausibly resembles the past, then he hands over the buildings and the land to Union Pacific and turns off the Mirror for good and all.”
“Because beyond that point it becomes too obvious that our histories differ.”
“Right.”
“But there’s money to be made mingling past and future.” He was thinking of the price tag on that Shining book.
“Well, yeah, and Kemp knows that. That’s why, come January, we stop being so coy about where we come from, we start handing over our medical and scientific knowledge—we turn the country into one big Futurity Station, and Kemp milks it for twelve months before he switches off the lights and hands over the keys. But not until then.”
“You make Kemp sound mendacious.”
“I don’t know what that word means. But it’s not such a bad bargain if you think about it. You guys get a jump on things like electricity and the combustion engine, plus all the lessons we learned by doing that stuff crudely and badly. You also get a better look at the way we really live up there in the twenty-first century, which might make your pastors blush and your matrons clutch their pearls, but are you going to turn it down?”
They reached the intersection of Lookout and Depot. Turning south onto Lookout was like stepping onto the midway of a traveling carnival, Jesse thought. Here, every commercial establishment had been hung with yard-lengths of bunting—to celebrate both the centennial year and Grant’s visit—and painted with fanciful illustrations of flying machines and ringed planets. What was offered inside these buildings appeared to be random collations of pamphlets, mounted tintypes of the City, toy helicopters carved in wood, festive whirligigs, fried sausages, steamed corn, pickled eggs, and doughnuts. Jesse cast a wistful glance at the sausage sellers. He was a big man. He liked to eat plentifully and regularly. He wasn’t sure Elizabeth understood that about him.
At the southern reach of Lookout was the Stadium of Tomorrow, a high wall of pineboard that blocked any view of the prairie. Here the gimcrack vendors gave way to restaurants and saloons. Where there were saloons there would of course be whorehouses, and some of the crude shacks on the side streets, sleepy in the sunlight, looked as if they might conduct that business after dark.
Onslow’s Unusual Items was a small storefront situated between a tavern and a magic-lantern theater. Jesse and Elizabeth slowed as they passed it, but they needed to agree on a strategy before they went in. “Let’s take in the show,” Elizabeth suggested.
“The magic lanterns?”
“The Stadium of Tomorrow. It seems to be where everybody’s headed.”
“It’s a cheat,” Jesse said. “I’ve heard all about it. It’s just stacked bleachers facing south. All you get for your nickel is some patter and a look at the airship when it flies over.”
“A place to sit and talk,” she said.
He shrugged. It was the City’s dime, not his.
* * *
“Money back if the flying machine don’t show,” the ticket seller told them. An easy promise to make: It was a rare day the City helicopter didn’t fly, weather permitting, and the weather today was fine. “Entertainment starts in a few minutes.”
They headed for the less desirable seats, where the crowd was thinner and they could speak without fear of being overheard. A peanut vendor wandered past, and Jesse bought a bag for himself and one for Elizabeth. If she didn’t want her portion he would eat it himself. But she accepted the bag with only a brief dubious look. He guessed roasted peanuts were unlikely to be dusted with poison or infected with deadly diseases, even in 1876. She ate from her portion unselfconsciously—like a man, Jesse thought—brushing shell fragments from her billowing dress with the back of her hand.
“So here’s what we know,” she said. “The would-be assassin bought a Glock here in town. He was working solo, without partners or connections, so the weapon probably came from a novelty vendor like Onslow. The question is, how does the vendor lay his hands on an automatic pistol?”
Jesse thought about it. “Most of the goods in these shops are lost items or copies of lost items, like that Shining book. Supposedly, the merchandise comes from tour groups. You put a hundred or two hundred City people on a train to New York or San Francisco, lodge them for a week, carry them back—they’re bound to leave a few things in the Pullman car or the hotel room. At least that’s the story I’ve heard.” City management was aware of the trade and for the most part had ignored it.