Excerpt from Chapter 19     August 20, 1872     Brendan's head felt like it would split in two. He wanted desperately to go with Jeffrey to investigate the Barbary Coast. He hoped to find a simple explanation for Tabucamalis's outlandish story. McAndrews might have some ridiculous plans for a Mexican revolution, but Brendan reassured himself that his father would not be involved. Even when Jeffrey reminded Brendan of the map they had found in Gertrude's room with a system of rail lines running into Mexico, Brendan would not be convinced of his father's involvement.     When he went to Colonel Scott's room to explain why he had to miss the day's meetings, Brendan found the Railway King in an uproar. "Oh God, Brendan, have I ever told you how much I hate the water." Scott almost threw himself on Brendan, embraced him and then returned to his random darting about the cabin, moving with the rocking of the ship.     Brendan looked on in confusion with his back against the door. He had never seen Scott as anything but a pillar of strength. In his red, satin smoking gown, Scott looked more like a drunken butterfly.     "Is there anything I can do to help you, Tom?" Brendan asked.     "I just need to get off this tub. Last time I went to Europe, thought I would jump off the ship before we hit shore. Jesus but I hate this rolling." He patted Brendan's shoulder in passing and said, "Don't worry, I'll be good as gold once I have solid ground under my feet." He fumbled open his pocket watch. "Should be just about there. Now what did you want to see me about?"     Reluctantly, Brendan started, "I've found out about a man in San Francisco--"     "Yes, I already know," Scott interrupted.     "You do?" Brendan said in surprise. "Yes, I know someone has gotten to the Committee of One Hundred. I received word this morning in Vallejo that several of the big players in San Francisco are wavering. We have to have the backing of California for our railroad, and that means the Committee of One Hundred. We have some heavy selling to do today, Brendan. We need to get them all back in line before we meet with Huntington, Stanford, and Crocker tonight."     "But I--" Brendan started.     "Don't worry, I have complete confidence in your ability to pull this off." The beginning of a smile broke through Scott's anxiety-lined face. "Even Sherman supports you now. He came to see me earlier and told me about your harebrained brush with death. He said you could talk the pope out of his crucifix."     "We need to postpone the meeting with Stanford," Brendan insisted. "We have three days in the city; let's try to meet him tomorrow night instead."     "Scott launched himself toward a stack of papers. "Won't work. I already tried. The big boys said, 'tonight or never.'" As he scattered the papers, several sheaves fell to the deck. "Where the hell did Archibald put that? Oh here's the one. Now listen, Brendan, we need to go over once more our proposal for Stanford and his cronies. Sit down, sit down; you'fre making me nervous."         � � � �     Fog surged over the ship as it pulled into dock. The sea air suddenly felt damp and cool on Brendan's skin. White wisps danced across the water as the fog advanced.     Mayor William Alvord and several members of the influential Committee of One Hundred stood on the dock, waiting to meet the Scott party. The mayor was dressed formally in a black Ditto suit with the top button fastened and a silver chain looped across his vest. He had been known to spend more money on clothes in a month than most of his constituents earned in a year. He carried a walking stick with an ornate silver head, which had been given to him by the Knights of St. Crispin for his efforts to turn back the flood of Chinese workers.     "My dear Colonel Scott, it is an honor," he began in a loud clear voice after taking Brendan by the hand as he stepped off the gangplank.     "I'm sorry," Brendan interrupted. "Colonel Scott is indisposed. I'm Brendan Gould. He asked me to introduce you to Senator Sherman and the rest of his advisors. He will meet us at the Lick House shortly."     "Oh I see," Alvord flicked his well-groomed beard. "Terribly sorry, but I'm sure the air of San Francisco will make him hale and hearty."     "Yes, it is thick, isn't it? You could almost drown in it," Senator Sherman said acidly as he stepped down the gangplank next to Brendan. Sherman had heard of Mayor Alvord's anticoolie policies and made it clear he did not approve.     Brendan introduced the two men. The senator shook Mayor Alvord's white-gloved hand with diffidence.     "Ah, Senator Sherman, brother of the famous general." Alvord exaggerated the word famous to sound like an insult. Alvord had no personal animosity toward General Sherman and his torching of Georgia, but the mayor had too many ex-Confederates as constituents not to make a show of disapproval.     Brendan grimaced at the inauspicious beginning to the meeting and quickly introduced the rest of the party. He was relieved to see Sherman find one of the San Francisco group with whom he had mutual friends. Everyone sorted themselves into the buggies and carriages for the ride to the hotel.     Thomas Selby, the city's previous mayor, introduced himself to Brendan and offered him a ride. He seemed a lively old fellow with his colorful top hat, banded by an assortment of ribbons. His white suit was clean but several years out of fashion. His long, clean-shaven face was weathered by many years working in the sun.     "Scott has come at the right time," Selby said, lifting the reins of the buggy.     "And how's that?" Brendan asked with interest. "The Committee of One Hundred formed just this January to counterbalance the Big Four's power in California. Those Central Pacific boys are putting quite a squeeze on our little city. They know they're the only game in town, and they want a golden key to City Hall. They want us to give them that island over there." Selby pointed out to the eastern part of the bay. "We're hoping you can knock them down a peg."     "And what do you stand to gain personally from all this?" Brendan asked, watching the man's eyes.     "Fair question, son," Selby smiled. "I love this crazy city and have done my best to keep it growing. If it prospers, so do I."     "We've been given the impression," Brendan said, "that not everyone was in favor of the Texas and Pacific."     "Certainly, Huntington has a war chest full of loot to throw around." Selby leaned closer to Brendan in the buggy seat and said softly, "Some of the members of the committee may have been corrupted."     "Would you be willing to give me a list of who is on our side and who isn't?" Brendan asked as he pulled out a pencil and notebook.     "I'd be happy to, son. James Otis; he's the main person for you to watch. When the committee formed, he was the Central Pacific's most vehement opponent. Now he's defending the railroad's activity.     "Otis is an up-and-comer on the board of city supervisors," Selby continued thoughtfully. "I think he's hoping to be mayor next year, so he's probably a might sensitive about the popular vote. Also, there'll be a newspaperman, name of Henry George, at the meeting. Somewhat of a loose cannon, but if you get him on your side, he has a lot of sway with the people. He might be your key to pulling Otis back into the fold."     "Selby pulled his horse out of line from the other buggies. "I'm going to stop at my office," he explained, "and collect my secretary, Mr. Sexton. He's better about all this skulduggery than I am."     As they rode to the office, Selby pointed out all the new buildings under construction to Brendan. "You know, we're one of the ten largest cities in the nation now. Wasn't anything but a sand flat when I came in forty-nine."     "Can you tell me about the Barbary Coast?" Brendan asked. "Is that somewhere along the shoreline?"     "Unhappily no," Selby said with obvious consternation. "That thorn in our side is smack dab in the middle of town. You'd best stay well away from that place. There's stories of young men like yourself having one too many whiskeys in those dens of iniquity and finding themselves signed on as a crew member to some ship bound for the Far East."     "A man on the train mentioned a place called Bull Run," Brendan persisted. "Have you heard of that?"     "No, son. I try to know as little as possible about that part of town. My secretary, Sexton, might be able to shed some light for you on that matter."     Brendan liked Frank Sexton from the moment he was introduced. Although Sexton was more than ten years older than Brendan, he carried himself like a much younger man. He had a trace of a British accent and dressed like a London banker in a gray suit and a simple plug hat. In a crowded room, Brendan might not have noticed him except for the exceptional vitality of his coffee brown eyes.     Sexton slipped into the back bench of the buggy. At first, he responded to Brendan's questions with reserve, but then Selby told him that Brendan could be trusted.     "Awfully sorry, Brendan, but, you know, as Mr. Selby's secretary, I have to be careful not to let the cover slip in the wrong company. It's hard work for me to be a political animal; it doesn't come naturally. Mr. Selby may not have told you, but I was a sailor before he took me on."     "And a writer, Frank. Don't forget that part of the story," Selby added, raising an eyebrow at Brendan.     "A writer?" Brendan asked.     "I worked for a paper in England for a few years, but I have a brother who is a sea captain, and I got the itch to travel. Thought I'd try my hand at a sequel to Two Years Before The Mast, Dana's book. Haven't got round to that yet, but you never know. Now, I can add all sorts of juicy bits about wild San Francisco."     "So do you know a place called Bull Run?" Brendan asked.     "Ah, certainly, although that isn't the actual name. The sign on the door reads Hell's Kitchen and Dance Hall."     "Oh, that's Allen's place, isn't it?" Selby asked with disgust. "We tried to close that place down during my time in office, didn't we?"     "Indeed we did, sir. The place lives up to it's name. Women there are treated worse than in a Turkish slave market." Sexton shuddered. "Allen threatened to shoot Mr. Selby at one point. He's quite a piece of work. Bull Run is his nickname. A huge brick of a man who always wears frilly white shirts like something out of Tom Jones. Every time I dealt with him, I didn't feel clean for a week. "So what's your interest in our favorite whore master?" Sexton asked Brendan.     Brendan looked from Sexton to Selby for a moment before answering. He leaned back to where Sexton sat in the back seat of the buggy and lowered his voice, so that he could just barely be heard over the noise of the horse traffic around them. "Please don't tell this to anyone else. There is a fellow who is recruiting men for some kind of mischief that may relate to the railroad. He supposedly is having a meeting at Bull Run tonight."     "Well, if they are the usual customers of Hell's Kitchen," Sexton responded in an equally low voice, "then your man wants a tough and entirely amoral crew for whatever task is at hand."