Fevre Dream (31 page)

Marsh nodded at him. “Good. You take ’em there, then. I want all of you to go, and go quick.” He remembered that glint of gold as Jeffers’s spectacles tumbled off him, that terrible little flash. Not again, Abner Marsh thought, not again on account of him. “Find a doctor to patch them up. You’ll be safe, I reckon. They want me, not you.”

“You aren’t comin’?” asked Yoerger.

“I got my gun,” said Abner Marsh. “And I got myself a feeling. I’m waitin’.”

“Come with us.”

“If I run, they’ll follow. If they get me, you’re safe. That’s how I figure it, anyway.”

“If they don’t come—”

“Then I come trudging after you at first light,” Marsh said. He stamped his walking stick impatiently. “I’m still cap’n here, ain’t I? Quit jawin’ with me, and do like I say. I want all of you off my steamer, you hear?”

“Cap’n Marsh,” Yoerger said, “at least let Cat and me he’p you.”

“No. Git.”

“Cap’n—”

“GO!” shouted Marsh, red-faced.
“GO!”

Yoerger blanched and took the startled pilot by the arm and drew him out of the pilot house. When they had hurried down, Abner Marsh glanced back at the river once more—still nothing—and then went downstairs to his cabin. He took the rifle from the wall, checked it and loaded it, and slid the box of custom shells into the pocket of his white coat. Armed, Marsh returned to the hurricane deck, and fixed up his chair where he could keep an eye on the river. If they were smart, Abner Marsh figured, they’d know how low the river stage was. They’d know that maybe the
Eli Reynolds
could run this cutoff and maybe she couldn’t, but even at best she’d have to steam through slowly, sounding all the way. They’d know, once they came round the bend, that they’d beaten her. And if they knew that, they wouldn’t steam downriver at all. They’d hold the
Fevre Dream
near the foot of the cutoff, waiting for the
Reynolds
. And meanwhile, the men—or night folks—that they’d let off near the head of the island would be crawling through the cutoff in a yawl, just in case the
Reynolds
stopped or got hung up. That was what Abner Marsh would have done, anyway.

The little stretch of river he could see was still empty. He felt a bit chilly, waiting. Any moment now he expected to see the yawl come round that stand of trees, full of silent dark figures with faces pale and smirking in the moonlight. He checked his gun again, and wished Yoerger would hurry.

Yoerger and Grove and the rest of the crew of the
Eli Reynolds
had been gone fifteen minutes, with still nothing moving on the river.

There were lots of noises in the night. The water gurgling around the wreck of his steamer, the wind rattling the trees together, animals off in the woods. Marsh rose, finger on the trigger of his rifle, and scanned upstream warily. There was nothing to see, nothing but silty river water washing across sandbars, gnarled roots, the fallen black corpse of the tree that had smashed up his steamer’s paddle. He saw driftwood moving, and nothing else. “Maybe they ain’t so smart,” he muttered under his breath.

From the corner of his eye, Marsh glimpsed something pale on the island across the stream. He spun toward it, raising his gun to his shoulder, but there was nothing there, just black dense woods and thick river mud. Twenty yards of shallow water lay between him and the dark, silent island. Abner Marsh was breathing hard. What if they don’t bring the yawl down the cutoff, he thought. What if they land it and come on foot?

The
Eli Reynolds
creaked beneath him, and Marsh grew more uneasy. Just settling, he told himself, she’s aground and settling into the sand. But another part of him was whispering, whispering that maybe that creak was a footstep, that maybe they’d stole up on him while he was watching the river. Maybe they were on the boat already. Maybe Damon Julian was coming up the staircase even now, gliding through the main cabin—he knew how quiet Julian could walk—and searching the cabins, moving toward the stair that would lead him up here, up to the hurricane deck.

Marsh turned his chair so he faced the top of the stair, just in case a pale white face should suddenly heave into view. His hands were sweating where they held the rifle, making the stock all slippery. He wiped them on his pants leg.

The sound of soft whispering came drifting up the stairwell.

They were down there, Marsh thought, down there plotting how to get at him. He was trapped up here, alone. Not that being alone mattered. He’d had help before and it hadn’t made no difference to them. Marsh rose and moved to the top of the stair, looking down into darkness streaked by wan moonlight. He gripped the gun hard, blinked, waited for something to show itself. He waited for the longest time, listening to those vague whispers, his heart thumping away like the
Reynolds’
old tired engine. They wanted him to hear them, Abner Marsh thought. They wanted him to be afraid. They’d come sneaking up on his steamer like haunts, so fleet and silent he hadn’t seen them, and now they were trying to put the fear on him. “I know you’re down there,” he shouted. “Come on up. I got something for you, Julian.” He hefted the gun.

Silence.

“Damn you,” Marsh yelled.

Something moved at the foot of the stairs, a darting figure, pale and quick. Marsh jerked the gun up to fire, but it was gone before he could even begin to take aim. He swore and took two steps down the stairs, then stopped. This was what they wanted him to do, he thought. They were trying to lure him down there, to the promenade and the darkened cabins and the dim dusty saloon with the moonlight washing through its dirty skylight. Up here on the hurricane deck, he could hold them off. They couldn’t get to him easy up here; he could see them sliding up the stairs, climbing the sides, whatever. But down there, he’d be at their mercy.

“Captain,”
a soft voice called up to him.
“Captain Marsh.”

Marsh raised his gun, squinting.

“Don’t shoot, Captain. It’s me. It’s only me.”
She stepped into view at the bottom of the stairs.

Valerie.

Marsh hesitated. She was smiling up at him, dark hair catching the moonbeams, waiting. She wore trousers and a man’s ruffled shirt, unbuttoned down the front. Her skin was soft and pale, and her eyes caught his and held them, shining violet beacons, deep, beautiful, endless. He could swim in those eyes forever.
“Come to me, Captain,”
Valerie called. “I’m alone. Joshua sent me. Come down, so we can talk.” Marsh took two steps downward, trapped by those brilliant eyes. Valerie held her arms out.

The
Eli Reynolds
moaned and settled, shifting suddenly to starboard. Marsh stumbled and hit his shin hard against the stair, and the pain brought tears to his eyes. He heard faint laughter drifting up from below, saw Valerie’s smile waver and fade. Cussing, Marsh swung the rifle back up to his shoulder and fired. The kick near tore off his shoulder, and slammed him back against the steps. Valerie was gone, vanished like a ghost. Marsh swore and got to his feet and fumbled in his pocket for another cartridge, retreating backward up the stairway. “Joshua,
hell
!” he roared down at the darkness. “Julian sent you, damn him!”

When he stepped backward onto the hurricane deck, listing at a thirty-degree angle now, Marsh felt something very hard press between his shoulder blades. “Well, well,” said the voice from behind him, “if it ain’t Cap’n Marsh.”

The others appeared, one by one, when Marsh had dropped the gun to clatter on the deck. Valerie came last of all, and would not look at him. Abner Marsh cussed her up and down and round about as a treacherous whore. Finally she gave him one terrible, accusing glance. “Do you think I have a choice?” she said bitterly, and Marsh ceased his tirade. It was not her words that quieted him; not her words, but the look in her eyes. For in those vast violet depths, glimpsed so briefly, Marsh saw shame and terror . . . and thirst.

“Move,”
said Sour Billy Tipton.

“Damn you,” said Abner Marsh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Aboard the Steamer
Ozymandias,
Mississippi River,
October 1857

Abner Marsh had expected darkness, but when Sour Billy shoved him through the door to the captain’s cabin, the room gleamed in the soft light of its oil lamps. It was dustier than Marsh remembered, but otherwise just as Joshua had kept it. Sour Billy closed the door, and Marsh was alone with Damon Julian. He gripped his hickory stick hard—Billy had thrown the gun in the river, but allowed Marsh to retrieve the stick—and scowled. “If you’re goin’ to kill me, come on and try,” he said. “I ain’t in the mood for no games.”

Damon Julian smiled. “Kill you? Why, Captain! I’d planned to feed you dinner.” A silver serving tray had been set on the small table between the two big leather chairs. Julian lifted its cover to reveal a plate of pan-fried chicken and greens, turnips and onions on the side, and a slice of apple pie topped with cheese. “There is wine, too. Please have a seat, Captain.”

Marsh looked at the food and smelled it. “Toby’s still alive,” he said, with a sudden certainty.

“Of course he is,” Julian said. “Will you sit?”

Marsh moved forward warily. He couldn’t figure what Julian was up to, but he considered it for a moment and decided he didn’t care. Maybe the food was poisoned, but that didn’t make no sense, they had easier ways of killing him. He sat down and picked up a chicken breast. It was still hot. He bit into it ravenously, and recalled how long it had been since he’d had a
decent
meal. Maybe he was going to die presently, but at least he’d die on a full stomach.

Damon Julian, resplendent in a brown suit and golden vest, watched Marsh eat with an amused smile on his pale face. “Wine, Captain?” was all he said. He filled two glasses and sipped delicately from his own.

When Abner Marsh had polished off the pie, he sat back in his chair and belched, then screwed up his face in a scowl. “A good meal,” he said grudgingly. “Now, why am I here, Julian?”

“The night you made your hasty departure, Captain, I tried to tell you I simply wanted to talk to you. You chose not to believe me.”

“Damn right I didn’t believe you,” said Marsh. “Still don’t. But now I ain’t got much say on the matter, so talk.”

“You are bold, Captain Marsh. And strong. I admire you.”

“Can’t say I got much use for you.”

Julian laughed. His laughter was pure music. His dark eyes shone. “Amusing,” he said. “Such bluster.”

“I don’t know why you’re tryin’ to butter me up, but it ain’t goin’ to do you no good. All the fried chicken in the world ain’t goin’ to make me forget what you did to that damned baby, and to Mister Jeffers.”

“You seem to forget that Jeffers had just run me through with a sword,” Julian said. “That is not something one takes lightly.”

“That baby didn’t have no sword.”

“A slave,” Julian said lightly. “Property, by the laws of your own nation. Inferior, according to your own people. I spared it a life of bondage, Captain.”

“Go to hell,” said Marsh. “It was just a damned baby, and you cut off its hand like you was cutting the head off a chicken, and then you crushed its head in. It didn’t do nothin’ to you.”

“No,” said Julian. “Nor did Jean Ardant harm you or your people. Yet you and your mate crushed his skull in while he slept.”

“We thought he was you.”

“Ah,” said Julian. He smiled. “A mistake, then. But whether you acted in error or not, you slaughtered an innocent man. You do not seem unduly consumed by guilt.”

“He wasn’t no man. He was one of
you
. A vampire.”

Julian frowned. “Please. I share Joshua’s distaste for that term.”

Marsh shrugged.

“You contradict yourself, Captain Marsh,” Julian said. “You judge me evil, for doing what you do without compunction—taking the lives of those unlike yourself. No matter. You defend your own kind. You even include the dark races. I admire that, you see. You know what you are, you understand your place, your nature. That is as it should be. You and I, we are alike in that.”

“I ain’t nothin’ like you,” Marsh said.

“Ah, but you are! We accept our natures, you and I, we do not seek to become things we are not, things we were never meant to be. I despise the weak, the changelings who so hate themselves that they must pretend to be something else. You feel the same way.”

“I do not.”

“No? Why do you hate Sour Billy so?”

“He’s contemptible.”

“Of course he is!” Julian looked highly amused. “Poor Billy is weak, and thirsts to be strong. He will do anything to be one of my people. Anything. I have known others like him, so many others. They are useful, often entertaining, but never admirable. You despise Billy because he apes our race and preys on your own, Captain Marsh. Dear Joshua feels the same way, little realizing that in Billy he sees his own reflection.”

“Joshua and Billy Tipton ain’t nothin’ alike,” Marsh said stoutly. “Billy is a goddamned weasel. Joshua’s maybe done some vile things, but he’s tryin’ to make up for them. He would have helped you all.”

“He would have made us as you are. Captain Marsh, your own nation is terribly divided on this issue of slavery, a slavery based on race. Suppose you could end it. Suppose you had a way to turn every white man in this land soot-black overnight. Would you do it?”

Abner Marsh scowled. He didn’t much like the idea of turning soot-black, but he saw where Julian was heading and he didn’t much want to go there either. So he said nothing.

Damon Julian sipped his wine and smiled. “Ah,” he said. “You see. Even your abolitionists admit the dark races are inferior. They would have no patience with a slave trying to pretend at being white, and they would be disgusted if a white man should drink a potion in order to turn black. I did not hurt that slave child from malice, Captain Marsh. There is no malice in me. I did it to reach Joshua, dear Joshua. He is beautiful, but he sickens me.

“You are another case. Did you truly fear that I would harm you that night in August? Oh, perhaps I would have, in my pain and rage. But not before. Beauty draws me, Captain Marsh, and you have none of that.” He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an uglier man. You are gross, rolling with fat, covered with coarse hair and warts, you stink of sweat, you have a flat nose and a pig’s eyes, your teeth are crooked and stained. You could no more wake the thirst in me than Billy could. Yet you are strong, and you have a gross courage, and you know your place. All these I admire. You can run a steamboat, too. Captain, we should not be enemies. Join me. Run the
Fevre Dream
for me.” He smiled. “Or whatever it’s called now. Billy decided it had to be renamed, and Joshua found a name somewhere. You can change it back, if you’d prefer.”

“She,” Marsh said.

Julian frowned.

“Boat’s a
she,
not an
it,
”Marsh said.

“Ah,” said Damon Julian.

“Billy Tipton is running this boat, ain’t he?”

Julian shrugged. “Billy is an overseer, not a riverman. I can dispose of Billy. Would you like that, Captain? That can be your first reward, if you join me. Billy’s death. I will kill him for you, or let you do it yourself. He killed your mate, you know.”

“Hairy Mike?” Marsh said, feeling chilled.

“Yes,” said Julian. “And your engineer too, after a few weeks. He caught him trying to weaken the boilers, so they’d explode. Would you like to revenge your people? It is within your power.” Julian leaned forward intently, his dark eyes gleaming, excited. “You can have other things as well. Wealth. I care nothing for that. You can handle all my money.”

“All you stole from Joshua.”

Julian smiled. “A bloodmaster receives many gifts,” he said. “I can offer you women as well. I have lived among your people for many years, I know your lusts, your thirsts. How long has it been since you’ve had a woman, Captain? Would you like Valerie? She can be yours. She is lovelier than any woman of your race, and she will not grow old and hideous, not in your lifetime. You can have her. The others as well. They will not harm you. What else would you like? Food? Toby is still alive. You can have his cooking six, seven times a day if you desire.

“You are a practical man, Captain. You do not share the religious delusions of your race. Consider what you are being offered. You will have the power to punish your enemies and protect your friends, a full stomach, money, women. And all for doing what you want to do desperately, for running this steamboat. Your
Fevre Dream
.”

Abner Marsh snorted. “She ain’t mine no more. You’ve fouled her.”

“Look around you. Are things so bad? We have run between Natchez and New Orleans regularly, the steamer is in good repair, hundreds of passengers have come and gone without ever noticing anything amiss. A few vanish, most of them ashore, in the towns and cities we visit. Billy says it is safer that way. Only a handful have died aboard your steamer, those whose beauty and youth were too exceptional. More slaves die every day in New Orleans, yet you do not work against slavery. The world is full of evils, Abner. I do not ask you to condone or participate. Just run your steamer, and mind your own business. We need your expertise. Billy drives away passengers, we lose money on every run. Even Joshua’s funds are not inexhaustible. Come, Abner, give me your hand. Agree. You want to. I can feel it in your eyes. You want this steamer back again. It is a thirst in you, a passion. Take it, then. Good and evil are silly lies, nonsense put forth to plague honest sensible men. I know you, Abner, and I can give you what you want. Join me, serve me. Take my hand, and together we will outrun the
Eclipse
.” His dark eyes swirled and burned, endless depths, reaching deep inside Marsh, touching him, feeling him intimately, unclean and yet seductive, calling,
calling
. His hand was extended. Abner Marsh started to reach out for it. Julian smiled so nicely, and his words made so much sense. He wasn’t asking Marsh to do nothing terrible, just run a steamboat, help protect him, protect his friends. Hell, he’d protected Joshua, and Joshua was a vampire too, wasn’t he? And maybe there’d be some killing on the boat, but a man had been strangled on the
Sweet Fevre
back in ’54, and two gamblers had been shot dead on the
Nick Perrot
when Marsh was running her; none of that had been his blame, he was just tending his own affairs, running his steamers, it wasn’t like he’d kill anybody himself. Man had to protect his friends but not the whole world, he’d see to it that Sour Billy got what he deserved. It all sounded good, a damn good deal. Julian’s eyes were black and hungry and his skin felt cool, hard like Joshua’s, like Joshua’s that night on the levee . . .

. . . and Abner Marsh snatched his hand away. “Joshua,” he said loudly. “That’s it. You ain’t beaten him yet, have you? You got him whipped, but he’s still alive, and you ain’t got him to drink blood, you ain’t got him to change. That’s why.” Marsh felt his blood rising to his face. “You don’t care how much damn money this steamboat makes. If she sunk tomorrow, you wouldn’t care a good goddamn, you’d just go somewheres else. And Sour Billy, maybe you want to get rid of him, use me instead, but that ain’t it. It’s Joshua. If I join you it will break whatever he’s got left, prove you right. Joshua trusted me, and you want me ’cause you know what that’d do to him.” Julian’s hand was still extended, rings shining softly on his long pale fingers. “Damn you!” Marsh roared, and he picked up his walking stick and swung it hard, smashing the hand to the side.
“DAMN YOU!”

The smile died on Damon Julian’s lips and his face became something inhuman. There was nothing in his eyes but darkness and age and flickering dim fires that burned with ancient evil. He stood up, so he towered over Abner Marsh, and he snatched the stick away as Marsh swung it at his face. He broke it with his bare hands, as easily as Marsh might break a dead match, and tossed it to the side. The pieces clattered off the wall and dropped to the carpet. “You might have been remembered as the man who outran the
Eclipse,
”Julian said with a malicious coldness. “Instead, you will die. It is going to last a long time, Captain Marsh. You are much too ugly for me. I am giving you to Billy, to teach him the taste of blood. Maybe dear Joshua should have a glass as well. It would do him good.” He smiled. “As for your steamboat, Captain Marsh, don’t worry. I will take good care of
her
after you are gone. No one on the river will ever forget your
Fevre Dream
.”