“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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aboard the Steamer Ozymandias,
Mississippi River,
October 1857
Dawn was breaking when Abner Marsh was led from the captain’s cabin. Morning mists lay heavily on the river, gray wisps that drifted and curled smokily across the water and threaded themselves through the steamer’s rails and colonnades, writhing like living things soon to burn and perish in the light of the morning sun. Damon Julian saw the red blush in the east, and remained in the dimness of his cabin. He pushed Marsh through the door. “Take the captain to his cabin, Billy,” he said. “Keep him safe until dark. You will be so kind as to join us for supper, Captain Marsh?” He smiled. “I knew you would.”
They were waiting just outside. Sour Billy, in a black suit and a checkered vest, was sitting with his chair tilted back against the wall of the texas, cleaning his fingernails with his knife. He stood up when the door opened, and tossed the knife easily in his hand. “Yes, sir, Mister Julian,” he said, his ice-colored eyes fixed on Marsh.
He had two others with him. The night folks who’d helped Billy take Marsh from the Eli Reynolds had retreated back to their staterooms to escape the touch of morning, so Billy had called up some of his river scum, it appeared. As Julian shut the cabin door, they moved in. One of them was a portly youth with ragged brown whiskers, a live oak cudgel stuck through his cord belt. The other one was a giant, and the ugliest damn thing Abner Marsh had ever seen. He must have stood nea
r seven foot tall, but he had a tiny little head, squinty eyes, wooden teeth, and no nose at all. Abner Marsh stared.
“Don’t you go looking at Noseless,” Sour Billy said. “It ain’t polite, Cap’n.” Noseless, as if to agree, grabbed Marsh’s arm roughly and twisted it up behind him so hard it hurt. “A gator bit off his nose,” Sour Billy said. “Ain’t his fault. You hold Cap’n Marsh tight now, Noseless. Cap’n Marsh is fond of jumpin’ into the river, and we don’t want none of that.” Billy swaggered over and poked his knife into Marsh’s stomach, just enough so Marsh felt the prick. “You swim better’n I figgered, Cap’n. Must be all this fat, makes it easier to float.” He twisted the knife suddenly and sliced a silver button from Marsh’s jacket. It fell clattering to the deck, and rolled around and around in a circle until Sour Billy stepped on it. “No swimming today, Cap’n. We’re goin’ to bed you down proper. You even get your own cabin. Don’t think you’re goin’ to sneak out neither. Maybe the night folks is all asleep, but Noseless or me will be right outside all day. Come on, now.” Billy flipped his knife in the air lazily, sheathed it, and turned. He led them aft, Noseless propelling Marsh along behind him, the third man bringing up the rear.
They rounded a corner of the texas, and nearly bowled right into Toby Lanyard.
“Toby!” Marsh exclaimed. He tried to step forward, but Noseless twisted his arm and Marsh grunted in pain and stopped.
Sour Billy Tipton stopped too, staring. “What the hell you doing up here, nigger?” he snapped.
Toby didn’t look at him. He stood there in a frayed brown suit, his hands clasped behind his back, head bowed, scuffing one boot nervously against the deck.
“I said, what the hell you doing here, nigger?” Sour Billy said dangerously. “Why ain’t you chained up in the kitchen? You gimme an answer now, or you’re goin’ to be one sorry nigger.”