“He was seen a time or two right after the storm. Drove one of Jenny Ford’s servants crazy, I heard. It’s counting down to the old moon. Maybe he’s getting out less as the moon wanes.”
Ham nodded. “But you figure when it comes full in another three weeks…?”
“Look out.”
Ham scratched under his chin. “So are you the one to deal with him, then? Seeing as how you’ve been in the Carnival and you were the Grand Duchess’s daughter and all.”
“I sure hope not,” Sloane said. She remembered the white stare of the god, like frost falling on your heart. The visions she had had of her own old age, her legs blotched with veins. Under the circumstances. I suppose I should be grateful for a chance to get old, but…“I’m still working on a way to get out of that.”
He was courteous enough not to point out that she’d done pretty well at skipping out of her responsibilities so far.
Between the warm Texas night and Randall’s Mercedes’ motors running, the shed was already hot and humid. Sweat was beaded up on Ham’s broad face. His cheap cotton undershirt stuck to his protruding belly and the flat mounds where his man’s breasts pooched out. Definitely need to get him some better clothes. Would I still like him in a muumuu? Sloane wondered. She pictured him in something naughty, gathered under the breasts, a flimsy pink negligee with a feather boa trim swishing immodestly at the tops of his barrel-sized thighs. She snorted as a giggle got caught in her nose.
“What’s up?” Ham asked with a grin.
Your hemline, big boy. “Nothing,” Sloane said. “I’m just giddy with the heat.” She felt sweaty herself, damp in her armpits and behind her knees and between her thighs. She uncrossed her legs, wishing she was wearing one of her skirts, maybe the one sewn together from handkerchiefs that fluttered and whispered as she walked. Something easy to hike up a little, you mean? Good Lord, girl, you’ve got bigger things to think about. She glanced at Ham. Well, more important things.
Ham fiddled with a few knobs on the barbecue. “Ma’am? Do you mind if I ask you a kind of personal question?”
“Don’t know until I hear it,” Sloane said with a little lazy smile that felt like one of Sly’s. “You spins the wheel and you takes your chance.”
He grinned. “Well.” He pulled his shirttail up for a moment to wipe his forehead. “You strike me as a pretty smart girl, so I guess you know Josh is sweet on you.”
“‘Sweet’ isn’t exactly the word I would have used. But I guess I had noticed that.” And used it, she added to herself. Made him a partner in crime when I was deserting my duty at home. Only I had a hell of a time, while he got beaten for it and exiled to the Bolivar Peninsula.
“So does he have a chance?”
The gas grill roared quietly to itself. Bubbles were forming at the bottom of the glass jar full of swimming pool water. “No,” Sloane said at last. And then she did something she wouldn’t have done before her time in Carnival. She raised her eyes and met Ham’s for a long moment. “Not Josh,” she said.
“Damn. Well, some days you git the bear, some days…” He trailed off, becoming aware that she was still looking at him.
“The bear gets you,” she finished.
He squinted, puzzled.
Moron! Sloane looked away, embarrassed, feeling like she’d answered the door in her underwear and found her preacher on the step.
A shot exploded in the night, followed by a scream and another blast. Sloane and Ham stared at one another, electrified. “Shit!” Ham swore.
Sloane jumped down from the riding mower and ran outside. “That came from out back!” People were gathering at the lit windows of the mansion behind her, but she ran past the piggery and the piles of hurricane debris, stumbling in the gloom, looking for the door in the high stone wall at the back of the Bishop’s Palace grounds.
There were voices on the other side of the wall. “Get her?” said one.
“I reckon. There was two of ’em, though. The other was real small, like a midget or a monkey.”
Sloane found the wrought-iron gate and jerked it open. Outside, two men in militia uniforms swung around and trained their guns on her. A body lay sprawled across the sidewalk, under the streetlight on the corner. Sloane ran forward. “What have you done!”
“What I’m going to do to you if you don’t stand still and shut up,” said the older of the militiamen.
Sloane dropped to her knees next to the corpse. It was Lianna. The cat-faced woman lay utterly still. Sloane grabbed her arm and felt for a pulse, but she couldn’t find one. “That’s Sloane Gardner,” one of the militiamen said.
Sloane put her ear against Lianna’s chest. No sound of breathing. No heartbeat.
She remembered how adamant Lianna and Scarlet had been that morning about going to see Momus. And Sloane hadn’t paid them any mind, because…? Because she was a Gardner. That’s what Randall would say. Because she had become her mother; she was running other people’s lives for their own good, without listening to what they wanted. She remembered Lianna tugging on her arm the night of the storm. The first person to call her Sly when she didn’t have her mask on.
“She’s dead,” Sloane said. “You killed her.”
“Yep,” said the burlier of the two guards with satisfaction. “Got her in one. Missed the little one, though. You’re under arrest, by the way. Orders of the sheriff.”
Sloane’s blood froze. “What little one? Did she have—did you notice anything about her?”
“Sorry about this, Miss Gardner.” The burly guard stuck his gun in his holster and fished out a pair of handcuffs. He pulled Sloane’s wrists behind her back and cuffed her while his partner kept them covered. “As for the little monster, all I saw was a lot of red hair.”
Sloane thought of Scarlet, eyes baggy with sleepiness, fighting to stay awake through one more hand of dominoes. Scarlet burrowing under her arm in the middle of the night, all defiance gone, begging for comfort from the only person left in the world she could claim it from. “She might have been a monster once,” Sloane said. “Now she’s just a little girl.”
“For my part, I’m sorry she run off,” the other guard said, holstering his gun. “Deputy Lanier put a hundred-dollar bounty on her.”
Chapter Twenty-two
KREWE OF RAGS
JOSHUA was back in Randall’s boyhood room, sitting inside the veils of mosquito netting with his father cradled in his arms, trying to get him to drink from a cup of cold dandelion tea. “Have a sip,” he whispered. “There it is, just a little, that’s good.” The only light in the room came from an oil lamp on the writing desk.
Another drop of magic had gathered like dew on a shiny black beetle pinned to Randall Denton’s corkboard and brought it back to life. Josh had first seen it twitch an hour ago. Now its little legs curled and stretched continuously as it tried to get free. Quite hopeless, of course; the pin through its back held it fast. Sometimes Josh thought he should free the bug, and sometimes he thought he should kill it. For now he just fed his father sips of tea and watched the beetle’s thin black legs whisper and scrabble. Struggling and struggling.
Samuel Cane’s face was a dull waxy red, no longer shiny with sweat. He was running out of sweat, running out of water. The last of his pee had dripped out with a bowel movement earlier. His shit and vomit were both black with digested blood. His liver wasn’t making clotting factors anymore, that’s what got yellow fever victims in the end—internal hemorrhaging, hypovolemic shock, critical electrolyte imbalance, heart fibrillation.
“It’s only yellow fever. Five percent mortality,” Josh whispered. “That’s all. Come on, lucky man.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Joshua’s father jerked violently in his arms. Tea spilled onto his flushed naked chest.
“Josh? It’s me, Ham.” The big man opened the door.
“Goddamn it, I’m with a patient—”
“Shut up,” Ham said. He was breathing heavily. “We’re in a world of hurt. Did you h
ear the shots?”
“Maybe.” Josh wiped the spilled tea off his father’s chest with a sheet corner. “Someone injured?”
“No. Well, yeah, one of the revellers is dead. But they got Sloane,” Ham said. “I was talking to her out in the generator shed, setting up a still, when we heard the shots. Before I could get my fat ass to the wall she was already out the gate and arguing with the militia. I didn’t have my gun, so I sat tight while they cuffed her and hustled her off to Ashton Villa to see the sheriff.” He paused. “Do you think I should have gone after them?”
“Of course. It would have been stupid but really brave.”
“Pecker.”
“Anything else?” Josh said.
“What are we gonna do now?”
“Why do you want my advice? I thought you were sick of the sight of me.”
“I am. Doesn’t make me a better card player, though. You’re the smart one, remember? So tell me what the sheriff is going to do next, and how we’re going to get Sloane back. Think of something.”
“I’m flattered,” Josh said.
Ham folded his big arms and waited. No brilliant ideas came to Josh. He wished one would so he could impress Ham, or spite him. He couldn’t tell which he wanted more. Even knowing there was a good part of Ham that despised him these days, it was pathetic how much he still wanted the big man to think he was smart. That’s what he was supposed to be, right? That’s all he had ever offered in return for Ham’s friendship.
So Sam Cane had paid the Mathers to look out for him. Should have guessed.
Ham shifted impatiently. “I wouldn’t say this in front of Sloane, but I won’t kick much if the revellers, uh, go away. Especially if the alternative is having real human beings blown full of holes in a shoot-out.”
Samuel Cane moaned and turned on the bed. Joshua felt for his father’s pulse again. “Is Scarlet human?”
“That’s different,” Ham said. “She ain’t…she’s just a little girl.”
“Mm,” Josh said.
Sam Cane’s pulse was down to thirty-four beats a minute. He gagged. Swiftly Josh reached to support his head, placing the empty teacup under his lips. The older man convulsed, bending forward and retching. His ribs heaved and the muscles in his flanks knotted in long, cramping waves until finally a dribble of black blood splattered into the cup. The retching passed. “Sixth Street,” Josh said. “Don’t fold now.”
“Is he going to make it?” Ham whispered.
“I don’t know.”
There was a part of Josh, locked away, that hadn’t stopped crying since the moment Gina Tucker told him he would have to cut off her son’s leg. He thought of all the things Joe Tucker would miss, the games he would never play again. A cripple, for other kids to taunt and laugh at. He could never hope to be the handsome prince of any girl’s dreams now. He’d have to live on charity and count himself lucky to get it.
Play those cards, kid.
Back on the corkboard, the little black beetle kicked and struggled. Ham hadn’t noticed it yet. “Is my father human?” Josh said. His voice was contemptuous, but his hand was gentle as he touched Sam Cane’s cheek. “Look at him. He’s an animal, a sick animal. Less human than Scarlet. Less human than the Prawn Men. We’re just meat that dreams, Ham.” Joshua brushed the sweat-slick hair away from his father’s one good eye, then lowered him back onto his pillows. “You want to see monsters, think of George and Martha.”
Ham touched the brand on his forehead, then let his hand fall. “I need a play, pardner.”
It was so damn hard to be smart when all Josh wanted was to fall into a soft bed in a dark room and never be seen again. He tried to rub the tiredness out of his face. “I’m fresh out of cards,” he said.
AN hour later the bedroom door swung open. “Didn’t I tell you to knock—”
“Howdy, Mr. Cane,” said Kyle Lanier, looking very dapper in his militia greys. He appeared not to notice Ham glowering behind him.
Joshua remembered the interrogation room in the County Courthouse. The way Kyle Lanier had tipped his chair back and back and then let it drop, Josh’s head slamming on the concrete floor. The gleam of lamplight on Kyle’s shiny boots as he kicked Josh in the side and stomach. “What the hell do you want?”
“Sheriff Denton has called an emergency meeting of all the Krewes. It starts in half an hour at the Rosenberg Library, in the Krewe of Togetherness conference room. You and your pudgy friend are invited.”
“We’re not even in a Krewe.”
“The meeting’s about how to take care of the mob. I mean, the poorer citizens,” Kyle said. “We need someone who can speak for them, and you’re the lucky winners.”
“What the hell have y’all done with Sloane?” Ham demanded.
“Miss Gardner is resting comfortably at home,” the deputy said. “Where she should have stayed all along.”
“I’m with a patient,” Josh said. He was still holding the teacup black with his father’s blood.
“I’ll give you five minutes to finish up here,” Kyle said. He winked at Ham. “I can see myself down.”
“Just hop over the banister there. It’s quicker,” Ham growled.
Josh stood up as the deputy left. “This doesn’t feel right at all.” He began to pace in the little room. “Why would Sheriff Denton want to see either of us? If I was the sheriff, I wouldn’t be inviting me to any meetings. I’d take my militia and storm this place. There’s no paint over here worth worrying about, just rags. Anybody killed in the cross fire, well, that’s too bad, but their kin won’t have the clout to cause real trouble.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up,” Ham said, “it ain’t working.”
“In fact, if I can shoot the apothecary and his friend, that’s a bonus,” Josh said. “They’re an embarrassment. They show I ran a crooked trial. Hell, they’re more of a threat to my position than Sloane Gardner. Damn lucky for me they’re sitting there where all the shooting is fixing to be.”
“Josh, quit that.”
“I’ve got to put him on a hand.” Joshua shook his head. “No, if he wants to talk to us, he must be feeling pressure from the other Krewes about our trial. I mean, think about it, Ham. The militia’s nearly running things in this town since the hurricane hit. With Jane Gardner dead, who is to be the new boss? Why, Sheriff Denton, I reckon. Only the other Krewes aren’t going to want to give him power automatically, especially if maybe we’re going to cause a lot of trouble for him with the poor folk.”
“And don’t forget the Recluse,” Ham said. “If he really shot her, they’ll want to know why.” The big man absentmindedly pulled a curl of sunburned skin off his peeling nose. “So you think he wants to make nice with us?”
“Well, he hasn’t shot us yet,” Josh said. “For sure he wants to get a sense of how the cards lie.”
“I guess we’ve got to go to this meeting, huh? Seems like it’s that or sit around here and wait for an ‘accidental’ bullet.”
“I guess.” Josh looked down at his father. “I’ll be back directly. Try not to die in the meantime.” He turned the lamp on the writing desk to a dull glow and slipped out of the room, carrying the teacup full of blood. Ham followed behind him. “Let’s not give the sheriff the temptation of both of us disappearing,” Josh said. “I’d like you to stay outside the Library while I’m inside talking, just in case this is an ambush. And I want a crowd around you. Enough people so you can’t be disappeared without anyone noticing.”
“How am I supposed to get a mob of people over to the Rosenberg Library after ten at night, Josh?”
“Use your native charm,” Josh said with a tight smile. He walked briskly to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He splashed his head in the barrel of salt water by the sink. The water felt shockingly cold on the blotches of white skin where Joe Tucker’s blood had stained his hands and forehead. “Tell them we’re having a parade. Galveston likes parades.” His smile faded. “No, on second thought, don’t. Tell them there’s
medicine,” Josh said slowly. He turned to look directly at Ham. “Tell them there’s medicine and fresh water and good food. Tell them the rich folks have been hoarding it. Tell them we’re going to get our share.”
“Is that true?”
“Who knows?” Josh dried his face on his shirt and then studied himself in the mirror. His face was a mess, red sunburned skin blotched with white. Lines of weariness were carved around his eyes and mouth.
“That’s going to make a lot of people mad,” Ham said, shaking his head. “Even if you outsmart Sheriff Denton, that’s a promise you’re going to have to keep somehow.”
Joshua shrugged. “We can worry about that later,” he said. “Let’s let those bastards play with some scared money for once.”
Ham headed downstairs to where Kyle Lanier was waiting. Josh stopped for a last look at his father. Speckles of Sam Cane’s blood were beginning to smear the pillowcase. Bloody nose or bleeding gums, it was hard to tell which. If full-scale delirium was coming, followed by coma and death, it couldn’t be too long. Within the next day and a half, Josh guessed. Limp in, Ace. Just limp in to the River.
“Mr. Cane?” the deputy called.
“Coming,” Josh shouted. He stepped quickly to the corkboard and pulled the pin out of the beetle struggling there. It tumbled to the ground, quivered, and then limped under the bed.
IT was a comical bunch that headed out from the Bishop’s Palace just before eleven that night. Josh and Kyle Lanier went first, then Ham, talking loudly with six or seven refugees that trailed alongside. Two more militiamen brought up the rear. Josh took a detour through the barrio, pretending he needed to drop off some of his doctoring kit at home. Ham picked up a fair throng once they got into the neighborhoods where there were car parts scattered over half the yards. “Water! Fresh water, and medicine for your sick!” Ham bellowed cheerfully.