George Martin - Fevre Dream

“Valerie has told me much of him. He is old, Abner. Older than Simon or Katherine, older than any of us. His age itself disturbs me. Now he calls himself Damon Julian, but before that name he was Giles Lamont, the same Giles Lamont whom that wretched mulatto served for thirty futile years. I am told he has another human thrall now-”

“Sour Billy Tipton,” Valerie said with loathing.

“Valerie is afraid of this Julian,” Joshua York said. “The others also speak of him with fear, but sometimes with a certain loyalty as well. As bloodmaster, he took care of them. He gave them sanctuary, wealth, and feasts. They feasted on slaves. No wonder he chose to settle where he did.”

Valerie shook her head. “Leave him, Joshua. Please. For me, if for no other reason. Damon will not welcome your coming, will not cherish the freedom you bring.”

Joshua scowled in annoyance. “He still has others of our people with him. Would you have me abandon them as well? No. And you may be wrong about Julian. He has been in the grip of the red thirst for uncounted centuries, and I can soothe that fever.”

Valerie crossed her arms, her violet eyes furious. “And if he will not be soothed? You do not know him, Joshua.”

“He is educated, intelligent, cultured, a lover of beauty,” York said stubbornly. “You said as much.”

“He is strong as well.”

“As with Simon, and Raymond, and Cara. They follow me now.”

“Damon is different,” Valerie insisted. “It is not the same!”

Joshua York made an impatient gesture. “It makes no difference. I will control him.”

Abner Marsh had watched them argue in thoughtful silence, but now he spoke up. “Joshua’s right,” he said to Valerie. “Hell, I looked in his eyes once or twice myself, and he nearly busted every bone in my hand the first time we shook. Besides, what was it you called him? A king?”

“Yes,” Valerie admitted. “The pale king.”

“Well, if he’s this pale king of yours, it stands to reason that he’s got to win, don’t it?”

Valerie glanced from Marsh to York and back again. Then she trembled. “You haven’t seen him, either of you.” She hesitated a moment, tossed her dark hair back with a pale slender hand, and faced Abner Marsh squarely. “Perhaps I was wrong about you, Captain Marsh. I do not have Joshua’s strength, nor his trust. I have been ruled by the red thirst for half a century. Your people were my prey. You cannot befriend your prey. You cannot. You cannot trust them either. That was why I urged Joshua to kill you. You cannot just cast aside the cautions of a lifetime. Do you understand?”

Abner Marsh nodded warily.

“I am still uncertain,” Valerie continued, “but Joshua has been showing us many new things, and I am willing to admit that perhaps you can be trusted. Perhaps.” She scowled fiercely. “But whether or not I was wrong about you, I am right about Damon Julian!”

Abner Marsh frowned, not knowing what to say. Joshua reached out and took Valerie’s hand in his own. “I think you are wrong to be so fearful,” he said. “But for your sake, I will move with all caution. Abner, do as you wish, tell Mister Jeffers and Mister Dunne. It will be good to have their help if Valerie is right. Choose the men for a special watch, and let the rest ashore. When the Fevre Dream steams up the bayou, I want her manned only by our best and most reliable, the bare minimum needed to run her. No religious fanatics, no one who is easily frightened, no one prone to rashness.”

“Hairy Mike and I will do the pickin’,” Marsh said.

“I will meet Julian on my own steamer, in my own time, with you and the best of your men behind me. Be careful how you tell Jeffers and Dunne. It must be done correctly.” He looked at Valerie. “Satisfied?”

“No,” she said.

Joshua smiled. “I can do no more.” He looked back at Abner Marsh. “Abner, I am glad you are not my enemy. I am close now, my dreams at hand. In beating the red thirst, I had my first great triumph. I would like to think that here, tonight, you and I have fashioned a second, the beginning of friendship and trust between our races. The Fevre Dream will steam on the razor edge between night and day, banishing the specter of old fear wherever she goes. We will achieve great things together, friend.”

Marsh didn’t care overmuch for flowery talk, but Joshua’s passion reached him nonetheless and he gave a grudging smile. “Got a lot of work to do before we achieve any goddamned thing at all,” Marsh said, gathering up his walking stick and getting to his feet. “I’ll be goin’, then.”

“Fine,” Joshua said, smiling. “I will take my rest, and see you once again at twilight. Make certain the boat is ready to depart. We’ll get this done with as quickly as we can.”

“I’ll have our steam up,” Marsh said as he took his leave.

Outside, day had come.

It looked to be about nine, Abner Marsh thought as he stood blinking outside the captain’s cabin, after Joshua had locked the door behind him. The morning was dismal; hot and muggy, with a heavy gray overcast that hid the sun. Soot and smoke from steamers on the river hung in the air. There’s going to be a storm, Abner Marsh thought, and the prospect was one he found disheartening. He was suddenly aware of how little sleep he’d gotten, and felt inutterably tired, but there was so much to do that he dared not even consider a nap.

He descended to the main saloon, figuring that breakfast would give him some spirit. He drank a gallon of hot black coffee while Toby cooked him up some boiled beefcakes and waffles, with blueberries on the side. As he was eating, Jonathon Jeffers entered the saloon, saw him, and came striding over to the table.

“Sit down and eat somethin’,” Marsh said. “Want to have a long talk with you, Mister Jeffers. Not here, though. Better wait till I’m through and then go to my cabin.”

“Fine,” Jeffers replied, in a distracted sort of way. “Cap’n, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for hours. You weren’t in your cabin.”

“Joshua and I were chattin’,” Marsh said. “What…?”

“There’s a man here to see you,” Jeffers said. “He came aboard in the middle of the night. He’s very insistent.”

“Don’t like to be kept around waitin’, like I’m some no-count trash,” the stranger said. Marsh hadn’t even seen the man enter. Without so much as a by-your-leave, the man pulled out a chair and sat down. He was an ugly, haggard-looking cuss, his long face cratered by the pox. Thin, limp brown hair hung down in strands across his forehead. His complexion was unhealthy, and patches of hair and skin were covered by scaly white flakes, like he’d been in his own private snowfall. Yet he wore an expensive black broadcloth suit, and a ruffled white shirtfront, and a cameo ring.

Abner Marsh didn’t care for his looks, his tone, the flat press of his lips, his ice-colored eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he said gruffly. “You better have a damn good reason for botherin’ me at breakfast, or I’ll have you chucked over the damn side.” Just saying so made Marsh feel somewhat better. He’d always figured there was no use being a steamboat captain if you couldn’t tell somebody to go to hell once in a while.

The stranger’s sour expression changed not a flicker, but he fixed his icy eyes on Marsh with a kind of smirking malice. “I’m goin’ to be takin’ passage on this fancy raft of yours.”

“The hell you are,” Marsh said.

“Shall I call Hairy Mike to deal with this ruffian?” Jeffers offered coolly.

The man looked at the clerk with brief contempt. His eyes moved back to Marsh. “Cap’n Marsh, I come last night to bring you an invite, for you and your partner. Figured one o’ you, at least, be out and about by night. Well, it’s day now, so it’ll have to be tonight instead. Dinner at the St. Louis, along about an hour past sunset, you and Cap’n York.”