Ganymede (The Clockwork Century 3)

She cut him off. “What do you care who sneaks where, so long as we can pay? We’ve left the Quarter with Texas’s permission,” she lied outright. “We need a ride, and we have money. Get on your seat and drive us. ”

“Now, that’s no way to talk to—”

“If you’re not interested, we’ll just ask one of those other gentlemen over there. ”

“Nobody said I wasn’t interested. But you fine … folks,” he said as Gifford and Ruthie emerged from the shadows of the cross street. “You can get an old feller in trouble! We’re not supposed to move nowhere, not without a note from the new man’s office. ”

“We have no such note. If you won’t drive us, we’ll try the next man in line. ”

Ruthie stepped forward, positioning herself so that her very best angles were lit by the grimy, fog-smeared light. She pushed herself very close into the driver’s space, and he recoiled, but only in a perfunctory manner that was quickly eased by the prostitute’s pretty smile.

“You wear no ring,” she observed.

“No, miss, I … my wife, she done passed on. She’s a long time gone, God rest her soul. ”

“Then let me sweeten the deal for you, eh, sugar?” She placed one long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand up against the driver’s head and whispered behind it into his ear. The whispering took longer than Josephine liked, but the look on the man’s face told her that whatever Ruthie was promising, it was working.

“I’ll drive you, I’ll drive you!” he stammered. “That’s a real generous offer, and, and, here. ” He hustled to the side of the carriage and opened the door. “Y’all just climb right up inside and I’ll take you where you’re going. ” He paused. “Where are you going?”

Josephine accepted Gifford’s hand and climbed up onto the carriage’s step, stopping only to say, “Get us to the ferry at Tchoupitoulas. ”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. ”

Gifford crawled in behind her, and both of them settled into an interior that was cramped and dark, but clean. Ruthie poked her head up to the window nearest Josephine and said, “I will ride up front. ”

“Good girl, Ruthie. ”

Gifford sat forward, asking very close to her ear, “Is she … Is she—?”

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know, Mr. Crooks. ” The carriage took off with a lurch. Their heads nearly knocked together, but they dipped away from each other at the last moment. “We are what we are, and we use the tools at our disposal. ”

“But she shouldn’t have to—”

“She chooses to. ” And almost brightly she concluded, “Look, we’re moving—and like the wind, I’ll note. ”

Gifford Crooks settled back against his seat, his face unreadable in the flickering shadows of the gas lamps in the city as it disappeared behind them. Queasily, he said, “I hope our driver can keep his eyes on the road. Not every man can pay attention to two things at once. ”

“True, but I know plenty of women who can—and Ruthie is an excellent horsewoman, should the situation call for it. Don’t worry, Mr. Crooks. Not yet. ”

“So I’m allowed to worry later?”

“Allowed? I’ll positively encourage it. We’re headed to a pirate bay that’s under siege. The night will get worse before it gets better. ”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, unable to hear anything from the driver’s seat and unwilling to speak until the river, where the lights of the ferry and the sound of its steam-driven paddle wheel were a huge relief, though not huge enough to take away any of Josephine’s simmering terror. At any time, her baby brother could die from his wounds—away from home, away from the bayou, with no family and only the rough ministrations of his fellow guerrillas and unwashed privateers to soothe the pain.

She wouldn’t have it. She’d arrive in time, and she would save him.

She squeezed her gun like a talisman, as if it could help her, or help Deaderick—beyond commanding someone to assist him. There might be someone else present—someone with needles, salves, and tinctures. Pirates came from all walks of life, she knew this from experience. A doctor, disgraced from some terrible malpractice. A field medic, having escaped the war. Some foreigner with the training of a different land.

Anything was possible.

She’d heard that North Africans had good medicine, that the worshippers of Muhammad were well trained in math and surgery. The Chinese, too, were known to be great healers, though their medicine was strange to the Western mind.

Pirates didn’t much care about an officer or medic’s race or God, so long as a fellow could patch a body back into a single piece.

For that matter, Josephine mused as she stumbled down from the cab’s step, she’d settle for a woman. A nurse would do in a pinch, if she could find one. If one were so mad as to surround herself with men like those at Barataria.

At the river’s edge, the glowing pier looked like matchsticks against the flowing expanse of the Mississippi, snaking through the night. The river was awesomely black and sparkling, so wide that the other side was not apparent; so powerful that it moved like the monstrous leviathan of legend, undulating south to join the Gulf. It rustled and rushed, making the usual music of water being pushed and churned by the tens of thousands of tons.