“Only that it happened, and the surviving bay boys are digging themselves out as best they can. Texas didn’t get everybody—a bunch of the brighter fellows holed up in the old Spanish fort, and rode it out that way. But the place has been done a real blow. It’s a shame. ” Kirby shook his head. “There ought to be some kind of exemption, for someplace with such a long and colorful history. ”
“You think they ought to leave it alone, just because it’s been there awhile?”
“Something like that. Mostly I want to get liquor without paying taxes six ways from Sunday, but a man can’t have everything like he wants it. But I won’t lie to you, Captain. It smells funny to me. Word in the clouds has it, Texas was looking for someone in particular, or something. Nobody knows what. Or if anybody does, nobody’s talking. ”
If no one was talking to Kirby Troost, it must be a secret piece of information indeed.
Andan Cly sat down on the ship’s steps, which were unlatched and dangling down. His sudden weight made the stairs sway, until they settled against the ground beneath him.
Troost sat beside him. He pulled out a canteen and took a swig of something that wasn’t water, and he asked, “Our business wasn’t with the bay, though, was it?”
“Nope. We’re running for the city, and I’m going to swing by the Vieux Carré to … help out an old friend. ”
“An old friend?”
“She wants me to make a short trip for her. ”
“She does, does she? I don’t guess you have any more details than that. ”
Cly shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It should be real quick. ”
“We flying Miss Naamah?”
“I don’t think so. But when I do know, I’ll pass it on. Until then, don’t worry about it. ”
Kirby took another swig. “All right, then. I won’t. ”
And back into the sky they went, into the currents and clouds that would take them the rest of the way south, the rest of the way to the Gulf.
Seven
The blower was a flat-bottom boat that sat high on top of the water, like a very small barge. Barely big enough to hold all three passengers without dipping below the rippling waterline, the craft shuddered until everyone sat very still. Behind them, a large diesel-powered fan loomed like a tombstone.
No one said anything until Josephine stated the obvious. “We’ll need something bigger to bring Deaderick out, won’t we?”
Ruthie shivered and drew her jacket closer around her shoulders, but said, “To be sure, but we can find something bigger on the island, non?”
“Sure,” Gifford agreed. “We’ll find something. ”
“Something that still floats, or still flies,” Josephine muttered. “They can’t have grounded or sunk everything. ”
“Yes, ma’am, I think you’re right,” he said. But something in his voice said he was afraid they were all wrong, and this wasn’t going to work at all. His small electric torch sputtered, and he turned it off, leaving them all in absolute darkness except for the moon overhead, halfway full and surrounded by a fogged-white halo.
Suddenly the crickets and frogs seemed very loud, and the buzzing drone of a million night bugs hummed against the background splashes of tiny wet things moving in and out of the water, up and down the currents, around the tree-tall blades of jutting grass.
“Does this thing have any lights of its own?” Josephine wanted to know.
Gifford Crooks leaned across her knees, saying, “Excuse me, ma’am—and yes, she does. Good ones, even. ”
“Better than your flambeau?”
“Much better. This is a rum-runner, you know. ” He lifted a panel and threw a small switch.
With the faint click and a fizz of electricity, a wash of low, gold light blossomed at the front of the boat.
At the fan’s base, a rip cord dangled from a flywheel. He gave it a yank and the engine sputtered; a second fierce tug and it grumbled to life. The fluttering gargle was terrifyingly loud, and the rushing suck of the blades made their hair billow backwards. Gifford Crooks adjusted the throttle, lowering the speed and dampening the drone until it was a low, throaty putter.
“Hang on, ladies. It’s going to get bumpy. And damp. Sorry. ”