"With magic, people are looking for the trick that is fooling them. What I do is give them a little help fooling themselves."
"Go on," Valentine said, interested.
"You're walking down a dark street and you hear someone following. Merde! When you turn around, would you rather see a policeman or, better yet, your neighbor following behind? But of course. As you turn, you hope, you pray, it is not a thug or worse. These men on the river, even the patrols, they do not want trouble. They like to meet bargemen they know, friends who bring the good sweet liqueurs of Mexico and Curaçao, gold even, or silks from the Pacific Rim and Brazil that they have obtained in New Orleans."
Valentine took another mouthful of neat bourbon. Was the captain presenting him with what he wanted to see? Did he want to see an unkempt, out-of-shape boatman with a sweat-yellowed cap and grease stains on his knees and chest?
Valentine supposed he did. Older, weathered, an experienced man who'd lived long on the river and attended to his engines even at the cost of some mess, Mantilla had Valentine's respect. Even a little flab added to the secure image; Mantilla enjoyed his food. Then there was the keen, roving eye from the face Mantilla never quite turned directly toward you. Canny, with part of his mind on you, part of it on ship or river or weather. "Handy trick," Valentine said. "I don't suppose you could teach me the knack."
"When you work up the guts to look into your own mind and come to terms with what's living there, then you can come to me and speak of venturing into others' minds."
Valentine saw two more examples of Mantilla's trickery at a Kurian river station near Memphis when the captain stopped to pick up a few spare parts for his barge and some diesel for the motors, and then again outside Paducah, where their ship was inspected again. Two men went down into the barge hold ahead, and Valentine held his breath until they emerged, yawning.
Half a day later they approached Evansville and Henderson across the river. No bridge spanned the river anymore, but there were plenty of small craft on both sides. They scattered as the tug approached.
"Your boys close the river? Do I have to worry about artillery gunning for me?" Mantilla asked Valentine, who was standing with him on the bridge.
"No. Not a lot of traffic up and down the Ohio except food. We don't want to starve anyone. But I'd better go first in your launch and send some people down to the landing, just in case. We'll need all our motor resources to unload the cargo."
Valentine was met by a pair of Wolf scouts who took him up to an artillery spotter with a field phone. They'd made some progress with the communications grid in his absence. Perhaps his old "shit detail" had done the work. They didn't fight like Bears, but they had an interesting skill set. He called operations and reported the arrival of supplies from Southern Command. The hatchet men weren't worth calling reinforcements, so he called them specialists.
With that done, he returned to Mantilla's tug.
"We have some odds and ends needing transport back," Valentine said. "Sick and lamed men." Also a few who wanted out of it and were willing to take a dishonorable discharge to get away as soon as they could.
"Some might have to ride in the shell if there are too many. I'll need food for them, if there are many."
"That can be arranged."
"Then I'll be happy to offer transport back. In Paducah they will be surprised to see me again so soon."
"Captain Mantilla, once more I'm in your debt," Valentine said.
Mantilla pushed his hat back on his head. "It's my pleasure to aid a Saint-Valentine."
"It's just Valentine. As you can probably tell, I am about as Italian as I am Afghan."
Or does he know my mother was named Saint Croix? Valentine wondered.
"I've one more favor to ask. Do you know anyone on the river who can get a message up to St. Louis? There's a big church there that tends to the human population and the Grog captives. Slaves, I guess you'd call them. I have a friend near there that they help now and then."
"I'd be honored to bring a message to Sissy."
"Sissy?"
"Isn't that what you call Narcisse?"
"Do you know her?"
Mantilla dropped his chin so his eyes fell into shadow again. "Almost as well as you do, Major Valentine."
Fort Seng: Javelin landed and set up housekeeping within earshot of its victory against the Moondaggers on the banks of the Ohio.
In the hills just outside of Henderson, which is now mostly a ghost town, a thickly wooded old state park is now more state than park. Named after the naturalist, the Audubon State Park has changed hands several times in the past year.
Briefly used as a headquarters by the Moondaggers, the park was captured by Javelin almost intact, complete with supply depots and communications gear.
They were attracted by the clean water, space, cabins, and utility buildings. Just off the highway, near the entrance of the camp, is a set of impressive stone buildings constructed from the plentiful limestone of the area's land.