Ganymede (30 page)

Deaderick didn’t look at her. “Yeah, well. That was your idea, too.”

The ripples lurched, then shifted, and began to move.

The mirrorscope eye swiveled and aimed forward. It cut through the water’s surface cleanly, leaving only a tiny wake to mark its passage. Then it gave another quick dip and retracted again, leaving nothing to indicate that the craft had passed except for the squawk and parting of a group of ducks, bending reeds, and the peculiar sense that something heavy was just out of sight.

“They’re doing it,” she breathed.

“I’ll take the small engine rower and see about guiding them,” said Wallace Mumler, reaching for a rope that hung off the pier’s side. He drew the rope with several long, hard pulls of his arms, looping it between his hand and his elbow, until a little craft was drawn out from its hiding spot under the gray slats. Two long poles were crossed atop it, and cradled in the boat’s bottom was a trumpet-shaped device approximately the size of a tuba.

Mumler jumped down inside the small boat and used the poles to leverage himself across the water in the direction
Ganymede
had gone. Upon locating it, he used one of the poles to pound two whacks against the hull. Then he dropped the horn into the water, holding it by a rubberized tube that ended in an ear-pad shaped like a bun. He held this pad up to the side of his head and hit the ship again.

Then, hearing something he liked, he flashed a thumbs-up signal at the observers on the pier. “They’re good!” he said.

It wasn’t the world’s most sophisticated system, and it wouldn’t work very well when the water was deeper, but the short system of knocks and replies served for training purposes. In case of emergency or more complex communication requirements, Morse code would be the signal—performed with a hammer inside the
Ganymede,
and with one of Mumler’s poles from the surface.

While Josephine watched, there was a moment of concern when the ship dug itself into a submerged bank of silt and mud, but with Wallace’s guidance and some crafty maneuvering within the ship itself,
Ganymede
was extracted and continued its explorations.

After an hour of tense examination, the sun was going low and gold in the sky, and Josephine started to relax.

Ruthie had joined the party sometime before, arriving late because she’d paused to brew herself a cup of coffee before strolling to the scene. She’d watched the proceedings in silence, since there was little to say and, frankly, little to see. But now she raised the question, “Ma’am, should we head back to the Garden Court tonight?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t leave Hazel for too long. She handles herself all right when it comes to being in charge, but she doesn’t like doing it. Besides, if anyone notices we’re both gone, it might not look good—and I don’t want anyone looking too close at the house.” She then asked Chester, “Do you think … it’ll be tomorrow night? Or the night after? We have to move this while the admiral is still within range. Last I heard from Edison Brewster, the
Valiant
will be in the Gulf only until the end of the week. Texas is eyeing it too closely for them to risk staying any longer.”

“Is Texas dumb enough to attack something that big?”

“They attacked Barataria and were successful. That can only make them cockier than they already are. The airship carrier isn’t a sitting duck, but the longer it leaves its anchors down, the more time Texas has to round up trouble.”

Chester nodded unhappily. “I know you’re right, but I don’t like it. We can’t rush this, Josie.”

“We can’t take our own sweet time about it, either,” she warned.

“It can’t be tonight,” he told her. “You’ve got to be patient.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because tonight we have to take her overland. We need to get her into position, to dump her into the river. Then, the night after, we can launch her. There won’t be time to do both, not before sunrise. And moving something that big, it’s dangerous as hell under the best of circumstances. If the sun comes up and catches us, we’ll be found out for sure.”

“Damn it all, I hate it when you’re right. How far is it to the river from here?”

“If we can get the ship a tad north and west of here, it’ll be maybe five miles. But it won’t be five fast miles, and we’ll be mighty conspicuous as we go. The plan is to haul it over to New Sarpy and stash it in one of the warehouses on Clement Street.”

“And it’ll be almost dawn by the time you’re done.”

“If we’re lucky,” he said. “Assuming Rick didn’t use up all the luck we’re owed in one lifetime, eh?”

Deaderick said, “Nah. I’m sure I left some for this week. We might have to scrape the barrel’s bottom for it, but we’ll make it work.”

“Ma’am?” Ruthie asked.

Josephine patted at her hand to reassure her. Then, to the men, she said, “Things are under control here, aren’t they?”

“As controlled as they’re going to get,” said Honeyfolk. “Now it’s up to that crew to figure out what they’re doing. There’s nothing we can do to help from here, so you might as well head back, if that’s what you need to do. We’ll send someone ahead to let you know when we’re coming downriver, and you can catch up to the assist-boats in the Quarter. Someone’ll pick you up.”

“Ruthie, looks like you get your wish—and we’re heading home.”

“
Mais non, madame
. You do not understand. I wish to stay
here
.” She shot Deaderick a protective, almost possessive glance. “I will watch out for the men, eh? Someone has to keep them out of trouble. I will ride with the assist-boats, when they help lead the ship down the river,
d’accord
?”

Under different circumstances, Josephine might’ve put her foot down, but in truth, she didn’t want to leave the men either—and at least Ruthie could send messages, report back, and watch to make sure Deaderick didn’t overexert himself. If Josephine couldn’t remain, Ruthie was the next best thing.

“Fine, Ruthie. That’s fine. And you’ll keep me posted, won’t you? If anything changes, or, or … happens?”

“You know I will.”

An hour later, Norman Somers had deposited Josephine back at the Metairie lot near the street rail station, and shortly after dark, she was back in the Quarter.

Two Texians stopped her about the curfew, but all they did was demand that she find her way indoors. She assured them that she was on a mission to accomplish that very thing, at which point, one of them recognized her and escorted her back to the Garden Court.

She thought about inviting him inside, in gratitude for delivering her back to the house without further stops or inquiries. It was always good to play nice with the men who could shut off her customer base. But not tonight. Instead, she gave him a round of thanks and shut the front door behind herself. Until it was fully closed, her escort struggled to peer past her, then gave up and left when the front room curtains were drawn.

In the lobby, Hazel Bushrod was lurking near the large desk by the stairs, keeping watch for customers. When Josephine walked in, Hazel leaped up from her seat and seized her with a hug. “Oh, ma’am, I’m so glad you’re back!”

“Thank you, Hazel. I’m … I’m glad to be back, too.”

“Liar.”

“No,” said Josephine. “I’m mostly telling the truth. It’s good to be back in a place where it’s not just me and Ruthie in a skirt. The company of men is one thing. The company of men and
only
men … that’s another.”

“How’s Deaderick? Is he—?”

“He’s fine. Or he
will
be fine. He’s up and around too much, that’s for damn sure. If I had my way, he’d be lashed to a bed and forced to rest like a civilized man who’s recovering from a pair of bullet holes … not running the show as a member of the walking wounded.”

Hazel raised an eyebrow and asked, “You left Ruthie at the camp?”

“She insisted.”

“Then he might get lashed to a bed yet.”

“Oh, you stop it,” Josephine said, but she smiled. And she added, “But I want to thank you for sending Cly out, like you did. He was as well prepared as anyone could expect, and I appreciate it. But now that I’m back, I don’t suppose you could cover things for me just a few minutes longer, could you? I’m absolutely filthy from that camp, and if I don’t get a bath soon, I’ll chase away whatever customers we have left, now that this damn curfew is taking hold and sticking.”

An hour later she was back, freshly dressed and feeling fully human once more. Her hair was pinned and free of leaf litter or moss scraps, and there was no more peat beneath her fingernails.

Hazel was no longer alone in the lobby.

On the love seat under the frontmost window, much to Josephine’s surprise, Fenn Calais was happily chattering with Marie Laveau.

At first impression, they nattered as if they’d known each other for a lifetime already, but as Josephine descended the stairs and overheard more of the conversation, she realized that impression was misleading. It was a “getting to know you” chat of the strangest sort—the elderly voudou queen and the somewhat less elderly Texian, who was testing out his precious few words of French and getting a friendly, giggling reaction from the woman. She corrected him gently.

“
Non,
Mr. Calais. You
spell
the
t
on the end, but you do not
say
it. You let the word end a few letters from its conclusion. Say it again:
vraiment
. Say it, and don’t close your mouth at the end to make the
t
sound. It’s not so hard,
vraiment,
” she added with a wink.

“Ma’am, I just can
not
do it to save my life. I think the French are the only folks on earth who are harder on their vowels than us Southerners. And if I never master it,
c’est la vie
!”

She laughed and said, “Now I
know
you’ve only been teasing!” Then, upon seeing Josephine, stalled and perplexed on the bottom stair, she said, “Ah, my dear. There you are. Hazel told me you were in the bath.”

“Madame Laveau, yes. Hello. Welcome to the Garden Court. Can I … can I get you anything?”

“
Non,
sweet dear. Only your time, if I might impose.”

“At any time. Ever.”

Fenn took this as his cue to relocate, saying, “I suppose Delphine is starting to wonder where I’ve gone off to. Perhaps I’ll just rejoin her.”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Calais,” Josephine told him, never taking her eyes off the woman ensconced on the firmly padded seat. When Fenn was gone, she took his place. She did not bother to ask how her visitor made it past the curfew. Instead she asked, “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

Mrs. Laveau took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m here because you’ll be receiving a visitor, any minute now. A gentleman.”

“This
is
a certain kind of business,” she murmured, half joking but half nervous, too.

“Not a customer, a
visitor
. And I’m not telling your fortune, dear one. I’m here to prepare you for the introduction. He’s a man you’re likely to treat with hostility, insofar as you’re able. But I’m here to tell you, you
must not
do that.”

“I don’t understand.” Josephine frowned over at Hazel, who looked back anxiously.

“He’s a Texian. But he’s no part of your … present interests. He wishes to consult you, about the Dead Who Walk.”

“Ma’am Laveau, I try hard to be a hostess, and in this city that means I am compelled to be civil to many Texians, whether I like it or not. I’m sure I can find it in my heart to be polite to this one. Why is he coming here? Why would he think I know anything about the zombis?”

“He’s a Ranger, dearest. An investigating man, for a matter requiring careful investigation. And he’s coming here because I suggested it,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning close. She held Josephine’s hand tighter, and Hazel drew in her breath with a tiny gasp—reminding them both that she was in the room.

The hands that clasped Josephine’s were as thin as twigs, despite the woman’s otherwise stout appearance. Gas lamplight twinkled on the silver of her rings, and on the red, blue, and green of the gems or colored glass found therein. The queen smelled like sandalwood and sage, feathers and dust. And in her eyes, sunken with age, there smoldered a deep, grim light.

“Child, do you know how long I’ve walked this world?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Eighty years, give or take, as the Lord gives—and the Lord takes. I do not think I shall live to enjoy another one.”

“Ma’am, don’t talk that way.”

She released Josephine’s fingers and gave them a loving pat. “Why not? Such is the way of things, isn’t it? Time turns us all, and I’ve danced longer than many. I do not regret a single tune.” Her smile slipped, only a little. She restored it and continued. “But that’s why you must speak to this Ranger. He will help you, when I’m gone.”

“Ma’am, I am very confused. A Ranger?”