by John Brunner
Under normal circumstances he would have been annoyed. This soon before leaving port, the boy should have been busy at his bills of lading. For once he had done the right thing. Making sure he was observed, Drew gave a vastly exaggerated wink. A sense of confidence was growing in him. He felt, looming at the edge of awareness, a possible ideal solution to the predicament he was in.
And that was something which, half an hour ago, he would never have believed.
The hilarity around him, though, was making Cherouen fume for the affront to his dignity. He burst out, “Captain, you know damned well the Grammonts are reliable. Hell, you took their pay before!”
“Sure I did,” Drew said with equanimity. And waited. He had a reason. Thanks to five years’ intermittent observation of Barber, he had learned to read the latter’s face much as he read a stretch of river.
And some such unconscious clue as those which had made him a master pilot had prompted him to conclude, the moment Barber and Cherouen appeared, that what was worth hearing would come from the former.
Cherouen blasted on, “So what the devil are you doing just standing there instead of—?”
A tap on his arm from Barber interrupted. “Doctor, I think I know Captain Drew better than you do.”
The hint was taken, but Cherouen looked more furious than ever as he glanced at the wharf, seeming to search for something not yet in sight.
“What’s he expecting?”
The quiet question came from Fernand, who had made his way to Drew’s side. But the captain had no time to mention the equipment referred to in the telegram before Barber was launched on a patently prepared speech.
“Hosea, you need look no further than your own chimneys to learn why Dr. Cherouen is appealing to us and not to Woodley!” He flung up his arm, and automatically the eyes of those aboard and ashore followed his movement, fixing their gaze on the gilded antlers that swung between the smokestacks. “Far be it from me to judge the merits of competing schools of medicine, but this I do believe: no matter who the parents of a sick child may be, that child deserves the finest care doctors and nurses can provide! But”—the shift of tone was perfectly timed—“all researchers at the forefront of discovery need support, doctors as much as those pioneers who design and develop new steamers, new machines and tools, new reapers and—and lathes and saws!”
His partner’s head of steam, Drew privately decided, was not quite adequate for the run he had undertaken. That also lent him confidence.
But Barber’s peroration was impassioned enough, and made more than just Cherouen nod vigorous approval. The officers and crew of the Atchafalaya, for weeks past, had basked in popular approbation; it had given them a taste for flattery, and for a boat to set out to break her own record, rather than a rival’s, was almost unprecedented, so that was warranted to raise their status even higher. Without another word being spoken, Drew knew he had their full support.
Meditatively he said, looking down at the deck, “Dr. Cherouen, is it true your methods can cure any disease?”
“I trust I have too much humility to make such a ridiculous claim,” was the stiff reply. “But I can safely state that they have shown remarkable results in cases which other medical men had given up as hopeless.”
“You employ some sort of machinery?”
“Electrical machines, sir. Built to my own design. Unique in the world!”
“How much space do they take up—a wagonload, two loads?”
“Ah, you’re going to do it!” Barber exclaimed, clasping his hand with an expression of thankfulness.
Drew glanced at him sharply. “Haven’t said so yet! But I know why you’re so eager to make me!”
Barber smiled uncertainly.
“You’ve been betting on the Atchafalaya all this season, haven’t you? Ever since the Nonpareil started work! I know! They may hate my guts at the Guild parlor, but that’s not the only place on the river where you can hear gossip. You know about the debts my half-brother left, which I had to sweat blood to pay off. And it galls me, sir—galls me!—that half the profit I turn in every season goes to the man poor Jacob died in debt to. Don’t argue with me!”—hefting his stick again, with a scowl. “You’re a partner in my boat by sufferance, not by right. These men around me are the ones who count: the ones who work to make her run. Mr. Fonck!”
“Sir!” The chief engineer stepped forward.
“Are her boilers and her engines sound?”
“As they ever were, Captain! Ah…” He hesitated.
“Except the mud-drum pipe in number four?”
Relieved, Fonck gave a nod.
“And we know about that, and there’s nothing to be done short of laying her up while we break out the furnace floor and make a new one.” Out of the corner of his eye Drew was watching Cherouen. He saw the doctor flinch in the manner of one having second thoughts. And continued, “But she’ll do for normal work?”
“I’m sure of that, sir.”
“Well, then, we’re safe, for everyone knows that Atchafalaya’s fastest runs are part of her normal work, hm?” Without waiting for a reaction, he turned to the carpenter. “Mr. Diamond, how about her hull and upper works? All sound?”
“Yes, sir. But if we’re to match last month’s time, we should strip her glass as we did before, and—”
Drew interrupted. “If it proves necessary, we can do it under way. I’m not convinced anything but her guards and swinging stages offer great resistance to the air. I’ve talked about it with Mr. Lamenthe, and we’re agreed that sometimes it’s better and slicker for the wind to go around.”
“That’s so,” Fernand declared, as with a pointing finger he indicated something Drew had failed to notice. At the foot of the stage where Gross stood guard, several early-arriving passengers were giving instructions for their bags to be unloaded from a carriage. Nearby, a few others were sitting on their belongings for lack of better seats; these were intending to take deck passage and, because they were paying the lowest fare, must put up with being relegated to the last.
Drew took in the situation and shrugged as he continued to the clerks, “Mr. Motley—Mr. Wills—how many passengers have engaged for Ohio ports?”
Motley snapped his fingers at David. “Bring the register, boy!” he ordered. But David started to recite from memory.
“Cabin passengers for Louisville, eight; for Paducah—”
“Captain!” Cherouen cut in. “Are you or are you not going to accept my proposal? If you do, then your passengers will have to find alternative means of travel!”
“I am trying to establish,” Drew answered coldly, “whether it is worth my while from a commercial standpoint. Unlike Mr. Barber, I am not a gambling man. I weigh and calculate my prospects in advance. The same holds for my clerks. Young David’s feat just now will indicate how seriously I and they apply this principle in all departments.”
“Come to the point, man!” Cherouen raged. “Or I shall think your first advice was sound, and I should have gone to Captain Woodley!”
By this time crewmen had gathered from all over the boat, waiters and tenders as well as deckhands, learning in whispers from those first on the scene the reason for this confrontation.
“Doctor,” Drew said after a pause, “I can afford to make the run for you, even though it’ll mean unloading cargo that’s now being brought aboard—on two conditions!”
“What are they?” Cherouen barked.
“First! As soon as you have attended your patient in St. Louis, you will also attend and treat Mrs. Susannah Drew, my sister-in-law. Your usual fee will be met.”
“Done!” Cherouen exclaimed. “I’m always ready to help anybody in distress!”
“Except maybe for Mrs. Parbury?”
“How—?”
The betraying word escaped before Cherouen could change the form of the question into “What the devil do you mean?” instead of “How did you know about that?”—his obvious first intention.
Drew felt a warm
ing sense of power infuse him. Silently he thanked Dorcas for telling him about the errand she had been on when Fernand refound her. For an instant he could have believed that his whole reason for taking on a colored cub against the massed hostility of the river community might have been so that in time he could wield that wounding a weapon against the Electric Doctor.
But he was not going to allow anybody on board who could give him orders, except another pilot during his watch. It had been allowing someone who was not a pilot to give him orders that had been the downfall of Parbury.
Larzenac, in fractured English, had made it clear how indebted he was to the Atchafalaya and her crew for the safe and speedy journey to St. Louis. It was hard to imagine Cherouen deigning to utter thanks. More likely he regarded it as beneath his dignity.
Drew was saved from the need to reply by another interruption from Barber, who said in a soothing tone, “Hosea, you haven’t mentioned your second condition.”
Now for it!
He drew a deep breath, feeling years of principle blow away on the dry hot wind.
“For the first and only time in my life, Langston,” he said—and it was also a first time as he spoke, for never before had he addressed his partner with the informality the other took for granted; mostly he preferred not to address him at all—“I propose to lay a bet. And it’s with you. I bet my half of the Atchafalaya against yours that I can win a race with the Nonpareil. If Dr. Cherouen’s equipment is aboard earlier than five o’clock, then we’ll take a true timing of our run and match it against hers. If we leave together, which right now seems very likely”—he consulted his watch—“because it’s a quarter of three already, and we have considerable freight to off-load… Well, then, we’ll simply run her out.”
“Done!” Barber said at once, “You’re not a gambler, as you say, and what you’ve just done makes that clear. Either way, I gain! If the Nonpareil beats you I’ll have your half of the Atchafalaya. If you win, I’ll clear so much from my own wagers, I shall never miss the pittance I receive from you. Say, what’s happening?”
There was a commotion on the wharf again. Every head turned, to see a wagon laden with machinery of brass and glass, of rubber and iron and gutta-percha. In amazement several onlookers crossed themselves or muttered charms.
Cherouen had been about to remonstrate with Drew, perhaps for not taking seriously his mission of mercy. But the sight of his precious apparatus drove all other thoughts from his head. He dashed back down the landing stage, shouting.
Drew instantly started issuing orders.
“Tom, Jack! Get your hands to work off-loading cargo! Euclid, send to Caudle and tell him he’ll have to make alternative arrangements for it. Roger, go the rounds of the passengers and find out whether they’ll stay with us and take their chance of being put ashore by yawl or coal flat, and if not, refund their fare. Spare me David for a little; I have an errand for him. The rest of you, go make sure she’s in tiptop shape when we cut our line and start to run!”
By this time the news had overflowed to the wharf. Here and there a cheer went up; then suddenly there was a roar of exultation from the bowels of the Atchafalaya herself, signifying that word had reached the firemen. They too shared in the status the steamer had achieved and were as eager as her officers for further glory. Tension made the air as electric as any of Cherouen’s machines.
When the officers and crew had melted away to their duties, except for Fernand, Tyburn, and David Grant, Barber stared at Drew in puzzlement.
“I kind of get the idea,” he said at length, “you were expecting this.”
“When you can’t dodge any more, there ain’t nothing you can do but beat the daylights out of the bastard picking on you,” said Drew.
“Meaning me?” Barber exclaimed. “Hosea, I assure you—”
“Don’t give yourself such airs!” Drew glanced toward the Nonpareil; it was clear the news had reached her, for the crew was galvanized into frantic activity. “I don’t mean you. Nor Cato Woodley, either—the lousy punk! He may think he’s a man, but I won’t credit it until he does something men do, like making up his own mind. No, it’s Parbury who’s after me. Always has been. Can’t say I blame him, I guess, but—oh, hell, you know he didn’t want the Nonpareil just to earn a decent living. He wants her to hold the horns for every trade in the river. And what does she have so far? A few odds and ends it wasn’t worth my time to go collect! Now, today, he’s going to be satisfied. He and you have forced the race I didn’t want.”
“But I assure you, ever since Mardi Gras I’ve been—”
“You’ve been saying one thing and hoping for the other! Don’t waste breath on denying it! You’re a gambler like I’m a riverman. It’s in the blood and bone!”
“As you say,” Barber sighed, and added, “When do you think you’ll get away?”
“I told you already: as soon as the cargo we don’t want is on the wharf. Won’t be much before five.”
Barber inclined his head. “Very well. You have staterooms to spare, presumably. I’ll take one; Dr. Cherouen another, and his chief nurse a third. I believe I see her over there by the wagon.”
“Apply to Mr. Motley,” was Drew’s chill response. “You’d best be quick. By the look of it, Eli is having trouble standing off an assault by the sporting fraternity. Any friends of yours among them? I guess there may be.”
Indeed, at the foot of the stage Gross—who had just been joined by Wills—was being besieged by people of all walks in life: a couple of young men, well dressed; two or three older and shabbier, apparently after work; a woman whose heavily painted face suggested she might not follow the most respectable of occupations, along with a man whose dress and manner were contrastingly quiet, perhaps a professional sharper who had realized, like her, that as soon as a boat was committed to race it must attract a lot of wealthy bored young men…
“I suggest you make those reservations right away, Mr. Barber,” Tyburn said softly. “Looks like there’s going to be pressure on space.”
Still the other hesitated, bracing himself to put an all-important question. At last it emerged with the suddenness of a champagne cork.
“Hosea, the Nonpareil’s the newer boat. With all respect to Mr. Tyburn and—ah—Mr. Lamenthe, and of course yourself, thanks to Parbury’s influence in the Guild Woodley can call on the best pilots on the Mississippi, and reportedly he’s done so. Moreover he’s refused freight or passengers for any way-landing. What makes you so damned confident?”
“I’ve done it before,” was Drew’s curt reply.
“Yes, but—”
“Okay,” the captain cut in. “I’m devious—is that what you want to be told? I believe in precautions. On our downriver trip after taking the horns, I left messages at every place where we refueled coming up. My agents are instructed to make exactly the same preparations for any later run, on receipt of one word by telegraph. David! Get the cable addresses of our agents—unless you know them by heart, too—and run like blazes to the telegraph office. The word you have to send is expedition. Got that? Go!”
The boy grinned in wholly uncharacteristic fashion. Then, even more surprisingly, he bounced high in the air and turned a cartwheel along the deck. A gang of hands busy with miscellaneous freight gave him a cheer. There was suddenly a festive atmosphere aboard the Atchafalaya. It did not in the least accord with Cherouen’s view of the solemnity of his mission.
“You’re on a won bet,” Drew said sourly to Barber. “And much as I regret it, so am I.”
For a long while before he was able to resume his duties Fernand stood like a man in a trance, staring out over the familiar riverside view as though seeing it for the first time.
Never had he expected that this moment would befall him. To be a pilot on a racing steamer!
And if the Atchafalaya did win, why, from then on for the rest of his career he would be able to command the highest rates on any of the western rivers. Even if his boat lost, the publicity alone would be
enough to transform his circumstances.
What it boiled down to was that his chance of marrying Dorcas had suddenly come a year closer.
He had scarcely seen her since Mardi Gras, though frequent notes assured him it was not because of coldness on her part. On the occasions they had been able to steal a few hours together, she had explained. Her mistress’s condition was deteriorating, and in parallel motion with it Parbury’s demands grew more fretful and insistent, as though he were becoming senile enough to resent that his wife should enjoy more of their servants’ attention than he did. Sleeping together again was out of the question. Not one night went by without Parbury or his wife ringing for some sort of service: a drink, something to eat, a visit to the commode.
And Fibby was not well enough to cope alone. She had developed a growth in her abdomen and was in constant pain except when she took medicine obtained from a friend, which seemed mostly to be alcohol and opium and made her vague and forgetful.
At least, so Dorcas had assured him, Parbury’s attentions had become no more unbearable, and for putting up with them he sometimes gave her presents. It dismayed Fernand that his future wife should be augmenting her portion this way; however, when he remonstrated she reminded him that it would bring their wedding day nearer, and no price was too great to be rid of the Parburys once for all.
Already, because this season was going well, Fernand knew he could afford to set her up with at least one servant in a house at least the match of Parbury’s. But this she had refused. She wanted to make certain their first home was a splendid one, befitting a top pilot. It looked as though she had once more been proven right. By this time next week…!
Old dreams as well as new surfaced in Fernand’s mind. He recalled his long-ago intention to invite his mother aboard one of the steamers he had charge of, and for a while he toyed with the notion of sending for her, and indeed Dorcas too.
But Drew’s sober, calculating attitude stood as a model for him now, for he had seen its effects. He knew such distraction could be fatal. For this trip he must concentrate his mind absolutely. Better to return in triumph and be greeted like a hero home from the wars.