perform, the silver content of the coin allayed them. "You got yourself a argument, brother," said one, "But if the Guards shows up, we gone."
"Go with my blessings," said January. Two minutes later, walking up Rue de l'Hopital in the thick hot twilight. he thought, Idiot. You shouldn't have paid them in advance.
The tract of land on which the Lalaurie house was built had only been sold off by the Ursuline nuns a few years ago, and though fewer than five streets separated it from the noise and taverns of the levee, it was an area attractive to the wealthy in quest of lots on which to build houses larger than those close to the center of the old town. Several houses were in various stages of construction on the opposite side of the street in the direction of the levee heaps of bricks and timber lying between the half-erected walls.
The builders' men had gone for the day. January picked his way through the tangle of beams and potholes to the rear wall of the next-door quarters, moved forward until the high wall of the Lalaurie compound was in view, and waited, the pottery jug at his feet.
A little to his surprise, the two carters did exactly as he had asked them. The shorter and darker man pounded on the gate while his gangly, saddle-colored partner held the mule's head. Below the bed of the wagon January could see the bottom of the carriage gate, the gate through which he had been admitted dozens of times last spring and sumtnrr, to give lessons to Louise Marie and Pauline. As he sat waiting a thought crossed his mind, detached and abstract. He had never seen pets in the Lalaurie house. None at all.
The moment he saw the gate open, and saw the polished pumps that had to be Bastien's, he scratched a lucifer match on the brick wall beside him, lit the fuse, left the makeshift bomb (Thank you, Rose-Thank you, Genevi?ve) where it lay, and walked quickly up the downstream side of the street, counting off seconds in his mind.
The carters could have played in Shakespeare at Caldwell's Theatre. Bastien tried to shut the gates; the shorter man held it, arguing volubly. January crossed the street, came down along the wall on the upstream side, inconspicuous in the near-darkness in his rough clothing, seeing now Bastien's sleek black curls, his plump, muscular back in that neat violet livery.
"Now I been told to get the money for this here lime from you, 'cause I paid for it at the dock," the carter was saying, throwing just the slightest hint of inebriated drawl in his voice.
"I'm terribly sorry you were such a fool as to do so illjudged a thing," retorted Bastien, "but this is not my affair and Madame has placed no such order."
"Oh, Madame tells you all about every order she place, does she?" put in the taller carter sarcastically.
"In fact, Madame does." Bastien drew himself up, stung. "I realize it's inconceivable to someone of your sort that-"
At that point, January's homemade bomb went off. There was a crack like a cannon-shot, and a great gout of stinking smoke and burning sawdust bellied forth from behind the wall. To his credit, Bastien jerked the gate shut behind him before running toward the place, only steps behind the shorter carter and any number of idlers from Gallatin Street and the wharves who came pouring up the street at a run. The taller carter was hanging on to the mule's head for dear life as the animal reared and snorted, and as January slipped through the gate and closed it behind him, the man winked and signed him good luck.
The house was tall. Both the main block and the kitchen wing towered three floors, the galleries impenetrable shadow. Lights on the ground floor of the main house, glowing slits through shutters already bolted; none above. If there was a fandango somewhere tonight it was a good guess Madame and her husband were in attendance. Either that or they were out looking up some of Jean Blanque's old slave-trade contacts to dispose of Rose.
Over the wall he could hear men's voices, rough nasal American. Of course at the slightest promise of trouble every drunk filibuster and out-of-work roustabout on Gallatin Street would materialize in minutes, eager for loot or diversion or whatever the confusion might bring. Keeping under the shelter of the kitchen gallery, January headed for the stairs.
The kitchen, as usual, was