York, "I wasn't suggesting that. I had in mind something like Dark Lady, or-"
"I had somethin' in mind myself," Marsh said. "We're Fevre River Packets, after all, and this boat is all I ever dreamed come true." He lifted his hickory stick and pointed at the wheelhouse. "We'll put it right there, big blue and silver letters, real fancy. Fevre Dream." He smiled. "Fevre Dream against the Eclipse, they'll talk about that race till all of us are dead."
For a moment, something strange and haunted moved in Joshua York's gray eyes. Then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. "Fevre Dream," he said. "Don't you think that choice a bit... oh, ominous? It suggests sickness to me, fever and death and twisted visions. Dreams that... dreams that should not be dreamed, Abner."
Marsh frowned. "I don't know about that. I like it."
"Will people ride in a boat with such a name? Steamboats have been known to carry typhoid and yellow fever. Do we wish to remind them of such things?"
"They rode my Sweet Fevre," Marsh said. "They ride the War Eagle, and the Ghost, even boats named after Red Indians. They'd ride her."
The gaunt, pale one named Simon said something then, in a voice that rasped like a rusty saw and a language strange to Marsh, though it was not the one Smith and Brown babbled in. York heard him and his face took on a thoughtful cast, though it still seemed troubled. "Fevre Dream," he said again. "I had hoped for a-a healthier name, but Simon has made a point to me. Have your way then, Abner. The Fevre Dream she is."
"Good," Marsh said.
York nodded absently. "Let us meet tomorrow for dinner at the Galt House. At eight. We can make plans for our voyage to St. Louis, discuss crew and provisioning, if that is agreeable to you."
Marsh voiced a gruff assent, and York and his companions went off toward their boat, vanishing into the mists. Long after they had gone Marsh stood in the boatyards, staring at the still, silent steamer. "Fevre Dream," he said loudly, just to test the taste of the words on his tongue. But oddly, for the first time, the name seemed wrong in his ears, fraught with connotations he did not like. He shivered, unaccountably cold for a moment, then snorted and set off for bed.
Chapter Four
Aboard the Steamer FEVRE DREAM, Ohio River, July
HEADACHE or no, Abner Marsh was too good a riverman to sleep away the day, especially a day as important as this one. He sat up in bed around eleven, after a scant few hours sleep, splashed some tepid water on his face from the basin on the nightstand, and dressed. There was work to be done, and York wouldn't be up and around till dusk. Marsh set his cap on his head, scowled at himself in the mirror and fluffed out his beard a little, then gathered up his walking stick and lumbered on down from the texas to the boiler deck. He visited the washrooms first, then ducked back to the kitchen. "Missed breakfast, Toby," he said to the cook, who was already preparing dinner. "Have one of your boys fix me up a half-dozen eggs and a slab of ham, and sent it on up to the texas, will you? Coffee, too. Lots of coffee."
In the grand saloon, Marsh had a quick drink or two, which made him feel somewhat better. He mumbled a few polite words at passengers and waiters, then hastened back to the texas to wait for his food.
After he'd eaten, Abner Marsh felt like his old self again.
He climbed on up to the pilot house after breakfast. The watch had changed, and the other pilot was at the wheel, with only one of the freeloaders keeping him company. "Morning, Mister Kitch," Marsh said to his pilot. "How's she drawin'?"
"I ain't complainin'," the pilot replied. He glanced at Marsh. "This here boat of yours is a frisky one, Cap'n. You take her down to New Orleans, you better get yourself some good pilots. She takes a good hand at the wheel, she does."
Marsh nodded. That wasn't unexpected; frequently the faster boats were hard to handle. It didn't bother him. No pilot who didn't know what he was about was going to get anywhere near the Fevre Dreams's wheel.
"What kind of time we makin'?" Marsh asked.
"Smart enough," the pilot replied with a shrug. "She can do better, but Mister Daly said you weren't