"and Robert has gone off to bring back Doctor Moore to attend to the other two. Sally will take care of'em in the meanwhile. No sense you frettin', Cap'n. Maybe you'd like to rest up, too. You've been through a lot, losin' your steamboat and all those friends of yours."
"Yeah," said Abner Marsh. No sooner had the suggestion been made than Marsh felt incredibly weary. He hadn't slept in something like thirty hours now. "I'd appreciate that," he said.
"Show him to a room, Jim," the planter said. "And Cap'n, Robert will pay a call on the undertaker, too. For that unfortunate woman. Most tragic, most. What did you say her name was?"
"Valerie," Marsh said. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what last name she'd been using. "Valerie York," he improvised.
"She'll get a good Christian burial," Gray said, "unless you want to take her to her family, perhaps?"
"No," said Marsh, "no."
"Fine. Jim, take Cap'n Marsh upstairs. Put him near that poor burned-up friend of his."
"Yessuh, Daddy."
Marsh hardly bothered glancing at the room they gave him. He slept like a log.
When he woke, it was dark.
Marsh sat up in bed stiffly. The rowing had taken its toll. His joints creaked when he moved, he had a terrible cramp in his shoulders, and his arms felt like somebody had beaten on them with a big oak club. He groaned and edged slowly to the side of the mattress, lowering his bare feet to the floor. Every step sent pains through him as he went to the window and opened it wide to let some cool night air into the room. Outside was a small stone balcony, and beyond it a fringe of China trees and the fields, desolate and empty in the moonlight. In the distance Marsh could make out the dim glow of the bagasse, still sending up its veil of smoke. Beyond it, only a faint glimmering from here, was the river.
Marsh shivered, closed the window and went back to bed. It was chilly in the room now, so he pulled the blankets over himself and rolled onto his side. The moonlight etched darks and shadows everywhere, and the furniture, all strange to him, became stranger still in the faint light. He could not sleep, He found himself thinking of Damon Julian and the Fevre Dream, and worrying about whether the steamer was still where he'd left her. He thought of Valerie as well. He had gotten a good look at her when they'd pulled her out from under the yawl, and she hadn't been a pretty sight. You'd never have thought that she'd been beautiful, pale and graceful and sensual, with those great violet eyes. Abner Marsh felt sorry for her, and thought that was strange of him, seeing as how it was only last night around this time that he'd tried to kill her with that buffalo gun of his. The world was an awful queer place, he thought, when so goddamned much could change in a day.
Finally he slept again.
"Abner" came the whisper, disturbing his dreams. "Abner" came the voice, calling, "let me in."
Abner Marsh sat up suddenly. Joshua York was standing on his balcony, rapping on the glass of his window with a pale, scarred hand.
"Hold on," Marsh said. It was still black outside and the house was quiet. Joshua smiled as Marsh climbed out of bed and padded toward him. His face was lined with cracks and fissures, husks of dying skin. Marsh opened the doors to the balcony, and Joshua stepped through, wearing his sad white suit, all stained and rumpled now. It wasn't until he was in the room that Abner Marsh remembered the empty bottle he'd tossed into the river. He stepped back suddenly. "Joshua, you ain't... you ain't thirstin', are you?"
"No," said Joshua York. His gray cloak moved and curled in the wind that rustled through the open balcony doors. "I did not want to break the lock, or the glass. Do not be afraid, Abner."
"You're better," Marsh said, looking at him. York's lips were still cracked, his eyes were sunk in deep purple-black pits, but he was much improved. At noon he'd looked like death.
"Yes," Joshua said. "Abner, I've come to take my leave."
"What?" Marsh was flabbergasted. "You can't leave."
"I must, Abner. They saw me, whoever owns this plantation. I have a vague memory of being treated by a doctor. Tomorrow I will be healed. What will they think then?"
"What will they think when they go to bring you