to travel in luxury on the old Eli Reynolds, you're going to be awful sore when you come on board. She's a rackety old tub with some pretty poor accommodations, and most times she's full of foreigners taking deck passage to one unlikely place or the other. I ain't been on her in two years-old Cap'n Yoerger runs her for me now-but last time I rode her, she smelled pretty bad. You want luxury, you ought to see about buying into the Eclipse or the John Simonds."
Joshua York sipped at his wine, and smiled. "I did not have the Eli Reynolds in mind, Captain Marsh."
"She's the only boat I got."
York set down his wine. "Come," he said, "let us settle up here. We can proceed up to my room, and discuss matters further."
Marsh made a weak protest-the Planters' House offered an excellent dessert menu, and he hated to pass it up. York insisted, however.
York's room was a large, well-appointed suite, the best the hotel had to offer, and usually reserved for rich planters up from New Orleans. "Sit," York said commandingly, gesturing Marsh to a large, comfortable chair in the sitting room. Marsh sat, while his host went into an inner chamber and returned a moment later, bearing a small iron-bound chest. He set it on a table and began to work the lock. "Come here," he said, but Marsh had already risen to stand behind him. York threw back the lid.
"Gold," Marsh said softly. He reached out and touched the coins, running them through his fingers, savoring the feel of the soft yellow metal, the gleam and the clatter of it. One coin he brought to his mouth and tasted. "Real enough," he said, spitting. He chunked the coin back in the chest.
"Ten thousand dollars in twenty-dollar gold coins," York said. "I have two other chests just like it, and letters of credit from banks in London, Philadelphia, and Rome for sums considerably larger. Accept my offer, Captain Marsh, and you shall have a second boat, one far grander than your Eli Reynolds. Or perhaps I should say that we shall have a second boat." He smiled.
Abner Marsh had meant to turn down York's offer. He needed the money bad enough, but he was a suspicious man with no use for mysteries, and York asked him to take too much on faith. The offer had sounded too good; Marsh was certain that danger lay hidden somewhere, and he would be the worse for it if he accepted. But now, staring at the color of York's wealth, he felt his resolve weakening. "A new boat, you say?" he said weakly.
"Yes," York replied, "and that is over and above the price I would pay you for a half-interest in your packet line."
"How much..." Marsh began. His lips were dry. He licked them nervously. "How much are you willin' to spend to build this new boat, Mister York?"
"How much is required?" York asked quietly.
Marsh took up a handful of gold coins, then let them rattle through his fingers back into the chest. The gleam of them, he thought, but all he said was, "You oughtn't carry this much about with you, York. There's scoundrels would kill you for one of them coins."
"I can protect myself, Captain," York said. Marsh saw the look in his eyes and felt cold. He pitied the robber who tried to take Joshua York's gold.
"Will you take a walk with me? On the levee?"
"You haven't given me my answer, Captain."
"You'll get your answer. Come first. Got something I want you to see."
"Very well," York said. He closed the lid of the chest, and the soft yellow gleam faded from the room, which suddenly seemed close and dim.
The night air was cool and moist. Their boots sent up echoes as they walked the dark, deserted streets, York with a limber grace and Marsh with heavy authority. York wore a loose pilot's coat cut like a cape, and a tall old beaver hat that cast long shadows in the light of the half-moon. Marsh glared at the dark alleys between the bleak brick warehouses, and tried to present an aspect of solid, scowling strength sufficient to scare off ruffians,
The levee was crowded with steamboats, at least forty of them tied up to landing posts and wharfboats. Even at this hour all was not quiet. Huge stacks of freight threw black shadows in the moonlight, and they passed roustabouts lounging against crates and bales of hay, passing a bottle from hand