Fevre Dream Page 0,7

up on the auction block, but the dark simplicity of her dress set off her figure to good advantage, and she had a beautiful face-big soft eyes and fine cafe-au-lait skin. Julian will like this one.

The bidding was spirited. The planters had no use for such a fancy girl, but six or seven of the Creoles were hot after her. No doubt the other slaves had given Emily some idea what might be in store for her. She was pretty enough to get her freedom, in time, and to be kept by one of those fine Creole dandies in a little house on Ramparts Street, at least until he married. She'd go to the Quadroon Balls in the Orleans Ballroom, wear silk gowns and ribbons, be the cause of more than one duel. Her daughters would have skin even lighter, and grow into the same fine life. Maybe when she got old she'd learn to dress hair or run a boarding house. Sour Billy sipped at his drink, cold-faced.

The bids rose. By $2,000 all but three of the bidders had fallen out. At that point one of them, a swarthy bald-headed man, demanded that she be stripped. The encanteur snapped a curt command, and Emily gingerly undid her dress and stepped out of it. Someone shouted up a lewd compliment that drew a round of laughter from the audience. The girl smiled weakly while the auctioneer grinned and added a comment of his own. Then the bidding resumed.

At $2,500 the bald-headed man dropped out, having gotten his look. That left two bidders, both Creoles, They topped one another three times in succession, forcing the price up to $3,200. Then came the hesitation. The auctioneer coaxed a final bid from the younger of the two men: $3,300.

"Thirty-four hundred," his opponent said quietly. Sour Billy recognized him. He was a lean young Creole named Montreuil, a notorious gambler and duelist.

The other man shook his head; the auction was over. Montreuil was smirking at Emily with anticipation. Sour Billy waited three heartbeats, until the mallet was about to fall. Then he set aside his absinthe glass and said, "Thirty-seven hundred," in a loud clear voice.

Encanteur and girl both looked up in surprise. Montreuil and several of his friends gave Billy dark, threatening looks. "Thirty-eight hundred," Montreuil said.

"Four thousand," said Sour Billy.

It was a high price, even for such a beauty. Montreuil said something to two men standing near him, and the three of them suddenly spun on their heels and strode from the rotunda without another word, their footsteps ringing angrily on the marble.

"It seems like I won the auction," Sour Billy said. "Get her dressed and ready to go." The others were all staring at him.

"But of course!" the encanteur said. Another auctioneer rose at his desk, and with his mallet summoned yet another fancy girl to the attention of the crowd, and the French Exchange began to buzz again.

Sour Billy Tipton led Emily down the long arcade from the rotunda to St. Louis Street, past all the fashionable shops where idlers and wealthy travelers gave them curious looks. As he stepped out into daylight, blinking at the glare, Montreuil came up beside him. "Monsieur," he began.

"Talk English if you want to talk to me," Sour Billy said sharply. "It's Mister Tipton out here, Montreuil." His long fingers twitched, and he fixed the other with his cold ice eyes.

"Mister Tipton," Montreuil said in a flat, unaccented English. His face was vaguely flushed. Behind him, his two companions stood stiffly. "I have lost girls before," the Creole said. "She is striking, but it is nothing, losing her. But I take offense at the way you bid. Mister Tipton. You made a mockery of me in there, taunting me with victory and playing me for a fool."

"Well, well," Sour Billy said. "Well, well."

"You play a dangerous game," Montreuil warned. "Do you know who I am? If you were a gentleman, I would call you out, sir."

"Dueling's illegal, Montreuil," Sour Billy said. "Hadn't you heard? And I'm no gentleman." He turned back to the quadroon girl, who was standing up near the wall of the hotel, watching them. "Come," he said. He walked off down the sidewalk, and she followed.

"You shall be paid in kind for this, monsieur," Montreuil called after him.

Sour Billy paid him no mind and turned a corner. He walked briskly, a swagger in his step that had been absent inside the French Exchange. The streets were where Sour Billy felt at