by Jane Toombs
"You'll see to buying Mima?" Sherman asked. "She may prove to be have unusual abilities."
Dr. Kellogg nodded. "So you told me. Don't worry, I'll take care of the child." He gripped Sherman's hand. "Remember--think of yourself as Nick Deplacer because Sherman Oso no longer exists."
Nick let go of the doctor's hand reluctantly, feeling he was losing everything, even his identity. He swung onto Rawhide and set off, not looking back. Once again the beast had destroyed his life. Dr. Kellogg had suggested that with time he might return but he knew he never could.
It was a long, hot ride around the lake to the river, skirting swamps, passing several plantations where he saw field workers but no white men. No one approached him.
Near noon he rode though a more settled area where he encountered more people and grew increasingly uneasy as well as warmer under the hot August sun.
Once he thought he caught a flicker of blue energy mixed with the many red glows around him but he couldn't be certain. When no one he passed paid him any more than idle attention he decided he wasn't yet being hunted and his tension eased.
After he reached the wide and swift-flowing Mississippi, he rode north along the levee, remembering how Bony Tail had spoken of the father of rivers as if its existence might be a myth. He'd already traveled farther than the Havasupai had ever gone in his life.
Nick sighed. He doubted if Michigan would be the end of his journeying. A man with his affliction had to lead a nomad's life so he might as well give up his idea of building himself a haven in the wilderness. Sooner or later the beast would jeopardize his safety wherever he went.
He passed a sugar cane plantation with its own river landing and, between a long alley lined with oaks, caught a glimpse of a white columned mansion that reminded him of Lac Belle. Shortly after, he noticed a change in Rawhide's gait, reined him in, dismounted to check his hoofs and prised a fair-sized rock from the right front. Hoping the pastern wasn't badly bruised, Nick remounted.
The dun trotted on but favored the leg. Knowing it wouldn't help the injury if the horse continued to carry his weight, Nick got off again and walked alongside Rawhide, leading him. It wasn't a great calamity since once they boarded a boat the horse's foot would have time to heal. He was tempted to turn back to the landing and wait for an upriver boat but, fearing they were still too close to New Orleans, he walked on.
He'd gone less than mile when, among the various energy glows from field workers and other riders, he sensed the blue flicker again. Scanning to find the energy, Nick decided it came from behind him and its possessor was on horseback, not on foot.
Was he being trailed? He mistrusted anyone whose energy glowed blue. A grove of great oaks just off the road ahead caught his eye. He'd stop under the trees and see what kind of threat followed him. At least there was only one.
A man on a black horse passed, then a drover on an empty cart. Two Negroes walked by, casting sidelong glances at him. Had they already heard about Lac Belle's loup-garou? The crackle of blue grew stronger, more insistent. Finally he spotted its source--a boy on a pony, a black boy, plodding slowly toward him. Nick eased out pent-up breath only to tense again when he realized it wasn't a boy at all, despite the ragged trousers and oversized man's hat
shadowing the face.
He stepped from the concealment of the trees into the road and faced the approaching rider, arms akimbo.
"What in God's name are you doing here, Mima?" he demanded.
"Me, I already tell you," she said calmly. "I go with you."
He scowled. "No!"
"I see you and me, we be together."
Nick took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his face. "That doesn't matter. You can't come with me." All the reasons flashed through his mind and he jerked his head toward the shade of the oaks. "Come over here and I'll explain."
Mima didn't argue. Once under the trees she slid off the pony's back, walked over to Rawhide and reached up to stroke his neck. "I be sorry," she said softly.
"Sorry?" Nick snapped, watching the dun nuzzle her shoulder. "Sorry for what?"
"I don't mean to hurt your horse."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
"Pony, he slow. Your horse, he go fast."
Nick raised his eyebrows. Was this little black girl implying she'd arranged for Rawhide's laming? He couldn't quite disbelieve her--not with the blue energy crackling about her.
"Mima," he said as patiently as he could, "you have to return to Lac Belle."
She shook her head. "Can't."
"Even if you belonged to me I wouldn't take you along," he said. "As it is, I don't own you, Le Noir does."
Her chin came up. "Me, I don't belong to nobody. Not after Meta die. I go with you."
He gazed down at her in frustration. Reason obviously wouldn't work. "Mima, do you know what happened after Meta died?"
She nodded. "Other part of you, he killed Master. I
be glad."
Nick, taken aback, stared at her.
"Me, I watch," she added.
My God, she'd seen him change! "Then you know why you can't come with me. It's not safe for you."
She compressed her lips. "I tell you--you don't hurt me. Other part of you, he don't either. Not me. I got voodoo."
"Mima--" Nick broke off. If seeing the beast didn't frighten her, no argument was going to shake her.
"You don't let me come, I run away and look for you." Her voice was determined. "Keep looking. Me, I see the truth--I die if you and me, we don't be together."
As if he wasn't in enough trouble, this child expected him to endanger himself further by helping a runaway slave escape. "Likely we'll both be caught," he muttered.
"No." Mima spoke positively. "You and me, we go up the river a long, long way in boats. Nobody catch us."
He looked from her to the fat pony that had been Guy's mount when he was a child. "Did anyone see you leave Lac Belle?"
"Old pony, he be in field, I take him. Nobody know." Nick sighed. With Rawhide lame, he had no way to get away from her. In any case, he wasn't so coldhearted as to ride off and leave her here alone. Yet he couldn't take her back to Lac Belle--that would be too dangerous. And, if he did, he believed she'd do exactly what she said--run away and look for him.
He tried one final time. "Mima, I would never harm you. But the beast--I don't control him. He's a vicious monster." She gazed up at him, a glimmer of impatience in her dark eyes. "He and me, we voodoo. He don't bother me. I don't bother him."
He wasn't convinced that was true but what was he to do? A frisson ran along his spine as it occurred to him it was possible Mima had foreseen their future together. What did he really know about her abilities? Taking her along seemed the best solution to the immediate problem she presented as well as giving him a chance to probe deeper into the mysteries of someone whose energy crackled blue.
As if she understood his capitulation, she said, "What
I be calling you?"
"Nick," he said resignedly.
"Master Nick," she corrected.
He realized she'd thought farther ahead than he had. If they traveled together, a little black girl and a white man, she'd have to pass as his slave. And, since she dressed like a boy, it was probably best to let her remain one. He told her so.
"I'll call you Moses," he added.
"You teach me to say other words, like you and the doctor do?" she asked.
He gazed at her in amazement. Good God, a runaway slave, in peril of her life, in the company of a man who changed into a beast when the moon was full and she wanted to learn English. Mima was the most unusual child he'd ever run across.
The deep-throated whistle of a sidewheeler alerted him to a boat steaming upriver. "I'll teach you," he promised. "At the moment we've got a boat to catch."
Once aboard the River Lady, Nick was lucky enough to rent a stateroom with two bunks. He assigned the lower to Mima--he'd use the upper. Cautioning her to remain in the cabin, he strolled the
decks. Encouraged when he didn't
run across a single familiar face, he ventured into the saloon and, finding no one he recognized there, either, sat down at a vingt-et-un table.
Though he had a modest sum left from his earnings as Dr. Kellogg's assistant, he needed more of a stake by the time he reached Michigan. He had no idea how much help, if any, the doctor's old army friend would be and he wouldn't know anyone else in the small town of Monroe. While a man couldn't buy friendship, money could be counted on to smooth his path. Using St. Vrain's gambling tips and his own ability to remember what cards had been played, he won slowly but steadily. Not wishing to call undue attention to himself, he left the table after he'd acquired a modest stake. There was always tomorrow.
When he brought a plate of food to Mima, she ate as though she was famished, even sucking the bones when she finished the chicken. She then climbed onto the bunk, curled up and fell asleep.
He couldn't help but admire her determination. The trousers she wore were too big for her--they were Ponce's, he'd learned. Whether the stable boy had given them to her or she'd appropriated them he hadn't asked. The trousers, held up by a length of rope, covered the lower half of her faded dress so that it passed as a shirt. She'd found the greasy and battered old hat hanging on a nail in the stable. He woke in the night to hear her sobbing, eased himself to the floor and sat on the lower bunk. He knew she wept for her dead sister and his impulse was to hold her in his arms to comfort her. Considering what Gauthier had done to her twin, though, he hesitated to touch her lest she take fright. Finally he began to murmur to her in his own tongue, letting his hand come gently to rest on her head. He found his murmurs turning into a song:
"Spi mladenyets moy prekrasny
Baiyoushki bayou
Tikho smotrit mlsyats yhsni
V kolibel tuoyou..."
"Sleep my little one, my pretty one.
bye-bye lullaby
Quietly watches over your little crib
the bright moon..."
A lullaby. From where and when? A picture grew in his mind of two identical dark-haired little boys nodding before a dying fire and a soft-voiced woman seated in a rocker crooning the same words he sang. Before he could understand the memory, it slipped away and was gone.
Did the woman know the significance of "the bright moon"? he wondered. Is she my mother? And who are the boys? Is it possible I'm a twin like Mima?
He had no answers. As he continued to hum the lullaby, Mima's sobs gradually eased and when she settled into sleep he returned to the upper bunk where he lay awake.
Guy had reminded him of someone in his past, an other he'd loved. Was the other his twin? If so, where was he now? Was the other a shapeshifter, too?
If only he could remember.
The next morning he told Mima she must remain in the room. He hated to keep her cooped up but he knew it was safest for them both for her to stay out of sight. She didn't object, seemingly content to do nothing but eat and sleep. Thinking about it, he realized she'd probably never had enough of either in her entire life.
But when he brought her food that evening, she stared
up at him, her eyes big and round.
"Me, I see a bad man on this boat," she said. "He bring you trouble."
Nick couldn't ignore a foreseeing by Mima--not with that crackle of blue energy surrounding her. "What kind of trouble?"
"The man, he got a gun."
"What's he look like? Does he know me?"
Mima bit her lip. "Me, I don't be seeing all that."
She reached for his hand. "You stay here where you be safe." Gently he tugged his hand loose. "I'll be careful, I promise." He had no intention of remaining in the cabin when there was money to be had for the taking at the vingt-et-un games in the saloon, money he badly needed.
She scowled. "Going to be bad trouble do you go out there."
If there was trouble coming, he'd rather confront it than huddle in this cabin waiting. Besides, though he didn't go so far as to doubt her foreseeing, what she saw was so vague that it could mean anything.
"Don't worry," he told her as he left.
He chose his table with even more care than usual, mindful of St. Vrain's admonitions as well as Mima's warning. No brocaded-vest gamblers, no drunks, no men who who peered suspiciously at the other players. He waited for a shuffle before sitting down.
After a time, winning, caught up in the rhythm of the game, his mind fixed on recalling the cards that had already been dealt, Nick forgot Mima's foreseeing. Eventually the man next to him got up and left. Though he was startled when a woman took the man's place, her presence didn't alert him to danger.
He'd never before seen a woman gamble on a riverboat. The other players seemed to find it equally unusual but no one objected. Blonde, somewhere in her mid-thirties, she was plumply attractive in her low-cut black dress. Though the musky scent of her perfume distracted him, he did his best to ignore her and concentrate on the game.
Until he felt her hand on his knee.
Chapter 13
As the blonde woman's hand slid up Nick's thigh, he couldn't help his body's avid response. Her perfume filled his nostrils, arousing him along with her touch. He retained barely enough sanity to realize he had to leave in a hurry or he might not be able to resist her enticement.
He'd started to scoop up his winnings when the woman removed her hand from his leg, squealed and shied away from him, all but landing in the lap of the man with sandy hair and beard on the other side of her.
She pointed at Nick and said in a trembling voice, "That awful man put his hand on my--" Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.
Sandy glared over her head at Nick. "You bastard!" She'd trapped him so neatly Nick knew it was no use to protest that he hadn't been the one to do the touching. He still didn't understand exactly what her game was until he glimpsed her hand inching toward his stacked winnings. Quickly he pocketed the gold coins and rose. Every eye in the room seemed to be focused on him. Could he get away? "No you don't!" Sandy challenged, rising.
"What's going on?" a man's voice called.
Not daring to take his gaze from the belligerent Sandy, Nick saw from the corner of his eye a tall man in black striding across the room toward them.
"My dear Alicia, has something happened to you?" the man in black demanded.
Her only reply was a loud sob.
"This bastard insulted her," Sandy told Blacky.
Still several paces away from the table, Blacky stopped abruptly and confronted Nick. "You scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "How dare you insult my wife?" He reached for his coat pocket.
A man with a gun. Mima's words rang in Nick's ears.
He tensed. Even if he could jump Blacky in time to avoid being shot, every man in the room was against him. He didn't stand a chance.
A shrill scream from the door of the saloon startled everyone. All action ceased. The screaming rose into a crescendo of terror and broke off.
"Fire!" a child's voice cried into the sudden silence. "The boat be burning up!"
"Fire!" a man's voice echoed.
Seizing his chance, Nick leaped toward Blacky, ramming him hard with his shoulder. As Blacky staggered sideways, falling onto one knee, Nick sprang into the crowd stampeding toward the doors, pushing through until he was surrounded, shielded by the people intent on fleeing the saloon.
Once on deck, Nick neither saw nor smelled smoke. As he looked around, small fingers fastened on his hand. He looked down at Mima, hatless and barefoot and suddenly he knew who'd first screamed "fire." He grabbed her up, tucked her under one arm and forced his way through the confused and milling mob until he was able to reach their cabin.
"No fire?" he asked once they were inside.
She shook her head. "One night old Polly take Meta and me to watch a lake boat burn up. Fire be all yellow in the dark. Meta and me, we think fire be pretty. Old Polly, she say fire scare people bad on boats. She say she on a riverboat that catch fi
re and most everyone, they jump in the river and drown. Old Polly, her skin be white where she get burned."
"So you decided if you yelled, 'Fire!' you'd scare the man with the gun."
"Scare everybody," she corrected.
Old Polly's story aside, he was amazed at how quickly Mima had thought of a way to stampede the crowd in her effort to rescue him.
"You saved my neck," he told her.
Mima nodded. "Me, I know you be in trouble, I got to help."
"Help you certainly did. But thanks to what happened in the saloon, our fellow passengers think the worst of me.
We'd best get off this boat at the next stop." He began gathering their belongings.
"Me, I take off Ponce's pants," she said. "If I be a girl, they don't know me."
Once again she'd proved her quickness of mind. "Good idea," he said. "Those who saw the boy give the false alarm won't be looking for a girl."
St. Vrain had warned him of various scams but not this particular one. Would the man in black actually have killed him? he wondered. Blacky and the woman and, perhaps, Sandy, were obviously accomplices. She distracted her victims, then accused them of insulting her, hoping they'd be too confused to pocket their winnings. Was the man in black merely a back-up, rushing to her rescue only if she failed to steal the money from the table?
The passengers would have little sympathy for a man who'd try to take advantage of another man's wife--who'd care if the husband shot him? It would be simple enough for the woman or Sandy to kneel beside the dead man and rob him under the guise of trying to help.
Of course he might not have died. As Dr. Kellogg had said, "With your healing powers, unless they used silver knives or bullets, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd have to hack off your head to kill you."
Decapitated. A cheerful thought. God knows if the doctor was correct. Thanks to Mima, he could postpone the day when he might have to put Dr. Kellogg's supposition to the test.
When they were ready to leave the cabin, he saw Mima had even tied a bit of red ribbon in her hair.
Noticing his smile, she touched the ribbon. "Andre, he going to marry Lilette," she said. "He bring her a pretty red ribbon and she cut off a bit for me."
