was renamed Portsmouth Square, and the nameless thoroughfare along the waterfront was christened Montgomery Street.
The irreverent denizens wondered that God had taken six days to create the world when this city by the bay happened overnight. In a town where a significant fraction of the inhabitants went by nicknames and aliases, the fact that Yerba Buena Cove was now San Francisco seemed fitting and proper. Like most of her citizens, the city herself had a past.
The pace of life in the town was still slow back then. The occasional whaling vessel called at the harbor; there were merchants from the Far East at other times. All of that changed with the discovery of gold in the Sacramento Valley. It didn't take long for the bay to become overcrowded with abandoned ships as entire crews left their decks for the promise of a rich strike. Shipping lines made money bringing the forty-niners to the goldfields, but they could lose it when sailors jumped ship and no experienced crew could be found to return the clipper home.
Grey Janeway was counting on the Remington line to make the deliveries that were promised. As far as Grey knew none of their ships had been abandoned in the harbor. They lost a few of the crew on every call to San Francisco but never every man on board. It cost a lot to ship goods with them. There was a high price for their reliability, but it was no more than the market would bear. The profits to merchants were enormous if they could unload their wares in San Francisco. Where else in the country would someone pay one dollar for an apple or three hundred for a barrel of tea? Washbowls cost five dollars, shovels brought fifteen or twenty, and a good pair of boots required a miner to part with one hundred. Laudanum sold by the drop and a quart of whiskey couldn't be had for less than thirty dollars. Where a loaf of bread might sell in New York for four cents, it cost seventy-five on the Barbary Coast.
Grey shrugged into his shirt, tucked it in, and pulled up his suspenders. He raked his thick hair back with his fingertips, then slipped into his jacket. He noticed that the sun was already beating hard against the roof of the tent. In another hour or so the interior would be unbearably hot in spite of the winds churning up from north and east.
He nudged the pile of blankets covering the canvas floor. Five pink toes were revealed. "You told me not to let you sleep," he said. The toes curled and stretched, but there was no appreciable movement elsewhere. "You'll have a headache, remember? That's what you said."
"Hmmm."
"Don't you have to go to work?"
"I only just went to sleep."
"I don't think that will matter to Howard. He'll want you back at the Palace before the noon crowd tries to get away from him."
Ivory Edwards rolled over. She pushed the blankets down to the level of her breasts. A view of her naked shoulders was as much as she was going to allow Grey Janeway. As far as she was concerned, this was a new day, and he hadn't paid for anything else. Muted sunlight glanced off her fair skin. Her deliciously full mouth was pulled thoughtfully to one side. "What do you think of Ivory DuPree?" she said.
"Who's Ivory DuPree?" Grey asked absentmindedly. He straightened the cuffs of his jacket and brushed a piece of lint from the sleeve.
"I am," Ivory said somewhat indignantly. "Do you think it sounds better than Edwards?" She repeated her name first one way then the other. When she saw Grey wasn't paying her the least attention she sat up and kicked out at him. She connected solidly with his booted shin.
"Ow!" He dropped the lid of the trunk he was searching, barely getting his hand out in time. "What was that for?"
Satisfied, Ivory withdrew her weapon under the blankets again. "For taking me for granted," she said emphatically.
"I took you for a hundred dollars last night," he reminded her. "That means I don't have to pay attention to you today." He sat on the trunk lid, raised his right leg, and rubbed his
The irreverent denizens wondered that God had taken six days to create the world when this city by the bay happened overnight. In a town where a significant fraction of the inhabitants went by nicknames and aliases, the fact that Yerba Buena Cove was now San Francisco seemed fitting and proper. Like most of her citizens, the city herself had a past.
The pace of life in the town was still slow back then. The occasional whaling vessel called at the harbor; there were merchants from the Far East at other times. All of that changed with the discovery of gold in the Sacramento Valley. It didn't take long for the bay to become overcrowded with abandoned ships as entire crews left their decks for the promise of a rich strike. Shipping lines made money bringing the forty-niners to the goldfields, but they could lose it when sailors jumped ship and no experienced crew could be found to return the clipper home.
Grey Janeway was counting on the Remington line to make the deliveries that were promised. As far as Grey knew none of their ships had been abandoned in the harbor. They lost a few of the crew on every call to San Francisco but never every man on board. It cost a lot to ship goods with them. There was a high price for their reliability, but it was no more than the market would bear. The profits to merchants were enormous if they could unload their wares in San Francisco. Where else in the country would someone pay one dollar for an apple or three hundred for a barrel of tea? Washbowls cost five dollars, shovels brought fifteen or twenty, and a good pair of boots required a miner to part with one hundred. Laudanum sold by the drop and a quart of whiskey couldn't be had for less than thirty dollars. Where a loaf of bread might sell in New York for four cents, it cost seventy-five on the Barbary Coast.
Grey shrugged into his shirt, tucked it in, and pulled up his suspenders. He raked his thick hair back with his fingertips, then slipped into his jacket. He noticed that the sun was already beating hard against the roof of the tent. In another hour or so the interior would be unbearably hot in spite of the winds churning up from north and east.
He nudged the pile of blankets covering the canvas floor. Five pink toes were revealed. "You told me not to let you sleep," he said. The toes curled and stretched, but there was no appreciable movement elsewhere. "You'll have a headache, remember? That's what you said."
"Hmmm."
"Don't you have to go to work?"
"I only just went to sleep."
"I don't think that will matter to Howard. He'll want you back at the Palace before the noon crowd tries to get away from him."
Ivory Edwards rolled over. She pushed the blankets down to the level of her breasts. A view of her naked shoulders was as much as she was going to allow Grey Janeway. As far as she was concerned, this was a new day, and he hadn't paid for anything else. Muted sunlight glanced off her fair skin. Her deliciously full mouth was pulled thoughtfully to one side. "What do you think of Ivory DuPree?" she said.
"Who's Ivory DuPree?" Grey asked absentmindedly. He straightened the cuffs of his jacket and brushed a piece of lint from the sleeve.
"I am," Ivory said somewhat indignantly. "Do you think it sounds better than Edwards?" She repeated her name first one way then the other. When she saw Grey wasn't paying her the least attention she sat up and kicked out at him. She connected solidly with his booted shin.
"Ow!" He dropped the lid of the trunk he was searching, barely getting his hand out in time. "What was that for?"
Satisfied, Ivory withdrew her weapon under the blankets again. "For taking me for granted," she said emphatically.
"I took you for a hundred dollars last night," he reminded her. "That means I don't have to pay attention to you today." He sat on the trunk lid, raised his right leg, and rubbed his
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