en prie! Of course. Parlez-vous français? Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
She moved another pace toward the boy, and Elisha’s grin faltered. “You are nervous,” Susette said softly. “Why are you so nervous?”
He turned and stumbled toward the fort a few paces, then stopped. “Be ready to depart tomorrow at dawn! This’ll prove to be one of the great scientific expeditions of the age—your grandchildren will be discussing it!”
The boy cursed himself as he hurried away. Dang it all, anyway. A thing isn’t worth a whit if it don’t make you nervous.
The dining room at the Johnston Hotel was narrow and low, the table laid with chipped earthenware and surrounded by mismatched chairs. A vase of desiccated irises stood at the table’s center. The wallpaper showed a faded scene of Cornwallis’s surrender to Washington at Yorktown. Elisha sat across from Mr. Brush as the sullen proprietor brought out dishes of roast whitefish and venison and fried pumpkin, potatoes and stewed greens. Professor Tiffin was nowhere to be seen.
A flushed, heavyset man with a spade beard sat at the table’s end. He wore a blue velvet waistcoat and satin cravat, a pearl brooch crowded by diamonds. A gold watch chain lay across his belly. He was a businessman from Boston, he told the proprietor, come to inspect the region’s mineral prospects. The man did not acknowledge Mr. Brush or Elisha.
“I find that the richest deposits are in fact the simplest to locate,” the man said. “I have a particular talent for such matters—I have been called a
diviner nonpareil
by my satisfied associates. Do you see this chain? I personally selected the claim in Georgia from which this gold was taken.” The man forked two venison steaks and a mound of greens onto his plate. “It is a magnetic phenomenon, you understand. I quite literally
feel
the presence of minerals beneath my feet. I may someday write a pamphlet on the subject.”
Elisha watched Mr. Brush drain a glass of whiskey then pour another. He seemed to be struggling to hold his tongue.
“Copper, gold, iron, and silver just waiting to be carted away—and yet today I observed a dozen red nigger savages sunning themselves on the riverbank, with nary a care.” The businessman tittered. “Small wonder their state is so wretched! I wonder if they are employable even as mine hands. We may have to import good Cornish stock to this territory.”
Brush rose as the proprietor placed a wedge of cherry pie on his plate. He said, “Gentlemen,” then stepped from the room.
Elisha waited a moment, then excused himself and followed Mr. Brush to the parlor. He found him sitting in a wing chair beside the fireplace, staring out the window, a newspaper open on his lap. When the man noticed Elisha he took up the paper with a snap.
“Pardon my abrupt departure. It stank of fool in that room.”
“Sir, I—”
“You can quit with the sirring. There’s no need to be a lickfinger.”
Elisha nodded. “I wanted to discuss with you about the woman from yesterday, Madame Morel. I believe she should accompany us as a guide.”
“She is a half-breed, and married. I trust you have no designs on her virtue.”
For an instant Elisha heard his father’s voice, its crisp note of warning and disapproval; then he saw a smirk curling the edges of Brush’s lips.
“Of course not! I just don’t relish the prospect of slogging through a cedar swamp without a guide. We’ll lose plenty of time. We might never even find the image stones.”
“You are listening to Professor Copper Knob too closely. His precious pebbles are not the expedition’s first purpose.” Brush jerked his head toward the dining room. “Fools like him are more pressing concerns—speculators tramping through the territory before the government even knows what the land holds. That fat chuff wouldn’t know gold from a trickle of piss down his trouser leg.”
“But surely Susette Morel’s presence would aid us in dealing with
She moved another pace toward the boy, and Elisha’s grin faltered. “You are nervous,” Susette said softly. “Why are you so nervous?”
He turned and stumbled toward the fort a few paces, then stopped. “Be ready to depart tomorrow at dawn! This’ll prove to be one of the great scientific expeditions of the age—your grandchildren will be discussing it!”
The boy cursed himself as he hurried away. Dang it all, anyway. A thing isn’t worth a whit if it don’t make you nervous.
The dining room at the Johnston Hotel was narrow and low, the table laid with chipped earthenware and surrounded by mismatched chairs. A vase of desiccated irises stood at the table’s center. The wallpaper showed a faded scene of Cornwallis’s surrender to Washington at Yorktown. Elisha sat across from Mr. Brush as the sullen proprietor brought out dishes of roast whitefish and venison and fried pumpkin, potatoes and stewed greens. Professor Tiffin was nowhere to be seen.
A flushed, heavyset man with a spade beard sat at the table’s end. He wore a blue velvet waistcoat and satin cravat, a pearl brooch crowded by diamonds. A gold watch chain lay across his belly. He was a businessman from Boston, he told the proprietor, come to inspect the region’s mineral prospects. The man did not acknowledge Mr. Brush or Elisha.
“I find that the richest deposits are in fact the simplest to locate,” the man said. “I have a particular talent for such matters—I have been called a
diviner nonpareil
by my satisfied associates. Do you see this chain? I personally selected the claim in Georgia from which this gold was taken.” The man forked two venison steaks and a mound of greens onto his plate. “It is a magnetic phenomenon, you understand. I quite literally
feel
the presence of minerals beneath my feet. I may someday write a pamphlet on the subject.”
Elisha watched Mr. Brush drain a glass of whiskey then pour another. He seemed to be struggling to hold his tongue.
“Copper, gold, iron, and silver just waiting to be carted away—and yet today I observed a dozen red nigger savages sunning themselves on the riverbank, with nary a care.” The businessman tittered. “Small wonder their state is so wretched! I wonder if they are employable even as mine hands. We may have to import good Cornish stock to this territory.”
Brush rose as the proprietor placed a wedge of cherry pie on his plate. He said, “Gentlemen,” then stepped from the room.
Elisha waited a moment, then excused himself and followed Mr. Brush to the parlor. He found him sitting in a wing chair beside the fireplace, staring out the window, a newspaper open on his lap. When the man noticed Elisha he took up the paper with a snap.
“Pardon my abrupt departure. It stank of fool in that room.”
“Sir, I—”
“You can quit with the sirring. There’s no need to be a lickfinger.”
Elisha nodded. “I wanted to discuss with you about the woman from yesterday, Madame Morel. I believe she should accompany us as a guide.”
“She is a half-breed, and married. I trust you have no designs on her virtue.”
For an instant Elisha heard his father’s voice, its crisp note of warning and disapproval; then he saw a smirk curling the edges of Brush’s lips.
“Of course not! I just don’t relish the prospect of slogging through a cedar swamp without a guide. We’ll lose plenty of time. We might never even find the image stones.”
“You are listening to Professor Copper Knob too closely. His precious pebbles are not the expedition’s first purpose.” Brush jerked his head toward the dining room. “Fools like him are more pressing concerns—speculators tramping through the territory before the government even knows what the land holds. That fat chuff wouldn’t know gold from a trickle of piss down his trouser leg.”
“But surely Susette Morel’s presence would aid us in dealing with
Similar Books
