A Tyranny of Petticoats (12 page)

Klio fluffed her heavy silk skirts, making sure they lay smooth over her crinoline. In the dim light of the hall, her garments appeared black from prim veiled hat to polished, buttoned boot. Only when she moved directly into the gleam of a lamp did the silk’s deep amethyst shade reveal itself.

At this late hour the streets of Boston were quiet but for the occasional clip-clop of shod horse hooves, a sound so banal by day as to be unnoticeable, now harsh as it cut through the heavy silence. Whitby stood alongside Klio’s cabriolet, holding the carriage horse’s reins. His eyes flashed silver against his ebony face. While his expression otherwise gave nothing away, Klio knew that her coachman was troubled.

When she glanced at the cab again, Klio noticed that despite the clear, warm night, its curtain was drawn to shield the passenger compartment. Klio looked to Whitby, who gave the briefest of nods. Whatever had perturbed her associate didn’t present a true threat.

The horse gave a snort and tossed its head as Klio drew near. Whitby tightened his grip on the reins. They had yet to find a horse that grew accustomed to Klio’s scent. Most would bolt should she come too close; if they didn’t try to run, they shied and reared.

Bothersome animals,
Klio thought.

Before she could draw back the curtain, the slender tip of a mahogany cane snagged the edge of the thick fabric and lifted it. Klio nearly jumped back in surprise at the visage peering out at her.

“I pray your forgiveness for calling upon you in this uncustomary manner, Miss Vesper.” Hamilton Stuart tipped his tall hat. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

“Of course, Mr. Stuart.” Klio signaled Whitby to take them through the streets. She accepted Stuart’s hand and climbed into the cab.

“Ah,” Stuart said as she settled beside him. “You do know who I am, then.”

“That surprises you?” Klio asked. With the curtain back in place, shadows flooded the interior. The lack of light did little to obscure Klio’s vision, if that had been her visitor’s intention. Still, Klio tugged on the fingertips of her gloves, loosening them just enough that she’d be able to strip them off in a moment should the need arise.

Stuart laughed, quiet but throaty. “I suppose it should not. But tell me, Miss Vesper, did it not surprise you to see me here?”

“It surprises me to see anyone other than myself in my cab,” Klio replied, then decided against being coy. “Nonetheless, your faction hasn’t sought my services in the past, so yes, your appearance is unexpected.”

“It’s an appropriate time for unexpected actions,” Stuart murmured. “You’re aware of the Game?”

Klio peered through the darkness to study Stuart’s features. He looked to be a young man, with dark hair curling at the nape of his neck and an unlined face like porcelain, but Klio knew better. His kind bore the semblance of youth well past the age that death took most mortals. Stuart was likely a century older than she, if not more.

Rather than speak, Klio nodded. A test to reveal whether the warlock had cast a spell that aided his sight in this dark enclosure.

The corners of his mouth turned up in approval. “I’m sure you’ll understand the Coven’s interest in the outcome of the Game.”

“As all the factions are,” Klio said. “Whoever wins the Game determines the course of this nation.”

“This fractured nation.” The pleased note in Stuart’s voice faded. “We have thrown our lot in with the Union and a future of free enterprise in the West, while our adversaries hope to expand their plantations beyond Texas and Missouri. We are particularly concerned that this war does not cost us the significant investments we’ve made. We want to ensure that none thwart our victory.”

Klio leveled a sharp gaze at Stuart. “The Game prohibits any attempts upon the lives of the players.”

“I’m aware of that, Miss Vesper.”

“You do know what kind of work I do, do you not, Mr. Stuart?” Klio was beginning to lose patience. The night’s job, while not executed perfectly, was complete, and this pompous warlock was wasting time that she could have spent toasting success with Whitby, then indulging herself in a warm bath.

“Very aware,” Stuart replied. “And you are the best at what you do. That is why I’m here.”

“Mr. Stuart —”

Hearing the edge in Klio’s voice, Stuart dipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “My superior would like to hire you as a means of protection.”

Klio took the envelope, curiosity winning out over her reservations. “There are others who specialize in that service.”

“Mr. Cromwell believes you are more suited to the task than a simple guardian,” Stuart said. “If a threat to our player arises, you will be able to recognize it more ably than anyone. Killing a player is forbidden, as you’ve said, but sadly our less honorable peers have proven in the past that they have no qualms about disabling a player.”

Klio had no doubts that, honor or no, the Coven had done its share of disabling in the past.

“You’ll find all the details of our proposal in that envelope.” Stuart leaned toward her with an easy smile. “Mr. Cromwell humbly requests a reply by the week’s end.” When Klio failed to respond immediately, he sighed, sitting up. “If the generous compensation doesn’t prove enough, then perhaps I should appeal to your sense of justice.”

“What do you mean?” Klio asked.

“Your man.” Stuart nodded toward the front of the cab, to Whitby. “He’s a freedman, is he not?”

“Of course he is.” Klio bristled. “This is Massachusetts, not Mississippi. And Whitby is not ‘my man,’ he’s a dear friend.”

When Stuart showed obvious pleasure at having provoked her, Klio regretted her quick words.

“I would never suggest a lady such as yourself could tolerate the barbarism they so quaintly refer to as the ‘peculiar institution,’” Stuart said. “The Coven forbade slaveholding before the colonists decided to declare their independence, you know.”

“Yes.” Klio also knew that the Coven’s power had always been concentrated in the North, making its involvement in plantation farming and the slave trade limited from the first. For her own part, Klio found the “peculiar institution” abhorrent, and not simply because of her friendship with Whitby. She did not, however, respond well to Stuart’s attempt to leverage his position by exploiting her moral convictions. She turned the envelope over in her hands. It was weighty for a contract. Perhaps Mr. Cromwell had included part of the promised payment as a show of good faith. She’d be a fool to turn away good money. With the war escalating, the world could easily devolve into chaos.

“Good.” Stuart gave two smart raps on the roof of the cab, and it slowed to a stop. “Mr. Cromwell looks forward to receiving your reply.”

“One question before you go, Mr. Stuart,” Klio said as Stuart drew back the curtain.

“Please.” Stuart’s smile was as icy as the blue of his eyes.

It took far more than a cool gaze to ruffle Klio. “Who is your player?”

“That very gentleman who has just enjoyed the privilege of your company, Miss Vesper.” Stuart flashed his teeth. “And he now bids you a good night.”

The air in Natchez was stifling, an unpleasant contrast to the mild spring weather in Boston. Klio suspected the tense, near-choking atmosphere was as much a result of the stresses of the ongoing war as the lack of a breeze. While the action thus far remained in the East, Klio observed men — many of whom might still be called boys — dressed in Confederate gray, congregating before they went to join their compatriots on the battlefield. Her gaze shifted constantly, her body stiff as she moved with the traffic of pedestrians and carriages alongside the Mississippi. As usual, her garb drew curious gazes. Though her sapphire-blue silk gown and matching short cape fit the style of the moment, her small hat with its veil that fell just past the tip of her nose was custom-made and nothing like the bonnets favored by fashionable ladies. Accustomed to stares, Klio ignored them and walked on at a confident pace. She ran her gloved palm over the silk fabric of her skirt and felt the stiff folded papers tucked inside her pocket.

The documents had been inside the envelope Hamilton Stuart gave her, along with a contract and an impressive stack of banknotes. But the princely sum did nothing to relieve the sickness Klio had felt when she’d looked over the papers that would allow Whitby to accompany her on the journey; they named Whitby her slave.

Klio understood the necessity of the documents, but despite their artifice she could barely contain her disgust at having to carry them, and from the wrath she caught whenever her eyes met Whitby’s she knew he detested their forced role-playing even more than she did, and understandably. If Klio had had her way, Whitby would never have set foot in any slave state. But Whitby had ignored her pleas that he stay behind, so the ruse was necessary. So long as the Fugitive Slave Act protected them, slave traders could abduct freedmen with impunity.

Whitby carried her bags up the gangplank while Klio strolled behind. Boston was a city of ships, but Klio had never seen the likes of the
Fortuna.
Swan-white save for the great red wheel at its stern, the
Fortuna
looked every bit the debutante awaiting her admirers. Klio appreciated the elegance of the steamboat, but she surveyed its decks with a critical gaze. Ships were designed to hold as many provisions as possible within a confined space. That meant the
Fortuna
would be full of closets, nooks, and compartments — the sort of spaces that lent themselves as easily to staging an ambush as to storing ropes and life jackets.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Vesper.” A man in livery greeted Klio when she alighted upon the deck. “Mr. Stuart has asked me to see you to your cabin.”

“How kind.” Klio spared the man a brief smile. Her attention was on the other passengers.

The Game’s importance meant it attracted a throng of spectators, and each faction boasted its own entourage. Most of Klio’s shipmates would pose no threat. It was even possible that Hamilton Stuart would be in no danger whatsoever. If all the factions adhered to the rules of the Game, this boat was sacrosanct, neutral ground. But given what was at stake, Klio had to agree with Stuart that his adversaries would exploit any loopholes in the rules to gain an advantage. Something as simple as a charm to draw luck or an amulet to ward off malicious spells could prove a deciding factor.

Stuart’s man opened the door to Klio’s cabin. The rooms were surprisingly spacious for shipboard quarters. Silk- and velvet-upholstered chairs and settees graced the sitting room, and sumptuous linens and overstuffed pillows decorated the bedroom.

“Are the rooms to your satisfaction, Miss Vesper?” the valet asked.

“They are.” Beautiful as the cabin was, Klio doubted she’d spend much time enjoying its luxuries.

The valet nodded at Whitby. “While your man unpacks your bags, Mr. Stuart has requested your presence in his cabin.”

“Has he?” Klio’s eyebrow lifted. “Would you be so kind to show me to his cabin?”

Stuart’s rooms were adjacent to Klio’s cabin. Klio tolerated the ritual of being announced to Stuart and offered an assortment of refreshments, but she had little patience for meaningless niceties. Her life was one of relative solitude, her only companion being Whitby, whose nature was as reclusive as her own.

Stuart lounged in a high-backed chair. He wore a crisp shirt and a waistcoat of sapphire jacquard, but no jacket. He had one leg thrown over a chair arm as he sipped amber liquid from a crystal tumbler. His dark hair was rumpled and his face wanted a shave.

“You may leave us, Talbot,” Stuart told his valet with a dismissive wave.

Klio relaxed a bit, taking the seat opposite him, pleased that Stuart didn’t cling so tightly to convention that he would prolong mindless chatter in the presence of his servant rather than proceed directly to the business at hand. She required no chaperone to preserve her reputation and much preferred dealing with men alone and on her terms.

“What do you make of the
Fortuna
?” Stuart asked. “Does she meet your expectations?”

“I had no expectations, Mr. Stuart,” Klio said.

Stuart swung his leg down from the chair arm so he was sitting rather than sprawling. “Hamilton, please.”

“If you wish.” Klio felt a tremor of unease with Stuart’s casual air. For a man only hours away from playing a game that would determine the nation’s future, he appeared much too comfortable. His arrogance was evidence, but Klio wondered what schemes he’d set in motion to thwart his opponents.

He leaned forward, eyeing her. “Are you always this stiff? We’re alone, you know. Keeping up appearances isn’t required.”

“I’m here on a contract, Mr. — Hamilton,” Klio replied. “This isn’t about appearances.”

“Yes, the contract.” Stuart sipped his drink. “You’ll accompany me whenever I’m outside my cabin. Once the Game begins, I give you leave to situate yourself wherever you deem the most suitable.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” Klio said. “Have the other players arrived?”

“The wolves and goblins are here. The sidhe are expected within the hour. But the necromancers and vampires won’t board until after sunset . . . for obvious reasons.”

Klio nodded. “Are there any particular animosities between the Coven and the other factions that I should know about?”

Stuart’s lips curled in amusement. “What an interesting question.”

Klio bristled, lifting her chin. “Mr. Stuart —”

“Hamilton.”

“Hamilton.” The man was setting Klio’s teeth on edge. “You hired me because you may be in danger. It would be helpful if you identified potential threats.”

“Identifying threats is supposed to be your job, Klio.” Stuart swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it flash amber when it caught the light.

“Very well.” Klio stood up. “If that’s all you have to tell me, I’ll be off to begin
doing
my job.”

“Sit down, Miss Vesper.” Any hint of mirth in Stuart’s tone had vanished. He finished his drink in one swallow and set the glass aside.

Klio didn’t balk. He clearly expected her to cower at the first sign of his disapproval. Klio cowered for no one. She expected him to erupt into some sort of tyrannical tantrum, but instead he began to laugh. “I don’t frighten you at all, do I?” He shook his head, smiling. “How refreshing.”