Dead water - Barbara Hambly [102]
“Either we all run or we all stay,” said Hannibal firmly. “Who knows? I may actually shoot the man. Twenty paces isn't that far.”
“As you say.” Rose's voice was grim as she turned the implication around. The light of the single oil-lamp transformed her spectacle lenses into ovals of gold as she folded her arms. “Have you ever handled a pistol?”
“It's been many years,” admitted the fiddler. “And I was never very good at it. The one duel I fought when I was up at Oxford was with a dear friend, and we were both so drunk, it's astonishing we didn't kill our seconds while trying to delope.”
“Sounds promising,” said Rose. “Was the woman you fought over properly appreciative of the occasion?”
“How did you know it was a woman?” asked Hannibal, genuinely surprised, and Rose rolled her eyes.
“This is serious,” said January quietly. “Someone is trying to murder both of us using Molloy's temper—and his marksmanship—as the weapon. Without Hannibal's protection and testimony I stand a very good chance of being hanged once the boat reaches Mayersville. Even with it, it's going to be a closer call than I like.”
“They really have nothing on you except Molloy's testimony,” pointed out Rose reasonably. “And as Hannibal showed, that can easily be explained as a mistake. There's an even chance that the case against you will fall apart in the face of any kind of defense at all, particularly when all the facts come out.”
“Facts like me being a depositor in the bank that Weems robbed?”
“Absolutely,” said Rose. “For all you knew at the time, Weems was your only link with your money. We may even be able to convince the sheriff to hold the Silver Moon for a proper search . . . though I imagine Molloy will put up a fight about it.”
“And the demand by a single woman, and a woman of color to boot, would not carry much weight with the average county sheriff, would it?” asked Hannibal quietly. “Whereas even my death would convince Colonel Davis that I am a man of honor, and hence my cause is worthy of his taking up arms in its—and your—defense.”
“I am not,” said January grimly, “going to stand by and let you get killed in the cause of convincing Colonel Davis of our honor. It's all of us run or none of us—hanged or acquitted, our detention in Mayersville is going to lose us the money. I think it may be time for all of us to go over the side and swim for shore.”
He reached under the narrow bed as he spoke, and pulled out Hannibal's meager valise. Outside, footfalls hastened back and forth along the promenade, and confused voices proclaimed the general uproar on the boat as the tale of seduction, discovery, and challenge spread. January could only imagine the comments flying about the engine-room as Molloy announced that the Silver Moon would remain in place until dawn—that the fires had to be drawn again, the steam dumped off.
In the confusion, he supposed, it would be an easy matter to slip over the rail, though he didn't look forward to trying to navigate the woods in the darkness, with or without the added complication of Levi Christmas and Company. At least, he reflected, it would be some time before their disappearance was confirmed, and they could probably make it down to Vicksburg again and take a boat for New Orleans. . . .
Hannibal settled back in his chair and folded his arms, watching January with a stony dark gaze that eventually stilled January in his tracks.
The two friends regarded one another in silence. Then January said, “I won't have you die for the sake of my money.”
“He might not kill me,” said Hannibal.
“Pigs might fly,” added Rose in a tone of helpful sarcasm. “If you do not flee with us now, we shall be obliged to drag you into the river by force, you know.”
“I shall cling to the rail and scream,” replied Hannibal.
Rose started to speak, then closed her mouth with a whisper of released breath. January set the valise down on the bunk. Outside on the promenade, Dorothea Roberson's voice pleaded tearfully, “.