Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [21]
“Excuse me,” Isaac said, when he’d regained that much control. “I am very sorry.”
“It’s nothing, dear boy,” Coisnon told him. “I’ll take you down to your berth. No, no,” he said, as Placide moved to assist. “You should stay here, and profit from the air.”
Placide remained, turning again to face the ocean. At the Collège de la Marche he’d had the reputation of a solitary, especially when compared to the much more gregarious Isaac, and he was glad of a taste of solitude now. Even a partial taste. From the corner of his eye he could see the faces of Cyprien and Guizot by the hatchway, lit by the intermittent red glow of their cheroots. Somehow or other at least one of these officers was always nearby. Placide understood that the four of them were assigned to him and his brother as guardians, if not guards, though he had not discussed it with Isaac.
He raised his head to find the Northern Cross, and near it, picked out in dimmer stars, the compact form of the Dolphin. The stars went dark where the water met the sky, but the running lights of the French ships came stringing back to where he stood in the bow of La Sirène. One of those other vessels (Placide was not sure which) carried a flock of his father’s most significant surviving enemies, notably the mulatto rebels: Villatte, Pétion, Rigaud. The thought made him uncomfortable. He felt eyes burning at his back and turned to face them. Cyprien and Guizot looked away from him, stepped out of his path as he entered the hatchway and went below to find his berth.
Since their embarkation, the four officers detailed to the sons of Toussaint Louverture had run a nightly game of vingt-et-un, and when Cyprien and Guizot had finished their smoke they went below to join this night’s session. They’d set up a packing case for a card table in the officers’ quarters, in the bow a deck below the captain’s cabin. A thin partition divided the card parlor from the four berths in the narrowest part of the bow, which were occupied by Placide, Isaac, their tutor, and the young ensign whose name no one could recall.
Daspir, who was rich, served as the bank. Night after night, the bank was irritatingly prosperous. Cyprien and Paltre, who were marginally more seasoned soldiers than the other two, had at first assumed they’d fleece him easily. But Daspir played with a quiet acuity belied by his fatuous manner. Or else, as Cyprien sometimes bitterly put to himself or to Paltre, he was just damned lucky.
Daspir was shuffling now, smiling at the other three. Above the packing case an oil lamp swung on its chain with the steady movement of the waves. Daspir’s smile evaporated as he dealt the cards. His own hand showed a ten face-up. Cyprien glanced at his hole card and folded. Paltre did the same, but Guizot drew to a six, then groaned.
Expressionless now, Daspir raked in the money and dealt again. Nine up. Cyprien checked his hole card and tossed in his hand. Daspir covered bets from Paltre and Guizot and then took both their money.
When he had won a few more hands, Daspir squared the deck and rose from his seat, leaving the cards on the table, then crossed to his bunk and stooped to drag his chest from beneath it. After shifting the contents around for a minute or two, he produced a bottle of very decent brandy. It was not the first he had discovered during the voyage, though now he squinted at the level through the glass, as if to suggest that his supply was not completely inexhaustible.
“Permettez-moi,” he said, smiling again as he came back to the packing case. Allow me. Despite the roll of the ship his step was steady and his hand too as he poured—he smiled with his mouth but his eyes remained cool. Again, Cyprien thought that the man was not the idle voluptuary he might seem. He pushed his cup forward for the splash of brandy, grunted his