The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [152]
Our fellow passengers at the pier seemed to be as excited and relieved by the sudden change in the weather as we were. Most of them weren’t near as laden down with baggage, though—ships like the Mary Powell catered mostly to day cruisers—and we didn’t have any trouble finding a porter to help us with the bags. I told the Doctor that I’d help the man get them off the carriage and on board the ship if he and Cyrus wanted to go ahead and check our parlors to see which other members of our party had arrived. This they did, and I quickly commenced moving the luggage onto the amiable Italian porter’s hand truck with the assistance of our big German driver. I didn’t understand a word what either man said, but that didn’t matter; the sight of the river steamer all decked out and ready for the voyage, her twin stacks and big side paddles signifying confidence and power, together with the excitement that was coursing through the merry collection of people both aboard the ship and on the pier, kept me moving in a happy, spirited, and sure fashion.
Strange, what little things can change your mood faster than spit: a sound, maybe, or even just a smell can sometimes twist your thoughts and feelings worse than hours of conversation or days of experience. For me, that morning, it was a sight—just a glimpse, really—of the person I least wanted to see in the world:
Ding Dong. He was sitting about thirty yards away, atop a big pile of freight on the wharf—but his eyes were honed right in on me. His vicious features were twisted by the same evil, idiot grin that was generally in evidence; and as soon as he knew I’d caught sight of him, he jumped to the ground, grinned even wider, and made a vigorous, obscene movement with his hands and his pelvis.
I got the message, all right: Kat had gone back to him.
It hit me hard, forcing my eyes to the ground and my jaw to fall open. Then a voice sounded from somewhere inside my own head: Of course she went back to him, it said. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, thanks to you …
By the time I looked back up, Ding Dong had vanished into the crowd. Most likely he’d trailed us from the Doctor’s house and, satisfied to see us leaving town, just wanted to send me off with a personal message that’d make my heart as sore as I’d made his face. He’d succeeded, all right. I dropped the suitcase I had in my hand and just kind of collapsed onto it, so dazed that I barely heard a familiar voice—this one definitely outside me—calling.
“Stevie!” It was Mr. Moore, moving my way with a suitcase of his own in hand. A porter carrying a trunk was trailing behind him. “Stevie,” he said again as he reached me. Then he crouched down. “What is it, kid, what’s going on? Where’s the Doctor?”
“They—” I shook myself hard, trying to get rid of the shock. “They—went aboard already. I’m bringin’ our stuff—with the porters.”
Mr. Moore put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Stevie, has something happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost.” I couldn’t go into a full explanation, but a piece of one was called for. “Dusters. Must’ve followed us here.”
Spinning to search the wharf, Mr. Moore squinted. “They didn’t get on the boat, did they?”
“Nah,” I said. “They’re gone. Just letting me—us—know they’re still watching.”
“Unh-hunh,” Mr. Moore answered. “Well, come on. With any luck, we’ll be out of town long enough for the Dusters to forget all about us.” I got back up and moved with him toward the gangplank of the Mary Powell, our porters following close behind. “It’s not like you to let them rattle you this way, Stevie,” Mr. Moore said, punching my shoulder lightly. “Though after that brawl, I guess I can understand it.”
I didn’t answer, just nodded and tried to get my breathing back to some kind of regular pace. By the time we got on board, I’d almost managed that much, too; but the burning rock of guilt in the pit of my gut wasn’t