The black swan (38 page)

The four vigilantes charged. Ben let out a bloodcurdling battle cry. Using his clasped hands as a hammer, he smashed one man behind the ear. The toe of Beau's foot caught the next vigilante in the groin. As he doubled over. Beau's knee came up, crushing the man's nose. Adam seized two men by their necks and cracked their skulls together. They slithered to the ground. Adam stepped forward, going for the leader.

The man backed away, his hands up. "Di'n't mean no harm. We was only protectin' our own."

Adam grabbed his badge, crushing the hated symbol of

mob authority in his hand. Ben whipped the man*s gun from his belt and pointed it at his gut.

The man paled. "Hey, wait a minute. All Ah wanted was to ast you some questions."

Adam said, "You got all the answers you're gonna get Beat it!"

The man took several steps, watching his companions scuttle into the shadows. "Hey, ain'cha gonna gimme mah gun back? Ah di*n't do nuthin' to you. It was them."

Ben shot into the street at the man's feet "Christ!" The man screamed, jumping back. Ben shot again and again, emptying the revolver as the man danced and squalled in fear. Laughing, Ben tossed him Ae empty gun.

Brave again, the vigilante shook his fist. "Ah won't for^t you bloody bastards! Not never! Ah'll gitcher." He ran.

Ben and Adam laughed, sparring playfully. Beau did not join in. The other two turned on him, punching lightly. "Come on. Beau. Did ya ever see such a bunch of left-footed clods? We clobbered 'em. Did ya see that guy run?"

Beau pushed them away. "I know we agreed, but I don't think you ought to stay here, Adam. They're suspicious of the Ullah now. One shred of real evidence and they've got you."

"Oh, shit. Beau, that guy wouldn't have the balls to look me in the eye again."

When they returned to the Ullahy Adam wrote a letter to Garrett:

Charleston is set for rebellion. With Georgia promising to follow the lead of South Carolina, the Union will most probably be broken before the new year.

The 1860 Association has become a network spreading secessionist news throughout the South. It is no longer the voices of radical politicians carrying us toward the precipice of war. The people are one in their hearts. The South is going to secede, and the North cannot permit it

The streets of Charleston were crowded with militiamen drilling, their flamboyant blue cockaded hats bobbing in time to their marching feet. Vigilance patrols alternately spread or quelled wild rumors of incendiarism and restlessness among the blacks—elsewhere. "Ouah darkies," they said fondly, "is jes' natch'ly tranquil."

Adam bid Ben and Beau and the Ullah good-bye amid the noise of a busy pier. "Give this to Garrett personally, Ben. I don't want to chance the mails."

Beau pleaded, "Please, Adam, come with us. You're not safe here."

Ben's hazel eyes danced. He, no more than Adam, could damp the urge to be a part of this thing he feared but desired. But behind the youthful appreciation of danger lurked a mature worry. "Y'all watch yourself, Adam. Beau's right. The Ullah's gatherin' herself a reputation, an' so's her number one master. Those vigilantes know our business as well as we do, an' they're just itchin' to catch us at it. Steer clear of 'em, will you?"

Adam saluted briskly, grinning.

Secession fever showed no signs of abating. Everywhere Adam went during the next month he saw the blue cockades, the marching and drilling troops. Rumor had it that arms were being brought in from the North and being stored. Lincoln's name, when it was spoken at all, was vilified. He was a minority President who had snuck into Washington like a thief in the night. The wave of Southern pride would not crest but kept on gathering voice and force.

By December Adam had secured five shipping contracts and the promise of three others. Of more immediate importance, he had gained entree to several prominent homes, where information about the Southern temper was as accurate as any to be had: There would be war.

All Charleston felt it as the city decked itself for the momentous convention of secessionist delegates. State flags were displayed everywhere. Streets were decorated in bunting. On storefronts were artists' paintings symbolic of the bounty and prosperity expected after secession. In Saint Andrew's Hall, convention president D. F. Jamison Bam-well called the convention to order with a gavel on which secession was branded in bold black letters.

Adam, along with throngs of people in and about Saint Andrew's Hall, reached eagerly for the Charleston Mercury. In bold print he read, "Extra! Passed unanimously at 1:15 o'clock P.M., December 20th, 1860: An Ordinance to dissolve the Union between the State of South Carolina and other States united with her under the compact entitled *The Constitution of the United States of America.'" His

eyes dropped to the bold print at the bottom of the page. *'The Union Is Dissolved!"

That evening the delegates marched m procession through the streets. A mob of three thousand thronged the entrance to Saint Andrew's Hall. On either side of President Barnwell's chair stood large palmetto palms. On his desk lay the document. Shouts of "Hurrah" and "Huzzah" burst forth as the delegates placed their names on the paper. At last Barnwell announced, "The Ordinance for Secession has been signed and ratified, and I proclaim the State of South Carolina an independent commonwealth."

The city went wild. The decorations on Saint Andrew's Hall were torn down and then into small bits so everyone might have a souvenir. The night air was clamorous with the melodious pealing of church bells. Cannons fired salutes. Throngs surging through the streets raised their voices deafeningly. Inspired by their common bond, stranger turned to stranger, avid to share his elation.

It was a glorious night for prostitutes. Men drunk with power of a war they already imagined having won sought any ear receptive to their braggadocio, any body eager for unquenchable virility. The women made it a night of feminine patriotism. On this happy and historic occasion fees might be lowered or even forgotten.

After being approached by an odd assortment of women and having his back pounded by hearty men, Adam no longer wished to be a part of the raucous celebration, yet he wanted something, something to break the uncertainty secession had brought. It had fired his blood but given him no outlet. He was restless and discontented.

He pushed his way through the crowd, ducking the frenetically waved palmetto fronds, avoiding the arms that beckoned him to join the street dancers. Finally he broke free of the milling hordes, hurrying down a darkened residential street. Behind him were jubilant shouts, drunken laughter, and the sounds of thousands of feet.

He returned to his room in the Mansion House. But once inside, he was skittish. He paced the room, then lay down on his bed, only to rise and begin pacing again. Perhaps he'd go back to the streets after all.

He left the Mansion House by the front door and walked east on Broad Street toward the Cooper River. He came to the comer of East Bay and stood looking at the Old Exchange. Stede Bonnet had been captured and imprisoned

there in 1718. Adam smiled ruefully. He wasn't far from bein^g a pirate himself. It was a strange night, he mused, strange thoughts, strange feelings. Suddenly, his legs crumpled. He was on his hands and knees staring at the boots of the "Chastn Vijlanty Comity."

"Tor ya Ah wou'n't fergit. Git 'im, boys! Show 'im how we feel 'bout nigger lovers in Charleston. Give 'im a taste o' our hospitality afore we hang 'im!"

Adam tried to get up. The man's boot cracked against his ribs. He gasped, the wind forced painfully from him. A boot crunched down on his hand. Adam screamed. Pain jabbed as he was kicked from behind. "Nigger-lovin' bastard!" A frenzy of blows rained down on his back, neck, and head. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No time— fists, boots, distorted faces. He curled into fetal position, his hands and arms drawn up to protect his face and head. One man viciously pummeled his kidney. Another kicked at his knees, wildly seeking his groin.

Over the grunting noise of the cursing men and their blows, came a high, piercing wail. Electrified, the men halted.

In the soft winter darkness stood a dusky, beautiful woman. She seemed to float in her ethereal pink satin gown. In her steady hand was a pearl-handed derringer. Her unearthly high-pitched laughter rang out. "Pahty's ovah, boys. Li'l ol' Melody wants the leavin's."

Silence. Then: "Hell, that's only the nigger-bitch from the hat shop!" The man turned and hit Adam sharply in the back. Then as Adam kicked out, the vigilante screamed, falling to the ground, moaning, crying, grasping his shattered kneecap.

"Good-bye now, boys—lessen y'all wants to die. Ah only got one mo' shot, an' it's gonna be fo' keeps."

"Jeezuz Chris', Melody. You know us* This bastard's a—"

"Sho' Ah know you, Jeb. You too. Bill . . . Bob. 'Cou'se Ah ain't met yo' wives. Think mebbe Ah should."

Muttering and threatening, the men shuffled, then slowly left, two of them carrying their wounded companion.

"Kin you git up, Cap'n?"

Adam struggled painfully to his knees, taking Melody's offered hand.

"Y'all right?"

He groaned, then smiled crookedly. "I hurt like hell."

"Not too much, Ah hope, Cap'n." She smiled cryptically. "Ah got a surprise fo' you. Ah sho' would be disappointed if that bag o' white trash spoiled it fo' me. Hoi' onto me. We kin make it back to yo' hotel."

She walked him to his door but refused to go in. "No, Cap'n. You go on, clean yo'seff up. Ah'U be back, jes' Tike nothin' ever happened." Again she flashed her dark eyes at him, her smile seductively mysterious.

He had just splashed cold water on his face when she knocked at the door. Hastily he mopped himself with the towel. He opened the door and stared in amazement.

In the dim hallway, carrying an oversized hatbox, stood Melody Cox, as though nothing had happened. Her dark, suggestive eyes glowed like coals in her tawny-complex-ioned face. She said, smiling, "Jes' bringin' you a li'l some-thin' you din't ordah, Cap'n Tremain."

Occasionally on his trips to Charleston he'd gone to Melody's shop to purchase a bonnet for his mother or Leona. Melody's talents were legendary among the ladies. She ran her exclusive shop because she hked to, and she ran it as she wished, catering to no one's tastes but her own. Melody didn't have to, nor did she answer to anyone but herself.

She was equally well known and sought after by men. A well-trained New Orleans quadroon, she had been the pampered mistress of a prominent young Creole gentleman until he married. Then Melody had removed herself and her financial settlement to Charleston, to become one of its most discussed courtesans. Her actual talents in this respect, however, were known privily to only a small, select clientele. Melody Cox dispensed her personal favors v^dth the same lofty arrogance she ran her hat shop—^with authoritarian selectivity and at an unconscionable cost to the client.

The scent of her perfume pervaded the air. Once in the room. Melody posed, teasing with her eyes and body. "Here's a li'l somethin' y'all might be needin' in the future to recall who y'all are," she said lightly, presenting him with the box.

He opened it and brought forth a hat topped by a ridiculously large rosette of blue ribbons. His own blue cockade. With a laugh he placed it on his head, tapping and poking until it had a jaunty tilt. "You think I need this to know who I am. Melody?"

She shugged and her shawl fell free revealing one naked shoulder. "Everybody else goin' mad, you might's well do the same. Do you like it? Ah made it mahseff, jes' fo' you." She stood close against him as she meticulously adjusted the hat, then swept it off, throwing it to the floor.

His arms slipped around her waist, pulling her closer yet. Melody offered no resistance. Her slow smile disclosed beautifully white teeth as she raised her head exposing the long golden curve of her throat.

"How did you know I'd need you?" he asked between kisses he rained on her neck and shoulders. Her perfume and the uniquely feminine scent of her skin was intoxicating.

"Ah watched you. Saw all those girls comin' up to you an' you sendin' them away jes' as fast. Ah say to mahseff, *Melody, there's a man who ain't gwine know what he wants 'til he's all alone in his room an' he ain't got it. Then them men—"

Adam laughed softly. "Are you here to give me what I want, Melody?"

"No, sir, Cap'n, Ah'm here to get somethin' Ah been wantin' mahseff," she murmured. With silken expertise she began to loosen his clothing. "Now, y'all jes' turn youah back an' be patient fo' a minute, Cap'n. Ah got somethin* Ah wanta show y'all." Her dress fell to the floor in a pool of pink satin. Immediately his hand caressed the soft roundness of her buttocks. "Youah not s'posed to be lookin', Cap'n. Youah gwine spoil mah show," she said petulantly. "Now, get back ovah theah on the bed an' let me come to you the way Ah likes."

He kissed the nape of her neck, then went to the bed to await Melody's sensuous, well-choreographed progress toward him.

This was what Melody enjoyed most. She blossomed under the deep, slow gaze of a man's eyes as he devoured the contours of her undulating body. Melody smiled. The sight of her naked body never failed to excite a man or herself. Since she'd lost her Creole lover to his wife, about the only pleasure she got from these passing gentlemen was what she gave herself. She hoped, but didn't expect Adam to be different. Few men were good in bed. They were too eager, too rough, too cock-minded to know how to pleasure a woman. She had learned to pleasure herself.

She arched her back, thrusting out her bosom, the flat of

her hands moving down the curving length of her torso. "Ain't Ah jes' about the prettiest thing you evah did see, Cap'n?" Sidestepping his slight movement, she said, "Ah, no! Not yet. Melody ain't ready fo' you yet, Cap'n." Her voice grew huskier as she moved about the room, unwilling to be hurried or cheated of her pleasure. She danced and postured, glorying in her own sensuality. She played with her shawl, using it as a veil, drawing it across Adam's naked body as she danced toward him, then away. Mesmerized, he watched, the heat mounting in his loins, as she neared him again.