Free With One Look by Jennifer Horsman Page A

in Boston, a school fatefully close to the shipping yard. Victor had lasted less than a month in this conventional setting before he signed up as deck hand on a clipper sailing to the Orient. After a few years, his gifts had landed him a spot in a London shipbuilding firm where he began amassing the knowledge and skill of ship design and building—and eventually enough of a fortune to start his own company back in America. Then some years later, at his father's and Governor Claighborne’s request, he had returned to New Orleans, where he renewed his liaison with Marie.
    Presently, Sebastian asked, "Is this not that ghastly overpriced brothel? The one frequented by some of our most favored adversaries?"
    Victor nodded as the coffee was poured. "The very one."
    "Why," Sebastian remembered, "I believe we went there once, about three years ago, just before you left for the war. A pretty little redheaded girl was being auctioned like chattel." His tone
    changed, his voice outraged, as if it were Victor's fault, "You Americans are so barbaric! Anything can happen here. The worst things do!" He shook his head with disdain. "Which, I suppose, is just what one would predict in a country governed by a flimsy piece of paper."
    Murray looked up to point out, "Better a constitution of laws than some mad king's psychotic whims, or a despot's mad quest for power." This of course referred to Napoleon. "Flimsy piece of paper indeed," he mumbled. Sebastian's aristocratic ideology always irritated his Irish utilitarian sensibilities. "And I don't think whorehouse auctions are discussed in the United States Constitution."
    Yet Sebastian was hardly listening as he remembered the pretty redheaded girl and her terrible fear, his own outrage. He had been about to kill the eager bidders when Victor had stopped him, then taught him how to handle one of this city's more uncivilized practices.
    "Aye," Victor said, wrapping a large hand around a cup of steaming coffee as he dumped a good deal too much sugar into the cup. "Marie's been after the lady of the house for over two years now. Charlemagne or something. A little girl, a servant, apparently flung herself from the rooftop back then."
    Murray looked up from his plate of pecan pie and muttered a curse.
    "I remember that," Steffan said. "Didn't you tell the men to stay away from there?"
    "Aye." Victor nodded. "For Marie. The lady claimed it was an accident, but Marie said she saw the girl's terror in a dream, that the little girl was trying to escape a torment of some kind."
    "What about Girod?" Murray asked.
    "Hell," Victor swore. "He probably collects a clean ten percent off the top."
    "Well!" Sebastian stood up and grinned, seeing a bit of excitement for the evening. "What say you?"
    "Not tonight." Victor shook his head. "I need to go down to the shipyard tonight and check those rafters they were putting up. Then later I'm meeting with Claighborne. Ride over to Marie's and ask her if you can take my place. And Sebastian"—Victor's eyes narrowed but a lift of grin gave him away—"do try to exercise a little restraint with that sword of yours, will you? If Don Bernardo is there tonight, you just might discover if his dull wits have generated a suspicion of the town's new player."
    "You always ask too much, Vic," Sebastian said as he motioned for their mounts to be brought up.
    John, Steffan and Sebastian turned their horses from the quiet streets of the garden district and headed straight for the heart of town. New Orleans was an exercise in contrasts, and Canal Street revealed them all, neatly separating the Creole east side from the new American west, and so, offering something for everyone. Taverns, gaming houses, restaurants and brothels flourished alongside honest shops and businesses, modest residences, two churches and a hospital.
    The day had started bright and beautiful, but like an angry mistress, the sky darkened and now threatened rain. A smooth canopy of menacing clouds hung