Free Alexander C. Irvine by A Scattering of Jades Page A

English—at inopportune times. Noon and immediately before sunrise were times of noticeable peculiarity, which was why Steen had let Diamond off before the meeting he had planned for noon. He wanted all of Barnum’s attention focused on the merchandise.
    Steen frowned as he guided the horses through Philadelphia’s crowded streets. If any man had cause to swear vengeance on him, it was Diamond. He had died hard, drowning faceup with the tip of his nose barely three inches deep in the silted water of a Mississippi River inlet.
    A New Orleans native, Diamond had been a dancer in Barnum’s Grand Scientific and Musical Theatre when Steen had been the company’s puppeteer. Jane Prescott had recently escaped from him, and Steen had discreetly let it be known that he was interested in finding a certain Mexican woman named Lupita, whom he thought was in Louisiana. He had been sure that Lupita would be able to locate Jane, and in the spring of 1841 Diamond had led Steen to her in Natchez. The reunion had quickly turned ugly, and Steen had been forced to kill Diamond when the dancer tried to leave.
    Steen had been owing Lupita a debt for nearly six years at the time; after her mocihuaquetzqui had gotten out of control the night they had captured the girl, Maskansisil himself had come to New York on her trail and had instead found his. Steen had barely escaped with his life the night the Pathfinder had caught him, and when Lupita refused to assist him in tracking Jane he had let his self-control lapse.
    Killing Lupita had been sheer pleasure, revenge for Steen’s terror during those weeks when he had been certain that Maskansisil would drop out of every tree, bur Steen had regretted having to kill Diamond; generally he didn’t like blacks, but the dancer had been a valuable asset.
    “Sorry, Johnny,” he’d said after the last bubble had broken on the surface and Diamond’s struggles had stopped. “There are only so many people who can know about this, and I’m afraid you’re not one of them. And there are far worse places than Tlalocan.”
    As the water settled into perfect stillness, the reflection of the moon had resolved into a glossy circle over Diamond’s dead face. The Tochtli had been prominent that night; Steen remembered wondering what portent that held. Perhaps a man drowned under the Rabbit would be drunk when he got to Tlalocan, the afternoon paradise reserved for those who died of water or weather or earth. He had left Diamond’s body where it floated in the thigh-deep water; a dead Negro floating in the Mississippi was hardly a noteworthy occurrence.
    And now, for reasons Steen couldn’t begin to fathom, Diamond had sought him out.
    Steen turned south onto Front Street and moved at a trot past Society Hill, preoccupied with the strange signs the sky had been giving in recent weeks. The Rabbit, for one; it had been everywhere lately. Beyond being a symbol of drunkenness, the Tochtli was also associated with the south and uncertain fortune; it could mean anything, depending on what other signs it was found in conjunction with. The signs that night in Natchez had maintained a stony indifference, even as he went back up the rotting stairs to the hovel to make sure Lupita’s ancient body wouldn’t rise of its own accord and follow him.
    The signs were no clearer today, especially since the sun was obscured by stubborn clouds. It was the last day of Quecholli, when a feast generally took place, and the sign was Deer—sacred to Tlaloc—and the number was eleven, generally unlucky.
    And the month has a bloody R in it, Steen thought. None of it meant anything as far as he could tell.
    At least he wouldn’t have to worry abour Maskansisil any more, not if Diamond kept his word and found Tamanend’s mask. Tlaloc must have gotten to the dancer when he’d drowned; why else would a man do such a tremendous favor for his murderer?
    The late-morning sun was a pale smudge in the lowering sky as Steen brought the