Page 16 of Blowing Off Steam

“As have you,” she said, but didn’t hesitate to take a chair, helping herself to a piece of the pudding. “Now I’d like to know. What did you think of my cuisine?”

It was evident by the men’s raised eyebrows and the way they patted their stomachs that the answer was affirmative, and Calliope exhaled with relief.

Field even poured her a glass of champagne and said, “That mutton was first-rate. And I happen to know it’s been sitting in the icebox for over a week.”

Calliope giggled. “I could tell. Luckily my galley mate Maurice had some curry powder that helped to mask the age of it.” She sipped her champagne and ventured, “Mayhap I could be allowed to go into San Francisco tomorrow with Maurice? I’m sure he could steer me toward many interesting shops where I can pick up more spices.”

Rushy said, “Who’s this Maurice character?”

“That young Celestial nipper who helps in the galley.”

Rushy remained quizzical, so Field filled in for him. “I know that kid. His parents were killed in that Captain Sutter explosion.”

Rushy backhanded his partner. “Will you knock off those steamer explosions? You’re going to scare the lady well-nigh into fits.”

Lady! The pilot had called her a lady. To prove she was on their side, she added, “Well. Nobody much cares when a bunch of ricemen are killed, now, do they?”

Rushy nodded tersely. “That’s sure as shooting. Once, a whole china hold of ricemen went to the bottom of the river and the paper only mentioned the one white man who died—a Spaniard, at that! Sure, you can take that nipper into town tomorrow. We’re not heading back to Sacramento till Wednesday. I’ll give you some gold to buy provisions.”

The bubbles went directly to her brain, for Calliope now said, “Minus the gold that I pilfered from Headmaster Tobias.”

Field slapped the table with glee. “‘Headmaster Tobias’! Miss, I don’t think I want to ask what that was all about.”

Calliope shrugged. “Spanking, mostly.”

There was an element of embarrassment in their laughter now, and Calliope was glad they were not so jaded and blasé that the thought of her being spanked did not shame or even excite them a little. So she wiggled her shoulders a bit, knowing it jiggled her breasts in the deeply cut bodice, and was rewarded when Field couldn’t resist darting his eyes downward. Several times.

Yes, Field. He would be the least resistant to her charms, she had already guessed. Rushy seemed a bit more devil-may-care, accustomed to the rowdy river life. Rushy would probably not hesitate to inhale another man’s cock into his lusty mouth, but from what Calliope had witnessed, it seemed like a new game for Field.

Field said, “That old mountebank, Tobias. He’ll be getting a whaling big enough fee from us soon enough.”

Was Field referring to their dinner conversation with Tobias? Tobias had hinted at some whopping big payday if the river men would…well, do something that involved their riverboat. But now Rushy appeared to be hushing Field, so Calliope prodded, “Oh, yes, I heard some vague discussion while you were eating. Tobias is setting you up in some business venture?”

Field said, “You could say that. We’re to strike into town tomorrow and pick up some container or other.”

“Oh, could I come with you? I don’t know my way around town, although I’m sure Maurice does.”

The men shared dark glances. They played with their dessert forks, Rushy even sounding a tinkle on the edge of his champagne glass with his.

At length Rushy cleared his throat. “Mayhap Maurice would be helpful. We’ll be going into Chinatown first thing in the morning.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Here she is, folks! The El Dorado! Fastest steamer on the river!” The youth bawled at the crowd of miners and adventurers that milled about the wharf. “The floating palace famous for her cuisine! Totally overhauled and absolutely safe!”

Field shouldered his way through the press of people. The El Dorado runners were the most aggressive of all, wrenching the arms of potential passengers to guide them aboard, and now the youth shrieked, “Don’t go anywhere near the American Eagle! She’s got bedbugs, lice in her beef, and the decks are so rotten last week a gent fell clear through to the engine’s firebox and burned to death! Horrifying, melty, and smelly!”

Field knew it was impossible for anyone to fall into the firebox from above, but his runner was now engaging in fisticuffs with the American Eagle runner, who had screamed that the El Dorado charged thirty dollars per passenger to Sacramento, while his boat only charged twenty-eight. Field struck down the wharf, where Rushy was receiving a shipment of wine from Boston. They continued walking abreast up Montgomery, striking for Clay Street, where they had an appointment with the unknown.

Of course, it was Rushy’s duty to bring up the subject of Calliope. He seemed more skeptical of the former hooker than Field was. “Is this the wisest decision?” he asked for the hundredth time. “Letting Calliope know what we’re transporting, I mean.”

And for the hundred and first time, Field responded, “She won’t have to know what it is. It’s just a crate of dead chickens, right? And we need that Maurice child to translate for us.”

“Yes, but won’t she get more than she bargained for when she figures out that two steamer captains aren’t going all the way to Chinatown just for a crate of dead chickens?”

Field reasoned with his partner. “Hey. We’ve got something on her. We know she wasn’t a fancy chef schooled in New Orleans. We know she robbed poor old Headmaster—Tobias Fosburgh. So what if she deduces it’s not just a crate of chickens? She’ll keep it a secret.”

But Rushy kept arguing. “We could just take the young one and tell Calliope to go back to the boat. Chinatown is no place for a woman, with all that rice, gambling, and incense—Ho! There’s Miss Calliope! Good morning.”