Page 34 of Blowing Off Steam

“Maybe because he doesn’t know about it,” Tobias huffed. “And I’d prefer to see it stay that way.”

Rushy paused, stock-still, looking at something on the wharf like a coyote all perked up. “Well,” he breathed. “It might not stay that way for long, from the dubious looks of this spy what’s been following us the past couple of days.”

Field saw the fellow Rushy meant. A riceman leaned against the wharf railing in an exaggerated attempt to look casual. But his glaringly dandy scotch bonnet would make him stand out in a crowd of the worst sort of wallpapered brawling miners. “If he’s following us,” said Field, “he’s not doing a very good job of acting shrewd. Néih hóu!” he called to the spy in plaid. The spy immediately leaped into an attentive posture with hands outspread into talons, but they were ten yards from him now, and he didn’t have much of a chance to run.

“Néih hóu!” the spy replied suspiciously.

“Who are you?” Field inquired.

The spy pointed to himself. “I?”

“Yes, you. Who are you? We brought you here from San Francisco, but you were on the run downriver from Sacramento a couple days before that. Now you’re back in Sacramento, lounging about our landing stage. What sort of riceman travels about for a living?”

“I am merchant,” the fellow claimed with hostility, as though he wished to knife them with that long katana sword he wore in a scabbard. “Rice merchant.”

Rushy asked with hands on hips, “Then why have you never shipped any rice with us?”

“I ship with other boat, on barge. I like El Dorado for other entertainments.”

Rushy huffed. “Right. Well there won’t be no other entertainments anymore, buster. And we’re keeping an eye on you.”

They continued up the landing stage, and Field said, “I’ll go check with Callie about that fellow. Tobias, can you find out more about him?”

“Yes,” said Rushy. “I don’t see why a riceman merchant would be going up and down the river constantly. Ask Calliope what she’s seen him doing.”

Field found Calliope in the galley, cleaving up a shoulder of venison. When she looked up and bestowed him with her thoroughly ecstatic smile, Field was flooded with joy. She put down the cleaver and wiped her bloody hands on a towel. “My possum,” she declared, and lifted a glass of ruby-red liquid. “Port,” she explained, sipping from it. “You fellows told me it was all right if I got a bit wallpapered, and I was using it in this stew. Here.” She went to the pantry to get another glass and poured Field some as well. “This is very good. I believe it’s from the Tuscany region of Italy.”

“My,” said Field, sipping his wine. “You’re becoming quite highfalutin with all your wine knowledge.”

A little frown line appeared between her sapphire eyes. “I’ve noticed that. I seem to have this ability to note the differences in wine, to tell which area it’s from.” She shrugged. “It makes the passengers think I’m top rail, when really”—she giggled—“I just like bugjuice.”

“Or you have very good taste,” Field suggested ambiguously. “Say, I was wondering. Have you seen this Celestial fellow loitering about, wearing a very smart plaid cap?”

Calliope stuck her finger into a bowl of butter cream and sucked on it. “Oh yes,” she said, smacking her lips. “Who hasn’t seen that annoying guy? He was sitting right outside our staterooms this morning in the saloon, although he wasn’t drinking anything. And once he came right into my galley. Pretended to be looking for the privy.”

“The head,” Field corrected her, then was sorry he did. He knew Calliope felt ashamed about her uneducated background. She had done all of her own educating, and Field had seen a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in her stateroom. “So what do you think he’s up to?”

“No good, no doubt. Maybe that Mr. Haight fellow sent him to check up on you.”

“That’s what I thought. Listen, Callie,” he said now, because his main interest wasn’t the odd Celestial fellow in the plaid bonnet. “What was Brannan referring to when he called you Mrs. Rowland? Have you been married before?”

Calliope looked down to the bowl where she smeared another finger full of the cream. She shrugged. “Yes. In Utah Territory, where some people seem to think a marriage doesn’t count.” She shrugged again. “I was the eighth wife. We were sealed in the temple.”

“But how…” Field didn’t know how to ask this. “How did you arrive in Sacramento? Those people don’t believe in divorce, do they?”

“They abhor divorce, of course,” Calliope said. “But the other seven wives made sure my marriage to Levi was annulled.”

“Why didn’t they like you?”

Calliope had a shy expression now, and she licked her finger more salaciously, thoughtfully. “Levi preferred to be with me.”

Although wracked with painful jealous pangs, Field had to grin. “Can’t say as I blame him. You’re a stunner, Callie.” He petted her face with the back of his hand. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever met.”

She must know he’d been married before, so this was a real compliment, and she finally looked at him. Her look was sultry, rubbing her face against his hand like a house cat. “You’re not too lousy of a lady-killer yourself, Field. I…I did truly love my husband. He was quite…talented and invigorating.”

“So he knew how to fuck well,” Field surmised.

She sucked on her finger again, but now there was a devilish tone to her fiddling. Her lush figure was pressed up against him, and he knew she could feel his erection through her skirts, as she rubbed her pubic bone against it with a false innocence. “Yes,” she admitted boldly, her finger popping from her mouth. Without looking, she dipped it into the bowl again but brought it to Field’s lips to lick. He licked like a tentative kitten, but a surge of anger rose in him to think that Calliope had sucked Rushy’s stupid penis and not his. Hell, he had sucked Rushy’s stupid prick! Why was Rushy getting all the servicing around here? Well, maybe because he was the biggest, most handsome buck on the river. So why had Calliope seemingly chosen him? “He fucked well and taught me many things in bed. I believe I truly loved him, Field, but you know what? He didn’t teach me many things out of bed. Out of bed, I was confined to the kitchen—”