He seemed simple and harmless enough to Emmy.
She observed DeSetre watching Levi.
She wondered if the disdain she saw on the Jesuit’s face was from frustration at the imitation he perceived, or pity for the man’s soul, given that, irrespective of his baptism, he was not Catholic and therefore was likely to spend a good portion of eternity in purgatory.
Levi paid no attention to the priest and ate his small meal with the fervor of a starving man, picking and eating crumbs of bread from his beard. Then he departed immediately into the darkness of the cold night.
She wondered where he slept.
Marté, a small ferret of a man with pock-marked cheeks and a sharp nose that seemed fit for cutting, finally arrived, accompanied by a very tall, cachectic Negro cyclops who called himself Cull.
Marté spoke quickly to Edween, watching the door and stairway during the conversation as if expecting an unpleasant interruption.
Cull, however, immediately picked out Emmy and Sarah from the crowd and kept his one eye fixed on them from a perch he found by the serving bar.
After the quick exchange, Marté made his way over to Emmy and Sarah and sat down without an introduction, his back to the wall, watching the door and stairway, swinging his gaze between each entry point and then back to them.
He looked over both of them as if they were prizes.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Sensing a predator, Sarah moved closer to her mother as Marté spoke, yet she was fascinated at the same time with Cull, wondering how he had lost his left eye.
The large rubbery scars that ran across his left brow and into his cheek had to be related to the empty socket, she surmised. She wondered if the meanness on that deformed face had preceded the painful injury, and if so, whether the anguish she perceived in him could ever be relieved.
She wondered if the man had sinned to deserve the injury.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Marté addressed Emmy with darting glances while looking at Sarah.
“Madame is interested in a lost boy? Perhaps one that has been taken from her soon ago? She is interested in le eschange? So I am told by Edween over there.”
Emmy flushed but did not respond. She leaned forward as he spoke.
Sarah, losing interest in Cull, leaned forward also.
By their attention, Marté immediately knew he had the advantage.
“It is possible to help the bereaved mother. She will barter, should a possibility exist? Yes?”
He quickly looked at the few wayfarers who still were in the tavern and then again at the door, then at Cull and back to Emmy.
“And . . . where is the father?”
He read their faces. Smiled again.
“Condolences. I lost my family in the same way when I was small like this one,” he said, pointing with his chin at Sarah.
Sarah reached for her mother’s hand on the table.
Marté saw this and changed his expression, softening for a moment.
“I see this is still very painful subject. You will need some time, yes?”
Then he looked over Emmy and her daughter again and smiled, showing his canines as he did so.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Emmy wondered what he envisioned for them, and observing the way he looked them over, saw a smile that could not hide the anger in his eyes. She sensed something painful in this little man’s past, some horrible unknown thing that made him perceive himself as a victim, rationalize taking perverted pleasures at the expense of others. An opportunistic predator.
She firmed up, seeing he was also surveying her wherewithal and resources. She still did not have the comfort of any official connection with the local British authorities or military and had no knowledge of the area beyond what she had learned from Edween.
“Yes. We have a quest. And yes, I need more time. I am waiting for Colonel Pardeen to return from Vancouver.”
She saw Marté’s expression change, a slight narrowing of his eyes and another quick look to the door.
“I am told the madame wishes to be guided upriver,” he said, glancing at Cull. “It is hard travel now. But we know this country well. The Tsimshian will be in a place called Three Spirits until the spring. You know they will host a potlatch, for the marriage of the tyee Ksi Amawaal’s son. It will be very big. We will go because some of the gifts will become trade items for sale.”
He watched for Emmy’s reaction. Reading none, he went on, attempting to lure her in.
“Many tribes will come. Many stories.” His eyes narrowed into two slits. “There may be things of interest for you there, I am feeling . . . the madame may come with us, yes?”
Emmy listened and confirmed in his expression a deep danger. She had enough information.
“I will wait for the colonel.”
Marté smiled and rose, sensing she was attempting to throw him off her intentions.
“Madame may lose her one chance. The potlatch is in a fortnight. The river may be frozen, and it is a good long journey even in the summer.”
He looked over Emmy and then at Sarah, then smiled again at some private thought.
“Bon soir, madame.” He left.
As he and Cull departed, Emmy saw DeSetre in the corner watching her.
He shook his head and continued reading his missal.
Chapter Twenty-Six
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MaNuitu’sta
It took five days for the message to reach him, but he departed immediately to meet Emmy and Sarah. MaNuitu’sta, also known simply as “Patient River,” was a tyee of the Nuxalk Bella Coola Valley clan, who, like many of the tribes along the coast, had been subjected to a swindle attempt by the Brit territorial government.
Unlike most of the other leaders, however, he had not signed the treaty, and thus, he had retained his stature among tribes in the region.
But it did not matter, because the whites had come anyway, swarming in from the depleted gold fields in San Francisco to make another attempt
