Read Online I Travel by Night by Robert R. McCammon - Free Book Online Page A

rivalry goin’ on. Young fella was a little out of his mind, is what all us jacks figured. Well…maybe a lot out of his mind. We heard his father was a bully, ragged that young fella all the time about bein’ worthless. So he spent money, time and labor buildin’ an opera house and concert hall out in the swamp. Buildin’ big mansions for himself and his business partners, but they didn’t stay very long when they saw what he was doin’. Tryin’ to build another New Orleans, make a port out of it. Puttin’ all his money in makin’ a fancy town where the ’gators used to drop their eggs and the snakes coiled in the mud by the hundreds. Then that hurricane hit.” McGuire angled the coin so lamplight touched it and laid the color of gold across his scarred face. “Oh, Almighty God…that was a blower,” he said quietly. “A monster, that thing was. Flew in on black wings, it did, in the middle of the night. Brought the swamp and the creatures of the swamp right into those workmen’s houses, into those company stores, into that church and school and the opera house and concert hall and right into those mansions. Everything that wasn’t blowed away or flattened was flooded. The dock and all the equipment destroyed. It was like…a punishment from God, for pushin’ too far. You know what I’m sayin’?” He looked to the vampire for understanding.
    “I do,” said Lawson.
    “I thought you would. You’ve got the look on you.”
    “And what might that be?”
    “The look of somebody who knows what it’s like to be punished by God,” said McGuire. “I have been too. Lost my wife and a fine son in that storm. At dusk one day I was fifty, and at daybreak the next I was eighty. But time heals every hurt, they say. You believe that?”
    Lawson was silent, because he didn’t know what he believed.
    “Yeah,” said McGuire, who reached again for the jug of Roses, “I’m still waitin’ too.” When he finished drinking, he ran a hand over his face and sat staring at the wall for a moment as if he’d forgotten he had company in his castle. Then he said, “Twenty dollars, I’ll give you a skiff with two oars. You won’t make Nocturne tonight, though. Tomorrow sometime. That’s best, you don’t want to try to get there in the dark, you’ll never find it. I’ll get you a boat with a torch holder, fix you up. That’ll help. When you wantin’ to leave?”
    “An hour at the most. I have to get some things from my room.”
    McGuire cocked his head to one side, as if to get a better view of his visitor. “All right, what’s your business ought to stay your business…but I’m damned if I can figure out what this is about.”
    “I need to go to Nocturne.” Lawson was already reaching for the gold coins. “That’s all you have to know. I’ll return the boat when I can. I’d also like you to draw me a map of how to get there. I’ll pay extra for that. Oh…one other thing: the name of the young man who founded Nocturne. Would that name be Christian Melchoir?”
    “That’s right,” said McGuire. “How’d you know?”
    “I suspected. It seems Mr. Melchoir has an affinity for the place he created. He wants to give it..shall we say…a new life.” Lawson walked forward and placed the coins on the table. “One hour,” he said. “I thank you for your help.”
    “Thank me when you get back.”
    Lawson left that statement unanswered. He departed McGuire’s cabin and, walking warily with an eye to the shadows and his hands ready to draw his Colts, he returned to the boarding-house. It didn’t take him very long to get ready. He had what he needed, and what Father Deale had secured for him. Everything was in the saddlebags and he had two folded-up black window curtains. He would need these, if he was caught by the daylight out there. The thought didn’t disturb him too much; if he was contained by the sunlight, so would they also be. He left the boarding-house and returned to McGuire’s cabin,