White Silence Read Online Free Page A

destination. Though the days passed swiftly enough as the ship headed north following the coast of California, Danny spent much of his time pacing the deck. It was as if he were trying to make the winds blow stronger by sheer force of will. Duncan and Fitz, for their part, spent the time planning, then arguing about the plans.
    They met a few of their fellow travelers, men from as far away as the coast of Maine, all struck by the disease the newspapers were calling Klondike fever. There were tables in the mess set aside for use of the passengers. Sometimes, at meals, the three Immortals were drawn into the endless conversations concerning the proper disposition of the wealth that they were all sure was waiting for them at journey’s end. Some dreams were big, some small …
    —“There’s a sweet piece of farmland right next ta our’n. My pappy tried ta buy it once’t …”
    —“Horses, of course. Racehorses. Only the finest Kentucky blood. And a stable, and grooms, and trainers and—oh, all of that.”
    —“There’s a gal back home …”
    When the question came around to Danny, he answered, without hesitation. “A grand house, on a beautiful wide avenue. With a strong, dark, polished wooden door. And square in the middle of the door, a knocker of solid gold. There’d be more than one window made of bits of colored glass, so that when the light came through, it would be like having a rainbow of your own. And behind the house would be a stable, bigger and cleaner than the places most ordinary folks live.”
    “You know such a place?” Duncan asked.
    “I did, when I was a lad. My—sister—was in service there. In New York City, it was.”
    Fitz spoke then, of buying fine things for fine ladies. And of not having to do an honest day’s work, ever again. Duncan laughed along with the rest at that, but for the most part was silent.
    Later, as they made ready for bed, Danny asked, “Are you not interested in the gold then, Mr. MacLeod? Is it that you don’t need it?”
    Duncan winced a little at the “Mister.” “I’ve money enough right now, Danny. Though there have been times when that wasn’t the case. Being rich—well, it is better than being poor, I’ll not disagree. But it’s not everything.”
    The young Immortal shook his head. “Poor. It’s but a word, I guess. Like a lot of words, if you say it over and over, it doesn’t seem to mean much. But if you
live
it over and over …” He turned away then, and said no more.
    He’d gone to bed hungry again, an ache in his stomach, the taste of the thin stew that had been dinner sour on his tongue. In the other room, Big Tom and Mother Kelly were arguing again. About “the child.” He was “the child.” The extra mouth Big Tom did not want to feed.
But I brought three coins home today, from the begging, I did,
he wanted to say.
Don’t turn me out, I’ve seen those that live on the street, I’ve seen what becomes of them.
But he was too frightened to do a thing but softly cry himself to sleep.
    The crew was to be avoided. They didn’t want the passengers underfoot while they were about their work. Besides which, there was no privacy to be had on deck. So Duncan had taken to doing his swordwork in the hold. It was cramped and dim, but without doubt, he had the space to himself.
    Shirtless, he moved the
katana
gracefully through a ritual of cuts and slashes. His whole being, mind and body, was in focus. Forward. Back. Again. Then repeat. It was no task, but a joy to perform—until his concentration was abruptly broken. He turned, furious at the interruption.
    “Fitzcairn, ye great annoyance, I told ye what I was a—”Then he saw that it was Danny O’Donal in the shadows.
    “Hugh has told me often of your sword, Mr. MacLeod. And how skilled you are. I thought, if I might watch a bit?”
    It would be rude to refuse, though he was not keen on an audience.
    “All right, then,” Duncan said. “But take care. There’s not much space down