No Good Deed 49

The breeze was cold and brought the smell of sulphur and steam into my face. The day was as grey as any in London in the Springtime. There were fewer passengers strolling the decks, there being so little to reward their attention save the wide river and the cacophony of birdsong. I unfolded the paper Miss Winona Shepherd had slipped into my hand. It was much creased from folding, but it was by no means a palimpsest. The sheet was blank, save where a neat, feminine hand had written,

'Come not near me, 'til I may pass again.'

The note was unsigned, but it was reasonable to assume she had penned it herself. As to meaning, I could afford it none and placed the paper in a hidden pocket behind a Queen of Hearts.

A man stood perilously close to the rail, hidden behind a newspaper that must have been more than a day old, since the riverboat had not docked in that time. The newspaper was the Hannibal Journal. The paper was yellowed and a few rips and tears embellished both the front and back pages.

'Good day, Sir,' I said. 'Anything interesting in the news?'

The newspaper remained shielding the fellow's face, but shook a little, before the reply came,

'Ain't much in the news, that's why I'm readin' the olds.'

The newspaper shook again.

I stepped closer to peer at the date by the masthead, the paper was dated some seven years previously.

The paper jerked down and I found myself looking into a familiar face. It began speaking,

'Course, this paper hasn't been of any account since the Clemens Brothers moved on.'

The familiar laugh confirmed the man's identity, my heart had truly sunk to my boots as I realised Mr Clemens Junior had moved on as far as the Enterprise.

'You were Nevada bound unless I'm much mistaken?' I said.

'I still am, Mr -'

'Northrup.'

It was strange that he was travelling in the wrong direction. He gave me a quizzical look

'Northrup, hmm?'

'Incognito, Mr Clemens, I'm collecting material for a book.'

'Is that a fact? Reckon it'd be easier to publish under another name, myself.'

'It's a book for a London house, the perils of the Riverboats. I felt a gambler might gather more material.'

He laughed, 'Reckon he might if he didn't sound like the 5th Duke of Dorset.'

'I have recently returned from London, where I have acquired some reputation.'

He smirked, and I was sure he was about to ask me as what, but he merely enquired,

'Writing books, easy work for a man, is it?'

'For some, I'm sure.'

'So, your book, 'bout riverboats. People like to read other people's travelling? Why not go yourself?'

He really was a most tiresome ninny, but I forebore from pitching him over the side and replied,

'Evidently they do, perhaps it is a question of pecuniary assets and the vicarious voyage is better than none at all.'

I turned on my heel, Clemens had folded the Hannibal Journal and was rubbing his chin, staring into nothing. It was to be fervently hoped I had not unleashed his unsophisticated humour on the world.