Beautiful Blood by Lucius Shepard Read Free Book Online Page A

to map out the project, build scaffolding, and so on. That should give you time to come up with an alternative. In the meantime we will profit and the town will thrive.”
    The faces of the men at the table were a comical study in perplexity and concentration. Rosacher made a gesture of finality. “Gentlemen, I’ve stated my case and now I have business to attend. With your kind permission, I’ll leave you to your deliberations.”
    “If there are no further questions…” Breque looked inquiringly to the other councilmen. “Mister Rosacher, you have our thanks for making most exhilarating what otherwise might have been a tiresome adversarial experience. You can be sure that we will discuss every facet of what you have said. Give us a few days. You will hear from us by Friday at the latest.” He beamed at Rosacher and gestured toward the door. “Would you mind telling Mister Cattanay to come in? I, for one, am eager to hear the details of his proposal.”
    As Rosacher and Arthur strode down the hill, Rosacher’s mind went to the day ahead. There were appointments, contracts to examine, and he had to inspect repairs made to the refrigeration unit at the new factory. He would be fortunate to finish by seven o’clock. The time had come, he thought, to hire someone, perhaps several someones, to manage the business. Now that the council had been dealt with and, from his reading of Breque, he was confident of the result, he needed to get on with his study of the blood. He had been so consumed with the business that he had done pitifully little toward that end, and he looked forward to spending days locked away in a laboratory. But it was difficult to find people who were both competent and trustworthy. He would have to recruit his management staff on the coast and that meant a trip to Port Chantay, rounds of interviews…more time wasted. He despaired of creating a gap in his schedule.
    “Pardon me, sir.” Arthur’s face was etched with worry. “What you said back there…that I was an expert on warfare. I don’t know the first thing about it.”
    “There are dozens of books on the subject,” Rosacher said impatiently. “You have wonderful instincts as to aggression. I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.”
    “I can make out letters and sound some words, but…”
    “Don’t tell me you can’t read?”
    “Take me forever to read a book, it would. Even then, I reckon I might not make much sense of it.”
    “Learn, then,” said Rosacher, a nasty edge on his voice, fuming inwardly over the incompetence with which he was surrounded. “If you don’t learn, Arthur, how will you ever advance yourself?”

5
     

    Shortly after eight o’clock that evening, Rosacher arrived at Ludie’s apartments. He hesitated, debating whether or not to knock, ultimately deciding that since he was attempting to restore intimacy, he should behave as would an intimate—he opened the door. The room was dimly lit by a single ornamental floor lamp in a corner, its flame turned low, and the windows held rectangles of purplish dusk. Walls and ceiling were draped in swaths of billowy, diaphanous cloth—pastel shades of green, yellow and blue that shrank the enclosed space and was intended to make the room appear to be the interior of a tent. Beneath this canopy, pillows and rugs were arranged about a teak table on which a cold supper was laid. The decor represented an ideal of luxury in Ludie’s homeland, or rather what she presumed to be an ideal—she had been born into poverty and sold at the age of six to a brothel-keeper from Peppertree; he in turn had sold her to the Hotel San Salida.
    Rosacher collapsed amidst the pillows, closed his eyes and was assailed by nagging concerns relating to business. Attempting to quiet his mind, he sank deeper into a morass of petty entanglements, expenditures, collections and whatnot. When he succeeded in pushing these matters into the background, the question of his three-year lapse arose, and