Gallowglass also impressed upon him what it was to be a de Clermont. Oddly, it seemed that becoming a blood-drinking, nearly immortal, volatile, two-legged creature was the easier task. Being a de Clermont seemed to require knowledge of a great many prickly characters and mastery of a list of rules a mile long. Based on Gallowglass’s description of the family and how it operated, it did not seem that the de Clermonts had read Common Sense. There was certainly no hint that they had embraced the new world of liberty and freedom that Paine outlined in his work. While Marcus lay in his berth, reading and rereading the worn pages of his treasured book, he had time to wonder what his new family would think of Paine’s assertion that virtue was not hereditary.
After more than a month of blockade-running, stiff winds, and rough, frigid seas, the Aréthuse arrived in the French port of Bordeaux. Gallowglass had made excellent time in the crossing, thanks to a combination of utter fearlessness, an encyclopedic mastery of the currents, and the fact that the de Clermont standard frightened off every privateer and blockade-runner in the Atlantic, as he had promised it would.
As they sailed down the Gironde, Marcus eyed the French countryside with a mixture of relief and trepidation, now knowing what awaited them on terra firma.
Marcus had never strayed much beyond the Connecticut River growing up, and though the varied origins of the Philadelphia Associators had introduced him to a world beyond the colonies, he as yet had no direct experience of it. The air in France smelled different, and the sounds that came from the shore did, too. The fields were bare, except for rows of vines held up by wooden supports that would bear the fruit for the wine wearhs drank to quench their thirst when blood was not available. The brilliant leaves that had still been on the trees in Portsmouth were nowhere visible in France in late December.
Marcus had grown accustomed to seeing nothing but canvas and water, and to being in close quarters with only Gallowglass and the crew. Bordeaux was a bustling port like Philadelphia, filled with creatures of every description—including females. Once they had docked and filled out all the paperwork that was required to unload the Aréthuse’s cargo, Gallowglass led him off the ship. His cousin’s hand was firm on his elbow. Even so, the press of warm bodies, along with the bright colors and strong scents of the port, left Marcus dazed and a trifle confused.
“Steady on,” Gallowglass said in a low murmur. “Stop and take it all in. Remember what I told you. Don’t be following wherever your nose leads, like a boy trailing after every pretty girl.”
Marcus swayed on unsteady legs, feeling the ground moving beneath him and his full stomach sliding along with it. Stefan, the Aréthuse’s plump cook, had fed him that morning while they were anchored outside the harbor, waiting for the customs men to inspect their wares. Stefan not only provided sustenance to the warmbloods in the form of hardtack and grog, but fed the wearhs from his veins, too.
“à bient?t,” Stefan said cheerily as he passed, carrying the ship’s last remaining chicken down the ramp, clucking and scolding in its wicker cage.
“Until next time, Stefan.” Gallowglass handed him a fat pouch that made a satisfying clinking sound. “For your trouble.”
“Non,” Stefan demurred, though he was already weighing the coins and calculating how much he could buy with them. “I was paid before we set sail, milord.”
“Consider it a boon, then,” Gallowglass said, “for taking care of young Monsieur Marcus.”
Marcus’s mouth gaped. He had never dreamed of being worth so much money.
“Monsieur Marcus was a gentleman. It was my pleasure to serve him.” Stefan bowed low, sending the chicken hurtling forward in his cage with an angry squawk.
Marcus bowed in return. The cook’s eyes widened. Had Stefan been a chicken, he would have squawked, too. Gallowglass hauled Marcus upright and steered him away.
“Don’t be bowing to the servants, Marcus,” Gallowglass muttered. “You are a de Clermont now. Do you want the gossips noticing your strange ways?”
As a wearh who drank the blood of living creatures for sustenance, never slept, and could reduce a mizzenmast to splinters with his bare hands, Marcus felt sure that bowing to servants was the least of what warmbloods might notice.
“I suppose we can attribute your oddness to being American,” Gallowglass mused, surveying the Bordelaise on the docks. Every last one of them was festooned with ribbons of red, white, and blue. The French were more visibly patriotic than most of the citizens of Philadelphia.