Houndstooth shrugged. “They’re not the ones paying me.”

“And what do the riverboat casinos think of it?”

“That’s a good question,” Houndstooth said. He settled his hat low over his eyes, and the two sank into the easy silence of the humid afternoon.

There would be plenty of time for Hero to learn about the Harriett, Houndstooth thought. Plenty of time for them to learn about the man who had shaken enough hands and bought enough half-destroyed land to practically own the surface of that feral-ridden puddle.

Travers.

If he had a first name, nobody seemed to know it. If he had a soul, Houndstooth had certainly never glimpsed it. Travers had seen an opportunity when the Great Hippo Bust of ’59 rendered half the marshland in Louisiana worthless. He’d made his first fortune purchasing parcels of land for pennies apiece and reselling them to the Bureau of Land Management for use in developing the Harriet. The only caveat had been that he would have unfettered, exclusive business rights on the water, and the right to deny access to any nongovernmental person seeking entry via the Gate.

It was a story that most hoppers didn’t know, but then most hoppers hadn’t done business with Travers. Unless they’d spent time on his riverboats, most hoppers didn’t know how much he relied on the vicious, hungry ferals that infested the Harriet. There had been a time when he would have paid handsomely to have even hungrier beasts in those waters.

There had been a time.

Hero interrupted Houndstooth’s blood-soaked memories of the most dangerous man in Louisiana. “So, we’re getting the ferals out of the Harriet because—why?”

“Trade route,” Houndstooth murmured without looking up. “The dam is crumbling already—there’s a huge crack down the middle, and it’s less stable every year. The plan as I understand it is to tear it down and reopen the Harriet to trade boats that need to get down to the Gulf. But the boats won’t go through if there are ferals eating their deckhands. So, they’ve got to go.”

“Ah, right. That’s not what I meant,” Hero said. “I meant why are we doing it? What’s in this for you?”

Houndstooth missed the comfortable silence. He swayed back and forth on Ruby’s back, listened to the lapping of marsh water against her barrel chest. Abigail nudged Ruby with her shoulder. Ruby grumbled and ducked her nose under the water, and Houndstooth felt the pressure of Hero’s patience settle over him.

“Have you ever had anything that you feel like you’d die without?” Houndstooth said it so quietly that it sounded like a prayer. “Something that you’ve put everything into—your whole life, all your heart? Have you ever had anything like that?”