Penetrating the murkiest corners of glittering New Orleans society, Benjamin January brought murderers to justice in A Free Man of Color , Fever Season , and Graveyard Dust . Now, in Barbara Hambly's haunting new novel, he risks his life in a violent plantation world darker than anything in the city.... When slave owner Simon Fourchet asks Benjamin January to investigate sabotage, arson, and murder on his plantation, January is reluctant to do any favors for the savage man who owned him until he was seven. But he knows too well that plantation justice means that if the true culprit is not found, every slave on Mon Triomphe will suffer. Abandoning his Parisian French for the African patois of a field hand, cutting cane until his bones ache and his musician's hands bleed, Benjamin must use all his intelligence and cunning to find the killer ... or find himself sold down the river. "A masterly piece of historical storytelling."— The New York Times Book Review "Searing."— Kirkus Reviews "The novel's plot is filled with brilliant twists and Hambly writes with inspired magic."— News & Record , Greensboro, NC "The darkest time in American history comes alive in Hambly's unforgettable series.... [A] fiercely burning picture of the horrors of slavery ... astonishing."— Publishers Weekly Don't miss the other books in Barbara Hambly's "remarkable"( The New York Times Book Review ) series featuring Benjamin January: A Free Man of Color Fever Season Graveyard Dust Now available from Bantam Books And coming soon in hardcover: Die Upon a Kiss Penetrating the murkiest corners of glittering New Orleans society, Benjamin January brought murderers to justice in A Free Man of Color , Fever Season , and Graveyard Dust . Now, in Barbara Hambly's haunting new novel, he risks his life in a violent plantation world darker than anything in the city.... When slave owner Simon Fourchet asks Benjamin January to investigate sabotage, arson, and murder on his plantation, January is reluctant to do any favors for the savage man who owned him until he was seven. But he knows too well that plantation justice means that if the true culprit is not found, every slave on Mon Triomphe will suffer. Abandoning his Parisian French for the African patois of a field hand, cutting cane until his bones ache and his musician's hands bleed, Benjamin must use all his intelligence and cunning to find the killer ... or find himself sold down the river. Penetrating the murkiest corners of glittering New Orleans society, Benjamin January brought murderers to justice in A Free Man of Color, Fever Season, and Graveyard Dust. Now, in Barbara Hambly's haunting new novel, he risks his life in a violent plantation world darker than anything in the city.... When slave owner Simon Fourchet asks Benjamin January to investigate sabotage, arson, and murder on his plantation, January is reluctant to do any favors for the savage man who owned him until he was seven. But he knows too well that plantation justice means that if the true culprit is not found, every slave on Mon Triomphe will suffer. Abandoning his Parisian French for the African patois of a field hand, cutting cane until his bones ache and his musician's hands bleed, Benjamin must use all his intelligence and cunning to find the killer ... or find himself sold down the river. Barbara Hambly attended the University of California and spent a year at the University of Bordeaux, France, obtaining a master's degree in medieval history. She has worked as both a teacher and a technical editor, but her first love has always been history. Ms. Hambly lives in Los Angeles with two Pekingese, a cat, and another writer. When someone ties you naked to a tree in the yard and beats you unconscious with a broom handle, you don't soon forget it, or him. "Ben, you remember Monsieur Fourchet," said his mother. Standing in the doorway of her parlor, Benjamin January felt the hair lift on his nape at the sight of the man beside the window. In the nightmares, he was taller. Fourchet turned from the long French door that looked out onto Rue Burgundy, and January saw that he was, in fact, just slightly under six feet tall: more than three inches shorter than his own towering height. That he was wide through the chest and shoulders, but without January's massive strength. In the nightmares his hair was black, not streaky gray and thin, and his face, although creased with a lifetime's rage and cruelty, didn't have the broken network of lines that gouged the sunken cheeks, bracketed the harsh mouth, accentuated the sag beneath the chin. The eyes were the same. Arrogant, dark, and cold. But the man had grown old. "I remember," he told his mother. "You've grown." Fourchet took a seat in one of the straw-colored chintz chairs of which January's mother was so proud. Between seven and forty-one I'd belong in a raree-show if I hadn't. January couldn't resist saying, "Monsieur Janvier fed me very