Mister Slaughter Part 2

"What put him in his predicament predicament, as you call it," Greathouse finally replied, "will probably always be unknown. But I'd say that even one of the finest warriors in the world might be hit from behind by a cudgel, or trapped in a net and smothered down by six or seven men, or even have to make the choice to sacrifice himself that someone else might escape the chains. His people are fishermen, with a long heritage of seafaring. He might have been caught on a boat, with nowhere to go. I'd say he might have lost his tongue because he wouldn't give up the fight, and it was explained to him by some tender slaver that another body part would be the next sliced off. All possibilities, but as I say we'll likely never know."

"I'm surprised, then, that he just hasn't killed McCaggers and run for it."

"Now why would he want to do that that?" Greathouse regarded Matthew as if he were looking at an imbecile. "Where would he go go? And what would the point be? From my observation, McCaggers has been kind to him and Zed has responded by being as loyal " He paused, hunting his compa.s.s. "As loyal as a slave needs to be, given the situation. Also, it shows that Zed is intelligent. If he weren't, I'd have no interest in him. I wouldn't have paid the money for Benjamin Owles to sew him a decent suit, either."

"What?" Now this was getting serious. Greathouse had actually paid money for a suit suit? To be worn by McCaggers' slave? When he'd righted his senses, Matthew said, "Would you care to explain-as reasonably and rationally as possible-exactly why you have enough interest in Zed to entertain hiring hiring him for the agency? Or was I dreaming that part of it?" him for the agency? Or was I dreaming that part of it?"

"No, you weren't dreaming. Here's your breakfast."

Evelyn had arrived bearing a tray with Matthew's food. She also showed an empty burlap bag, marked in red paint Mrs. Sutch's Sausages Mrs. Sutch's Sausages and, below that, the legend and, below that, the legend 'Sutch A Pleasure 'Sutch A Pleasure', to the other patrons in the room. "All out, kind friends!" Her announcement brought a chorus of boos and jeers, though in good nature. "We ought to be getting another s.h.i.+pment next month, which we'll post on the board outside."

"A popular item," Matthew remarked as Evelyn put his platter down before him.

"They refuse to believe it's gone until they see with their own eyes. If this lady didn't live so far away in Pennsylvania, I think Sally would go into business with her. But, anyway," she shrugged, "it's all in the spices. Anything else I can get for you?"

"No, this looks fine, thank you." When Evelyn retreated again and the hubbub died down, Matthew stared across the table into Greathouse's eyes as the man continued eating. "You can't actually be serious about hiring Zed."

"I'm absolutely serious. And as I have the authority from Katherine to make decisions in her absence, I intend to put things into motion right away."

"Things into motion? What does that mean?"

Greathouse finished all but a last bite of the sausage, which he obviously intended to savor when he'd gone through his corncakes. "First, the agency has to arrange to buy him from McCaggers."

"To buy buy him?" him?"

"Yes, that's what I said. I swear, Matthew! Aren't you getting enough sleep? Don't things get into your head the first time these days?" Greathouse gave a wicked little grin. "Oh, ho! You're up late tripping the moonlight with Grigsby's granddaughter, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Well, you say one thing and your blush says another."

"Berry and I are friends," Matthew said, in what he realized was a very tight and careful voice. "That's all."

Greathouse grunted. "I'd say two people running for their lives together across a vineyard either never want to see each other again or become more than friends. But I'm glad you brought her up."

"Me? I didn't bring her up!" For emphasis, he crunched his teeth down on a piece of the cracknel.

"She figures in my plan," Greathouse said. "I want to buy Zed from McCaggers, and I want to pet.i.tion Lord Cornbury for a writ declaring Zed a freed man."

"A free-" Matthew stopped himself, for surely he did feel a bit thick-headed today. "And I suppose McCaggers will gladly sell you the slave he depends upon to do such a vital work?"

"I haven't yet approached McCaggers with this idea. Now bear with me." He chewed down the last bite of sausage, and again he reached for the tea. When that didn't do the trick, he plucked up Matthew's cider and drank half of it. "That jingo business you went out on. Walking into that den of thieves, and casting yourself as a foppish gambler. Well, the foppish part was true enough, but you really put yourself in danger there, Matthew, and don't pretend you didn't. If I'd known you were accepting a task like that, I'd have gone with you."

"You were fully occupied elsewhere," Matthew said, referring to the problem of Dr. Coffin that had taken Greathouse across the river to New Jersey. "And as I interpret the scope of my profession, I am free to accept or reject clients without your approval."

"Exactly so. Which is why you need someone to watch your back. I paid McCaggers a fee to allow Zed to dress up in the suit I bought for him and to come to the c.o.c.k'a'tail. I told him Zed would be in no danger, which is true when you consider what he can do."

"But you didn't know it was true. He had yet to prove himself." Matthew returned to the statement that had caused him to cease crunching his cracknell. "Someone to watch my back? You mean Zed would be my bodyguard bodyguard?"

"Don't fly off the handle, now. Just listen. Do you know what instructions I asked McCaggers to give Zed last night? To protect the both of us, and to protect himself. I was ready to reach in if anything went wrong."

"Yes," Matthew said, with a nod. "That reach of yours almost got your hand chopped off."

"Everybody knows about that axe Skelly keeps behind the bar! I'm not stupid, Matthew!"

"Neither am I," came the calm but heated response. "Nor do I need a bodyguard. Hasn't it occurred to you that being in the company of a slave might cause more trouble than simply walking into a place-a den of thieves, as you say-and relying on your wits to resolve the problem? And I appreciate the fact that Zed is fearless. An admirable quality, I'm sure. But sometimes fearless and careless walk hand-in-hand."

"Yes, and sometimes smart and stubborn walk a.s.s-in-hand, too!" said Greathouse. It was hard to tell whether it was anger or sausages flaming his cheeks, but for a few seconds a red glint lingered deep in the man's eyes; it was the same sort of warning Matthew occasionally saw when they were at rapier practice and Greathouse forgot where he was, placing himself mentally for a dangerous pa.s.sing moment on the fields of war and the alleyways of intrigue that had both seasoned and scarred him. In those times, Matthew counted himself lucky not to be skewered, for though he was becoming more accomplished at defending his skin he would never be more than an amateur swordsman. Matthew said nothing. He cast his gaze aside and drank some cider, waiting for the older warrior to return from the bloodied corridors.

Greathouse worked his knuckles. His fists are already big enough His fists are already big enough, Matthew thought.

"Katherine has great hopes for you," Greathouse said, in a quieter tone of conciliation. "I absolutely agree that there should be no boundaries on what clients you accept or reject. And certainly, as she told you, this can be a dangerous-and potentially fatal-profession." He paused, still working his knuckles. It took him a moment to say what he was really getting at. "I can't be with you all the time, and I'd hate for your gravestone to have the year 1702 marked on it."

"I don't need a-" Matthew abruptly stopped speaking. He felt a darkness coming up around him, like a black cloak here amid these oblivious breakfast patrons of Sally Almond's. He knew this darkness very well. It was a fear that came on him without warning, made his heart beat harder and raised pinp.r.i.c.ks of sweat at his temples. It had to do with a small white card marked with a b.l.o.o.d.y fingerprint. The card was in the writing desk in his home, what used to be the dairyhouse behind Marmaduke Grigsby's abode. Of this card, which had been delivered to his door by an unknown prowler after his adventure involving the Queen of Bedlam, Matthew had said nothing to any other person. He didn't wish Berry to know, and certainly not her grandfather with his ready quill and ink-stained fingers. Though Matthew had almost told Greathouse on several occasions he'd decided to close his mouth and shrug the darkness off as best he could. Which at times was a formidable task.

The card was a death-threat. No, not a threat. A promise. It was the same type of card that had been delivered to Richard Herrald, Greathouse's own half-brother, and after seven years the promise came true with his hideous murder. It was the same type of card that had been delivered to Magistrate Nathaniel Powers, whom Matthew had clerked for and who had brought Matthew and Katherine Herrald together. The death promise yet lingered over Powers, who had left New York with his family during the summer and gone to the Carolina colony to help his brother Durham manage Lord Kent's tobacco plantation.

It was a promise of death, this year or next, or the next year or the one after that. When this card was marked with a b.l.o.o.d.y fingerprint and sent to its victim, there could be no escape from the hand of Professor- "Are you going to eat your rockahominy?" Greathouse asked. "It's lousy when it's cold."

Matthew shook his head, and Greathouse took the bowl.

After a moment during which the great man nearly cleaned all the rockahominy out of the bowl with four swipes of a spoon, Matthew's darkness subsided as it always did. His heartbeat returned to normal, the little p.r.i.c.klings of sweat evaporated and he sat calmly, with a blank expression on his face. No one was ever the wiser about how close they might be sitting to a young man who felt a horrific death chasing him down step after step, in a pursuit that might go on for years or might end with a blade to the back on the Broad Way, this very evening.

"Where are you?"

Matthew blinked. Greathouse pushed the bowl aside. "You went somewhere," he said. "Any address that I might know?"

"I was thinking about Zed," Matthew told him, and managed to make it sound convincing.

"Think all you like," came the quick reply, "but I've made the decision. It is absurd for a man of Zed's talent to be limited to hauling corpses around. I tell you, I've seen a lot of slaves but I've never seen a Ga in slavery before, and if there's a chance I can buy him from McCaggers, you can be sure I'm going to make the offer."

"And then go about setting him free?"

"Exactly. As was pointed out last night, it's against the law for slaves to enter taverns. What good would Zed be to us, if he couldn't enter where by necessity he might need to go?" Greathouse began to fish in a pocket for his money. "Besides, I don't like the idea of keeping a slave. It's against my religion. So, since there are are several freedmen in New York, including the barber Micah Reynaud, there is a precedent to be followed. Put your money up, I'll call Evelyn over." He raised a hand for the waitress and the bill. several freedmen in New York, including the barber Micah Reynaud, there is a precedent to be followed. Put your money up, I'll call Evelyn over." He raised a hand for the waitress and the bill.

"A precedent, yes," Matthew agreed, "but every slave granted manumission was so approved before Lord Cornbury came. I'm wondering if he can be induced to sign a writ."

"First things first. Put your money up. You're done, aren't you?"

Matthew's hesitation spoke volumes, and Greathouse leaned back in his chair with a whuff of exhaled breath. "Don't tell me you have no money. Again Again."

"I won't, then." Matthew almost shrugged but he decided it would be risking Greathouse's wrath, which was not pretty.

"I shouldn't stand for you," Greathouse said as Evelyn came to the table. "This will be the third time in a week." He smiled tightly at the waitress as he took the bill, looked it over and paid her the money. "Thank you, dear," he told her. "Don't take any wooden duits."

She gave that little bell-like laugh and went about her business.

"You're spending too much on your d.a.m.ned clothes," Greathouse said, standing up from his chair. "What's got your money now? Those new boots boots?"

Matthew also stood up and retrieved his tricorn from its hook. "I've had expenses." The boots were to be paid off in four installments. He was half paid on his most recent suit, and still owed money on some s.h.i.+rts from Benjamin Owles. But they were such fine s.h.i.+rts, in chalk white and bird's-egg blue with frills on the front and cuffs. Again, the latest fas.h.i.+on as worn by young men of means. Why should I not have them, he thought, if I wish to make a good impression!

"Your business is your business," Greathouse said as they walked through the tavern toward the door. "Until it starts taking money out of my pocket. I'm keeping count of all this, you know."

They were nearly at the door when a middle-aged woman with thickly-curled gray hair under a purple hat and an exuberant, sharp-nosed face rose from the table she shared with two other ladies to catch Matthew's sleeve. "Oh, Mr. Corbett! A word, please!"

"Yes, madam?" He knew Mrs. Iris Garrow, wife of Stephen Garrow the Duke Street horn merchant.

"I wanted to ask if you might sign another copy of the Earwig Earwig for me, at your convenience? Sorry to say, Stephen accidentally used the first copy I had to kill a c.o.c.kroach, and I've boxed his ears for it!" for me, at your convenience? Sorry to say, Stephen accidentally used the first copy I had to kill a c.o.c.kroach, and I've boxed his ears for it!"

"I'll be glad to, madam."

"Any new adventures to report?" breathlessly asked one of the other ladies, Anna Whitakker by name and wife to the Dock Ward alderman.

"No," Greathouse answered, with enough force to shake the cups of tea on their table. He grasped Matthew's elbow and pushed him out the door. "Good morning to you!" Greathouse answered, with enough force to shake the cups of tea on their table. He grasped Matthew's elbow and pushed him out the door. "Good morning to you!"

Outside on Na.s.sau Street, in the cool breeze with the silver sunlight beaming down, Matthew reflected that one might be a celebrity one day and the next have c.o.c.kroach entrails smeared across one's name. The better to wear nice clothes, hold your head up high and luxuriate in fame, while it lasted.

"There's one more thing," Greathouse told him, stopping before they'd moved very far from Sally Almond's door. "I wish to know the extent of Zed's intelligence. How much he can grasp of English, for instance. How quickly he might be taught. You can help me."

"Help you how?" Matthew instantly knew he was going to regret asking.

"You know a teacher teacher," Greathouse answered. When Matthew didn't immediately respond, he prodded: "Who helps Headmaster Brown at the school."

Berry Grigsby, of course. Matthew stepped aside to get out of the way of a pa.s.sing wagon that pulled a buff-colored bull to market.

"I want her opinion. Bring yourself and your lady friend to City Hall at four o'clock. Come up to McCaggers' attic."

"Oh, she'll love that!" Matthew could picture Berry up in that attic, where McCaggers kept his skeletons and grisly relics of the coroner's craft. She'd be out of there like a cannonball shot from a twelve-pounder.

"She doesn't have to love it, and neither do you. Just be there." Greathouse narrowed his eyes and looked north along Na.s.sau. "I have an errand to run, and it may take me awhile. I presume you have something to do today that doesn't require the risk of your life?"

"I'll find something." There were always the detailed reports of past cases that Matthew was scribing. Once a clerk, always so.

"Four o'clock, then," said Greathouse, and began to stride north along the street, against the morning traffic.

Matthew watched him go. I have an errand to run I have an errand to run. Something was up. Greathouse was on the hunt. Matthew could almost see him sniffing the air. He was in his element, a wolf among sheep. On a case, was he? Who was the client? If so, he was keeping it a secret from Matthew. Well, so was Matthew keeping a secret. Two secrets, really: the blood card and the amount of debt he was carrying.

A third secret, as well.

Your lady friend, Greathouse had said.

Would that it were more, Matthew thought. But in his situation, in his dangerous profession, with the blood card laid upon him Lady friend would have to do. would have to do.

When he'd watched Greathouse out of sight, Matthew turned south along Na.s.sau. He walked toward Number Seven Stone Street, where he would spend the morning scribing in his journal and from time to time pausing to mark what might have been the faint laughter of distant ghosts.

Four.

Clouds moved across the blue sky, and the sunlight shone down upon villages and hills daubed with red, gold and copper. As the day progressed, so did the affairs of New York. A s.h.i.+p with its white sails flying came in past Oyster Island to make fast at the Great Dock. Higglers selling from their pushcarts a variety of items including sweetmeats, crackling skins and roasted chestnuts did a lively business, drawing an audience for their wares with young girls who danced to the bang and rattle of tambourines. A mule decided to show its force of will as it hauled a brickwagon along the Broad Way, and its subsequent stubborn immobility caused a traffic jam that frayed tempers and set four men to fighting until buckets of water poured on their heads cooled their enthusiasm. A group of Iroquois who had come to town to sell deerskins watched this entertainment solemnly but laughed behind their hands.

Several women and the occasional man visited the cemetery that stood behind a black iron fence alongside Trinity Church. There in the shade of the yellow trees, a flower or a quiet word was delivered to a loved one who had journeyed on from this earthly vale. Not much time was taken to linger here, however, for all knew that G.o.d accepted the worthy pilgrims with open arms, and life indeed was for the living.

Fis.h.i.+ng boats in the rivers pulled up nets s.h.i.+mmering with striped ba.s.s, shad, flounder and snapper. The ferry between Van Dam's s.h.i.+pyard on King Street and the landing over the Hudson in Weehawken was always active for travelers and traders, who often found that the winds or currents could make even such a simple trip a three-hour adventure.

Across the city the mult.i.tudinous fires of commerce-be they from blacksmith's furnaces or tallow chandler's pots-burned brightly all the day, sending their signatures of smoke up through a mason's delight of chimneys. Closer to earth, workmen labored at new buildings that showed the northward progress of civilization. The boom of mallets and sc.r.a.pe of sawblades seemed never ceasing, and caused several of the eldest Dutch residents to recall the quiet of the good old days.

Of particular interest was the fact that the new mayor, Phillip French, was a solid, foursquare individual whose aim was to put his shoulder to the wheel and get more of the city's streets paved with cobblestones; this enterprise, too, was directed northward past Wall Street, but as it cost money from the treasury, the task was being currently stalled in paperwork by Governor Lord Cornbury, who was seldom seen in public these days outside the walls of his mansion in Fort William Henry.

All these events were of the common clay of New York. In one form or fas.h.i.+on, they were repeated as surely as dawn and dusk. But one event happening this afternoon, at four o'clock by Matthew's silver watch, had never before taken place: the ascent of Berry Grigsby up a narrow set of stairs in City Hall, toward Ashton McCaggers' realm in the attic above.

"Careful," Matthew said lest she lose her footing, but with an-other step it was he who stumbled behind Berry and found himself grasping a handful of her skirt to prevent a fall.

"Excuse you," she told him crisply, and pulled her skirt free at the same time as his hand flew away like a bird that had landed on a griddlecake iron. Then she gathered her grace and continued up the rest of the steps, where she came to the door at the top. She glanced back at him, he nodded, and she knocked at the door just as he'd instructed.

These days their relations.h.i.+p was, as a problem-solver might say, complicated. It was known to both of them that her grandfather had invited Berry to come from England in order to find her not necessarily a position, but a proposition. Up at the zenith of the list of eligible marriage candidates, at least in Marmaduke's conniving mind, was a certain citizen of New York named Corbett, and thus had Matthew been invited to make the dairyhouse his own miniature mansion, and to enjoy meals and companions.h.i.+p with the Grigsby clan, they being only a few steps from his own front door. Just show her around the town a little Just show her around the town a little, Marmaduke had urged. Escort her to a dance or two. Would that kill you Escort her to a dance or two. Would that kill you?

Matthew wasn't sure. Her last escort, his friend and chess companion Effrem Owles, the tailor's son, had stepped into a muskrat hole while walking Berry home beside the East River one evening, and his dancing days were over until the swelling of his ankle subsided. But whenever Matthew saw his friend lately, either sitting at the Trot Then Gallop or limping along the street on a crutch, Effrem's eyes widened behind his round spectacles and he wanted to know what Berry was wearing today, and where was she going, and did she ever say anything about him, and all such buffle-headed chatter as that.

I certainly don't know! Matthew had answered, a bit too stridently. I'm not her keeper! And I don't have time for even talking about her, anyhow. I'm not her keeper! And I don't have time for even talking about her, anyhow.

But Matthew, Matthew! And it really was pitiful, the way Effrem hobbled on that crutch. And it really was pitiful, the way Effrem hobbled on that crutch. Don't you think she's the prettiest girl you ever saw Don't you think she's the prettiest girl you ever saw?

Matthew wasn't sure about that, either, but he did know that standing this close to her, here in the narrow little stairway awaiting an answer to the knock on McCaggers' door, she smelled very nice. It was perhaps the scent of the cinammon soap with which she washed the curly tresses of her coppery-red hair, or the faintly-sweet aroma of the blue wildflowers that adorned the rim of her straw hat. She was nineteen years old, her birthday being in the last week of June; it had been celebrated, if one was to put it suchly, aboard the ill-fated vessel that had brought her across the Atlantic and deposited her as a moldy mess staggering down the gangplank in midsummer, which was the first sight Matthew had had of her. But that was then and now was now, and so much the better. Berry's cheeks and her finely-chiseled nose were dusted with freckles, her jaw firm and resolute, her eyes dark blue and just as curious about the world as those of her esteemed grandfather. She wore a lavender-hued dress with a lace shawl about her shoulders, for last night's rain had brought a chill to the air. Before their initial meeting, Matthew had expected her to be a gnome to match Marmaduke's misshapen proportions, yet she stood almost at his own height and was anything but gnomely. In fact, Matthew did find her to be pretty. And more than that, actually. He found her to be interesting. Her descriptions of London, its citizens, and her travels-and misadventures-across the English countryside kept him enthralled during their mealtimes together at Marmaduke's table. He hoped to someday see that enormous city, which appealed to him not only for its variety but for its atmosphere of intrigue and danger gleaned from his readings of the London Gazette London Gazette. Of course, he hoped to live long enough to get there, as he had intrigues and dangers enough in New York.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Berry asked.

"Like what?" He'd let his mind wander and his eyes linger, and so he immediately brought himself back to the business at hand. In answer to Berry's knock, a small square aperture in the door flipped up and an eye-gla.s.sed dark brown eye peered out. The first time Matthew had visited up here, he'd been witness to McCaggers' experiments with pistols on Elsie and Rosalind, the two dress-maker's forms that served for target practice. Not to mention the other items behind that door. In another minute or two, Berry was going to be beating a hasty retreat back down the stairs.

The door opened. Ashton McCaggers said, in a light and pleasant voice, "Good afternoon. Please come in."

Matthew motioned for Berry to enter, but she was paying no attention to him anyway and had already started across the threshold. Matthew followed her, McCaggers closed the door, and then Matthew had almost run smack into Berry because she was standing there, quite still, taking stock of the coroner's heaven.

The light through the attic's windows streamed upon what hung suspended from the rafters above their heads. McCaggers' "angels", as he'd once described them to Matthew, were four human skeletons, three adult-sized and one a child. Adorning the walls of this macabre chamber were twenty or more skulls of different sizes, some whole and some missing jawbones or other portions. Wired-together bones of legs, arms, ribcages and hands served as strange decorations that only a coroner could abide. In the room, which was quite large, stood a row of honey-colored file cabinets atop which were arranged more bone displays. There were animal skeletons as well, showing that McCaggers gathered bones for the sake of their shapes and variety. Next to a long table topped with beakers of fluid in which objects of uncertain-but certainly disturbing-origin floated was McCaggers' rack of swords, axes, knives, muskets, pistols and cruder weapons such as clubs studded with frightful-looking nails. It was before this a.s.sortment of things that turned human beings into boneyards that Hudson Greathouse stood, holding in one hand an ornately-decorated pistol he was in the process of admiring.

He looked now from the pistol at Berry, and said with a faint smile, "Ah. Miss Grigsby."

Berry didn't answer. She was yet motionless, still studying the grisly surroundings, and Matthew wondered if she could find her tongue.

"Mr. McCaggers' collections," Matthew heard himself say, as if it would do any good.

A silence stretched, and finally McCaggers said, "Can I get anyone some tea? It's cold, but-"

"What a magnificent " Berry paused, seeking the correct word. "Gallery," she decided. Her voice was calm and clear and she stretched out an arm toward the child-sized skeleton that hung nearest her. Matthew winced, thinking she was going to touch its hand, but of course it was too high for her to reach. Though not by much. She turned her gaze toward the coroner, and as Matthew walked quietly around to one side he could see her mind at work, examining the man who lived amid such a museum. "I presume these were unclaimed corpses, and the cemetery is not filling up so quickly in New York that there's no more room?" " Berry paused, seeking the correct word. "Gallery," she decided. Her voice was calm and clear and she stretched out an arm toward the child-sized skeleton that hung nearest her. Matthew winced, thinking she was going to touch its hand, but of course it was too high for her to reach. Though not by much. She turned her gaze toward the coroner, and as Matthew walked quietly around to one side he could see her mind at work, examining the man who lived amid such a museum. "I presume these were unclaimed corpses, and the cemetery is not filling up so quickly in New York that there's no more room?"