Mister Slaughter Part 8

"Oh, that's a good one!" Greathouse gasped, when at last he'd found his power of speech. His eyes had actually sprung tears. "A grand try, Slaughter! Now I know why you were in that asylum! You really are are insane!" He was overcome by chortling again, until Matthew thought he might choke on his mirth. insane!" He was overcome by chortling again, until Matthew thought he might choke on his mirth.

Slaughter's expression remained constant; that is to say, he wore a blank but for slightly-raised eyebrows. "Sir, I would appreciate your remembering to address me as a gentleman."

"All right then, Mister Mister Slaughter!" Greathouse was barely containing his humor, but a little anger had started to gnaw at the edge of it. "Do you think we're a pair of d.a.m.ned Slaughter!" Greathouse was barely containing his humor, but a little anger had started to gnaw at the edge of it. "Do you think we're a pair of d.a.m.ned fools fools? Turn off the pike onto a road to nowhere? Christ, save me!"

"Get your laughter done," came the silken response. "When you can listen with any sense in your ears, let me know. But I'm telling you, the road has a destination, and at its end is a pretty pot of gold."

"That's enough." Greathouse's voice was firm, all foolishness over. He flicked the reins once, then again, harder this time, but the horses steadfastly refused to hurry. "You can tell us all about it when you're in the gaol."

"Now who is the insane one here, sir? Why in the name of sixteen f.u.c.king devils would I want to tell you about it when I'm in the gaol? The purpose is to tell you about it so that I will not not be in the gaol." be in the gaol."

"Oh, you'll be in the gaol, all right. Just shut up."

"Mr. Corbett?" Slaughter's imploring gaze went to Matthew. "As I said, I believe you to be the more intelligent of your company. Might I at least explain to you what I'm talking about?"

"No!" said Greathouse.

"Mr. Corbett?" Slaughter urged. "The road is coming up soon. Once we pa.s.s it and cross the river, neither one of you is going to want to come back, and you're going to be missing an opportunity that I have never offered anyone on earth and that I would not not offer anyone on earth if I wasn't um just a little anxious about my future." He paused to let Matthew consider it. "May I?" offer anyone on earth if I wasn't um just a little anxious about my future." He paused to let Matthew consider it. "May I?"

"This ought to be entertaining!" Greathouse said, with a disdainful puff of air. "Lies from a madman! Have at it, then!"

Matthew nodded warily, his hand still on the pistol. "Go ahead."

"I thank you. Do you wish to know why constables-armed mercenaries, is a better term for them-were hired by the Quakers to ride along with coaches and to guard travelers on this road? Because Ratsy and I were so d.a.m.ned successful successful. We worked the pike between the river and Philadelphia for almost two years, gentlemen. In every kind of weather you can imagine. We were giving the pike a bad name, I suppose. The Quakers were getting nervous about their sterling reputations as upholders of law and order. So they brought out the musketeers, and unfortunately Ratsy went down with a lead ball in his brain, dead before he hit the ground."

"Too bad a second shot didn't " Greathouse fished for the word. "Polish you off." you off."

"Oh, I was shot at, all right. My horse was. .h.i.t, and he bucked me. I was thrown headlong, knocked senseless, and woke up in chains in the back of a wagon much like this one. I took advantage of a b.l.o.o.d.y head to cry my case of lunacy, which I knew the Quakers must take into consideration, their being so d.a.m.ned brotherly."

"And so the reign of the daring highwaymen had ended," said Greathouse with a quick backward glance. "Pardon me if I don't shed any tears."

"You miss the point, sir. The point being, our great success success. The very reason we were considered such a threat to be captured and contained." Slaughter looked from the back of Greathouse's head into Matthew's eyes. "We stole a lot lot of money." of money."

"Listen to him drool on!"

"A lot lot of money," Slaughter repeated. "At the end of the road you're going to be pa.s.sing in about ten minutes is a safebox holding more than fifty pounds." of money," Slaughter repeated. "At the end of the road you're going to be pa.s.sing in about ten minutes is a safebox holding more than fifty pounds."

Matthew expected Greathouse to laugh again, or to make some rude comment, but he did not.

The wheels kept turning.

"And more than the money," Slaughter went on, staring fiercely at Matthew. "Gold rings, jewels in elegant brooches, silver stickpins, and what have you. Two years' worth of treasure, taken from travelling merchants, dandies and damsels. I'd say in all, a fortune worth well over a hundred pounds. I'm no authority on fancy stones, so it might be much higher. What is a string of pearls selling for these days?"

"Drool on," Greathouse answered. "Do you think we're complete idiots?" He flicked the reins once more, hard, as if to gain distance between himself and the prisoner, alas to no avail.

"Mr. Corbett?" Again Slaughter's brows lifted. "Are you you a complete idiot?" a complete idiot?"

Matthew returned the man's stare. He was trying to read Slaughter's eyes, his expression, or some giveaway in how he held his head or clenched his hands. He could not; the man was well-sealed.

"I think you're lying," Matthew said.

"Do you? Really Really? Or are you thinking, as your companion probably is, that when I am taken across the river and carried the rest of our journey, am put into the gaol at New York and then aboard a s.h.i.+p to be hanged in London, that the safebox at the end of that road may not be found for dare I say long after you gentlemen are moldering in your graves? If ever ever?" Slaughter showed his teeth. "I can see them now! Those men of the future, turning a shovel on a buried box! And when they open it, and see all that gleaming goodness, just what will they think, Mr. Corbett? What will will they think? That someone in the long ago told a they think? That someone in the long ago told a lie lie, to save their skin? Someone trussed in chains, with a pistol held on them? No, they'll think what complete idiot left this treasure box buried here, and never came back for it? And then their next thought will be: well, now it belongs to us, for the men of the past are dead and gone, and dead men have no need of money." He leaned forward slightly, as if to offer a secret. "But living living men need money, don't they? Yes, men need money, don't they? Yes, living living men need a men need a lot lot of money, to live well. And that's no lie." of money, to live well. And that's no lie."

Matthew was silent, studying Slaughter's face. There was not a clue to determine the truth or fiction of his story. "Tell me this, then," he said in a flat, even tone. "Why were you burying your loot all this distance out here, so far from Philadelphia?"

"This was not our only refuge. I determined it would be safer to have two places to hide in, and to split the money between. In case one was found, we always had the second. The first is a house in the woods a few miles northwest of the city. There, also, a safebox is buried holding about thirty pounds and some items of jewelry. But I'm not offering that one to you; it's not part of our accord."

"Our accord accord?" Greathouse shouted, and for all their age and slowness the horses seemed to jump a foot off the ground.

"This is my offer." Slaughter's voice was quiet and controlled, almost otherworldly in its calm cadence. "I will lead you to the second house, which is at the end of the road coming up very soon. I will grant you a gift of the safebox, and all its contents. For that, you will unlock my chains and set me free at that location. I'll take care of myself from there."

"Am I drunk?" Greathouse asked, speaking to the air. "Have I caught lunatic's disease?"

"From that point," Slaughter continued in the same manner as before, "I vow before you as a subject of the Queen and a citizen of England that I will take the money from the first safebox and use it to purchase a voyage to " He paused. "Where would you like me to go? Amsterdam? The South Seas? I don't necessarily like the sun, but-"

"I am going absolutely mad," said Greathouse. "Hearing disembodied voices."

"I'm done with this country." Slaughter was speaking to them both, but staring directly at Matthew. "Done with England, as well. All I want to do is be gone."

"We're not going to let you go," Matthew said. "That's the end of it."

"Yes, but what what end? Why not say I was shot while trying to escape, and that my body fell into the river? Who would ever know differently?" end? Why not say I was shot while trying to escape, and that my body fell into the river? Who would ever know differently?"

"We would know."

"Oh, dear G.o.d!" Slaughter cast his eyes skyward. "Have I met a pair of n.o.ble imbeciles? Two men out of all creation who have no need for money, and who can live just as well on the sweet but worthless jelly of good deeds? Here! The road's coming up! See it?"

They did. Curving into the forest on the left was a narrow, rutted track hardly the width of their wagon. The underbrush was wild and the trees thick around as winekegs, their branches and leaves making an interlocked canopy of flaming colors far above.

"That's it!" Slaughter said. "Right there, gentlemen. The path to your Sir Sir! You're not turning!"

Greathouse kept the team going, his shoulders hunched slightly forward.

"More than fifty pounds in money, sir! Add together the jewelry and other items and you'll both be rich men! Can't you understand what I'm offering you?" Still the wagon trundled onward. "I vow I'll leave the country! What more do you want? Me to rot behind bars before I swing on the gallows for killing vile creatures creatures? Do you think the people who sent sent you here would turn my offer down? Do you think they care about anything but themselves?" He gave a harsh, hollow laugh. "Go on, then! Keep going, right on past, and d.a.m.n your soul for it, too! Just know you could have been rich, but you were too stupid to claim your prize!" you here would turn my offer down? Do you think they care about anything but themselves?" He gave a harsh, hollow laugh. "Go on, then! Keep going, right on past, and d.a.m.n your soul for it, too! Just know you could have been rich, but you were too stupid to claim your prize!"

Matthew looked away from Slaughter's strained face, which had begun to blotch red during this tirade.

The wagon's wheels made three more revolutions.

And then Matthew heard Greathouse say, "Whoa," to the team as if he had a stone in his throat.

Greathouse eased back on the reins. The horses stopped.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked sharply.

Greathouse set the brake. "I have to p.i.s.s." He put the reins aside, climbed down to the road and walked off into the woods.

Slaughter had closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. He said nothing, nor did he move a muscle. Gathering his strength for another try, Matthew suspected.

Time pa.s.sed. A minute or more. Matthew looked toward the woods where Greathouse had gone but couldn't see him for the thicket. One of the horses rumbled and s.h.i.+fted its weight, as if uneasy at just standing there waiting, and then it joined its brethren in chomping weeds.

Another minute may have pa.s.sed before Greathouse reappeared, walking slowly through the brush. He was staring down at the ground, and kicking at stones and acorns. "Matthew," he said without looking up, "will you come here?"

"What about-"

"He's not going anywhere."

Matthew returned his attention to Slaughter, who yet remained motionless.

"Matthew," said the prisoner, his eyes closed against the sunlight that lit up his beard like a coalfire. "A very respectable name, that. Go right ahead, I'll just rest." said the prisoner, his eyes closed against the sunlight that lit up his beard like a coalfire. "A very respectable name, that. Go right ahead, I'll just rest."

Matthew got down off the wagon, the pistol in hand. He checked Slaughter's position once more before he walked the twelve paces or so to join Greathouse, but the prisoner had not moved.

"What is it?" Matthew asked, seeing the deep furrows of worry that cut across Greathouse's face. "Is something wrong?"

Greathouse rummaged in the leaves with the toe of his boot, bent down and picked up a white rock, which he examined closely. "I want your opinion," he said at last, in a restrained voice calculated not to travel the distance of twelve paces. "Is he lying about the money, or not?"

"I don't know." The meaning of what Greathouse had just asked him hit Matthew like a timber board across the back of the head. "Oh, my G.o.d! You're not listening listening to him, are you?" to him, are you?"

"Keep your voice down." Greathouse turned the rock in his hand, examining its cracks and crevices. "What if he's not not lying, Matthew? I mean why should he, at this stage of the game? It's all over for him, and he knows it. Why lying, Matthew? I mean why should he, at this stage of the game? It's all over for him, and he knows it. Why should should he lie?" he lie?"

"Because he wants to get us down that road and escape, that's why."

"Escape," Greathouse repeated. The word had been spoken gravely. "How? Chained up like he is, with the ball on his leg? And us with the pistol? How the h.e.l.l is he going to escape? He may be half-crazy, but he's surely not full-crazy." Greathouse continued to turn the white rock in his palm as if studying every possible angle. "He knows that I won't kill him, but he also knows he wouldn't get far with one knee shot off. h.e.l.l, I might kill him anyway. I'm not a Quaker, and I I didn't make any d.a.m.ned decree with 'em." didn't make any d.a.m.ned decree with 'em."

"He's lying," said Matthew. "That's my opinion, so there it is."

Greathouse gripped the rock in his fist. "You don't think I can handle him, do you?"

"I think we're both asking for-"

"Keep your voice down down," Greathouse commanded. He stepped forward, until his face was only inches away from Matthew's. "I can handle him. I've handled plenty like him before-and worse, believe me-so he's not going to be any problem."

Matthew shook his head. The intensity of Greathouse's stare compelled him to fix his own gaze on the dead leaves around their feet.

"Fifty pounds," came the quiet voice. "And more. The gold rings and the jewelry. It would buy Zed's freedom, Matthew. Don't you see?"

Matthew did suddenly see, and as he looked into Greathouse's eyes he felt his face tighten into an incredulous mask. "That's what you want the money for?" what you want the money for?"

"Yes. What else?"

Matthew had to take off his tricorn and put the back of his hand against his forehead, for fear his brain had fired up a fever.

"Whatever van Kowenhoven named as a price, we could meet," Greathouse went on. "And pay off Cornbury for the writ of manumission as well. With that much money, we'd probably even have some to spare. You know, to split between us." pay off Cornbury for the writ of manumission as well. With that much money, we'd probably even have some to spare. You know, to split between us."

Matthew looked for someplace to sit down, for his legs felt weak. He needed a st.u.r.dy boulder to at least lean against, but there was nothing. In his mind was the image of a lockbox disguised as a book, and within it a black leather bag, and within that bag a handful of gleaming gold coins that made him a rich young man.

"Now don't think I have the slightest intention of letting him go," Greathouse said. "That would be a crime against humanity. But listen, Matthew: we can make him believe believe we're in accord, and then when we have the money, it's right back on this road again, across the river and on to put him behind bars. What do you say?" we're in accord, and then when we have the money, it's right back on this road again, across the river and on to put him behind bars. What do you say?"

Matthew had no words. He was thinking of the gold coins, and his debts, and new suits in the latest fas.h.i.+on, and how he needed a fireplace for his house, with the winter coming on.

"I know that lying to him might not be to your liking. I understand and appreciate your show of moral character, but back there he said Two men out of all creation who have no need for money Two men out of all creation who have no need for money. Well, I do have a need for it, and I know you do too." Greathouse frowned, taking Matthew's continued silence as stern disapproval. "Matthew, we can trick it out of him. We can lie to a liar. Or you don't have to speak a word, I'll do all the lying. I have much more experience at it than you."

"It's not that," Matthew heard himself say, though he had no memory of speaking the words. He had hornets in his head, they were buzzing so loudly he couldn't hear. This was the moment to tell Greathouse about the gold coins; he knew it was, for if Matthew didn't tell, Greathouse was going to take them down the forest track in pursuit of Slaughter's safebox. There was plenty of gold in that leather bag to share. Of course there was. Fifty or more pounds spent for Zed's freedom, for a bodyguard he didn't need, and then the rest for all the things Matthew planned on buying. Forget the fireplace until next winter. He had enough clothes, why should he ever need any more? Yes, plenty to share.

"What is it, then?" Greathouse prodded.

Matthew started to speak. To say what? He wasn't sure. Possibly I am a rich man I am a rich man or or It's not fair, I found the money, me alone, and it's not fair It's not fair, I found the money, me alone, and it's not fair The world spun about him, and in the air he smelled the faint burned scent of autumn's decay.

Matthew said, with what seemed a genuine labor, "I am " And then the rest of it spilled out: " afraid of him."

Greathouse grunted, his face screwed up in a scowl. But slowly the scowl eased, Greathouse dropped his white rock and put his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Listen, so am I. A little, maybe. But I'll take care of everything. Just follow along with me, all right?"

Tell him, he thought. And demanded of himself: Tell him! Tell him!

But he did not, and he stood looking down at all the leaves at his feet as if the earth might open and swallow him up in an instant.

"Come on." Greathouse clapped his shoulder. "Let's get to it."

Matthew followed Greathouse to the wagon, where Slaughter still lay with his eyes closed like a beast dozing in the s.h.i.+fting sunbeams. Two more flies had found him and were whirling about his face. Matthew wondered how many he'd dined on since he'd been lying there.

Greathouse slammed his palm against the side of the wagon, which caused Slaughter only to lift his eyelids to half-mast and yawn. "Saying we might might believe you," Greathouse told him roughly, "and that we believe you," Greathouse told him roughly, "and that we might might be interested. How far down that road do we go?" be interested. How far down that road do we go?"

Slaughter worked his head from side to side, stretching his neck. "To the end of it, as I've already said."

"How far far?"

"Oh six miles west, along the river. Then the road takes a turn to the southwest. Another four miles, I'd say. Ten miles in all."

"Ten miles? That's a long way, with these horses." miles? That's a long way, with these horses."

"You make a journey," said Slaughter, "with the horses you have."

Greathouse suddenly reached over and grabbed hold of the prisoner's beard, which served to secure Slaughter's full attention. "If we drive ten miles to the end of that road and no safebox is buried there, I won't be pleased. Those doctors may have promised the Quakers you'd get to New York alive, but I'm a Baptist. If I decide not not to kill you, I'll at least give you some marks to remember. I may even tear off that d.a.m.ned beard." He gave it a steady pull, but Slaughter gave no reaction. "Do you understand me? Just nod." to kill you, I'll at least give you some marks to remember. I may even tear off that d.a.m.ned beard." He gave it a steady pull, but Slaughter gave no reaction. "Do you understand me? Just nod."

Slaughter did.

Greathouse released him. He wiped his hand down the leg of his breeches, leaving a dirty smear. He said to Matthew, "Get up there and work the horses back."

Matthew climbed up onto the seat and put the pistol beside him where he could reach it in a hurry if he heard the chains rattle. He lifted the brake, took the reins and started urging the team to backstep as Greathouse took hold of one of the wheels and pushed against it. Soon they had retreated the wagon to just beyond the turnoff. Then Greathouse climbed up again, took the pistol and turned around on the seat to watch Slaughter.

"All right, Matthew," said Greathouse. "Let's go."

Matthew hesitated on the verge of flicking the reins. Tell him Tell him, he thought. But it was a quieter, less urgent voice. There was still time. Maybe in the next mile or two. He would have to think about it a little more. And it might not be necessary to tell. Not necessary at all. If the safebox was really there, and it held the treasure as Slaughter said then why would it ever be necessary?

Still, he had a taste of ashes in his mouth, and his fine suit did not seem to hang so well on his frame as it had before.

He flicked the reins. The team started walking, one of the horses snorting at this indignity of the driver not knowing whether he was going backward or forward.