The wind whirled dust clouds along Cary. Charles bent against it and climbed the prison steps past the armed guard, a red-faced youth with blond curls and china-blue eyes. The soldier gave him a keen stare.
Inside, Charles wrinkled his nose at the stench as he presented the forged order to the corporal on duty. 'Prisoner Hazard. William Hazard.' He emphasized the name by poking the cold cigar butt at it. He dropped the stub into a spittoon full of brown water. 'I'm to remove him to General Winder's office for questioning.'
Without a second glance at the order, the corporal laid it on the paperbound book he had been reading with an avid expression. From the yellow front and back, Charles guessed it to be some of the pornography sold in the camps. The corporal picked up a stack of wrinkled pages, leafed through, searching the inked names. Other guards passed. One gave Charles a long look but didn't stop.
'Hazard, Hazard — here 'tis. Y'all find him on the top floor. Ask at the guardroom. Head of the stairs.'
The corporal opened the desk drawer, started to put the release order away. Charles snapped his fingers. 'Give me that. I don't want to be stopped upstairs.'
The noncom reacted before thinking — exactly what Charles counted on. He thanked the corporal by raising the forged order in a kind of salute, then wheeled and mounted the first flight of creaky steps.
Libby Prison breathed and whispered like some haunted mansion. The dim gas fixtures, widely separated, heightened the effect. So did the sounds. Distant sobbing; laughter with a subterranean echo to it; a sustained low noise like the murmur of disembodied voices. On the outside of the old warehouse, something banged and banged in the fierce wind.
Forlorn prisoners stared at him silently from corridors to the right and left of the landings. He heard a melody on a mouth organ. Smelled unwashed clothes, festering wounds, overflowing latrines. He tugged his hat brim farther down, the better to hide his face, before he reached the top floor.
He stepped into the rectangle of light at the door of the guardroom. Once more he showed the order, repeated what he had said downstairs.
'Should of brung a litter with you,' the bored guard told him. 'Hazard ain't walkin' so good these days.' He turned to the other private in the room. 'Go find him, Sid.'
'Fuck that. Your turn.'
Grumbling, the first soldier stepped past Charles. 'Pretty queer to drag him out for questioning at this time of night.'
'If you want to make your objection known to General Winder, I'll be happy to convey it, soldier. Together with your name.' Charles said it harshly, relying on what long service had taught him: men usually responded automatically to intimidation. It had worked downstairs, and it worked again.
'Never mind, thanks anyway,' the guard said with a nervous snicker.
At the entrance to a large room in which hundreds of prisoners sat or lay with hardly an inch between them, the guard halted. 'Hazard? Where's William Hazard?'
'Billy,' someone said, prodding the prisoner next to him. Charles held his breath as a shrunken figure slowly rose to sitting position, then stood with the help of those closest to him.
A huge silhouette with the corridor light at his back, Charles waited and felt his heartbeat quicken. This was the first critical moment — when the prisoner hobbling on the padded crutch came close enough to recognize him.
A drop of sweat fell from Charles's nose. His mouth felt like a cup of dust. Billy staggered. My God, how wan and weak he looked, all rags and beard. When he was within a few feet of the door, Charles spotted bruises and a healed cut on one ear. His friend had been beaten.
The guard raised a thumb toward Charles. 'This yere officer's takin' you down to old Winder's office a while. What did y'do this time?'
'Not a damn thing.' Eyes enlarged and darkened by the hollowness of his face, Billy looked at Charles, who was silently crying out,
Billy's mouth hung open a moment. 'Bison?' His face showed that he instantly recognized his mistake.
The guard was watching Charles, suspicious. 'What'd he call you?'
'Nothing you'd want to repeat to your mother.' He grabbed Billy's dirty sleeve. 'Don't you say one damn word, or I'll deliver you to the provost in little pieces. I lost a brother at Malvern Hill to you Yankee scum.'
Reassured, the guard said, 'Don't know why we coddle 'em so. Ought to burn the whole place down — with them inside.'
'My sentiments, too.' Charles pushed Billy's shoulder too hard. Billy almost fell. He propped himself up with the crutch and a hand against the wall, giving Charles a searching, wary stare. Good, Charles thought. He motioned the prisoner forward.
The guard lingered at the door of his room, watching Charles prod Billy down the first few steps. Billy was slow, much to Charles's annoyance. He was unsteady, too, obviously needing the crutch. The descent to the ground floor would take a hell of a long time. The longer they stayed inside Libby, the greater the risk of discovery.
'Bison?' Billy whispered, leaning against the stained wall beneath a guttering gaslight. 'Is it really —?'
'For God's sake shut up,' Charles whispered. 'If you want to get out of here, act like we don't know each other.' Two guards appeared on the landing below, coming up. Charles nudged Billy, said loudly, 'Keep moving, bluebelly.'
Down they went, one labored step at a time. Billy held fast to the crutch and now and then uttered a little groan. What in hell had they done to him? Charles's anger rapidly grew as strong as his fear of discovery.
The second floor. Billy sweated and breathed hard. More men watching. Charles yanked his revolver from under the poncho. 'Step lively, or I'll blow your sonofabitching head off.' He shoved the muzzle in Billy's back, almost tumbling Billy down the stairs headfirst.
Ground floor. The duty corporal stood. Held out his hand. 'I'll take back the release order, if you please.'
Charles fished it from his pocket, hoping the forged signature would pass muster. They were so close now, just steps away from the doors leading out to Cary, where dust and rubbish rushed on winds of near gale force. The corporal shut the order in the drawer and remained standing, regarding Charles and his prisoner with an unreadable expression.
Six steps to the bottom and the doors.
Four.
Two.
Billy rested his head against the bilious wall. 'Give me a minute —'
'Hurry it up, or I'll drag you by the heels.'
Billy gulped, pushed away from the wall, struggled down the next step. Charles thrust the door open, feeling the wind's force on the other side. From under his hat brim he continued to watch the corporal, counting the seconds till they escaped his scrutiny. The corporal represented the maximum threat, Charles felt — discovering his error when he turned in the doorway. There stood the blond guard, musket raised, blue eyes glaring.
'Where are you taking that prisoner?'
'Does everyone have to answer to you, Vesey?' Billy mumbled, immediately conveying to Charles some special animosity between himself and the guard.
'I don't answer to any piss-ant private,' Charles said. 'One side.'
'Hey, Bull, where are they taking this Yank?' Vesey shouted to the duty corporal.
'Provost's office. For questioning.'
'Provost?' Vesey repeated, while Charles took Billy's elbow to help him down the first step. 'Mr. Quincy was here not an hour ago, while you were at supper. He didn't say anything about springing a prisoner.'
The pale eyes widened. 'You!' He aimed the musket at Charles. 'Hold it right there. I know every one of General Winder's boys, and you aren't one of them. Something's fish —'
Charles smashed the barrel of his Colt against Vesey's head.
