Larney had left two men with Thor, to bring the Negro back to the farm when the doctor said he could travel. Jacob Cribb was waiting in Larney’s carriage to drive him out of Manhattan, away from Figg. It would be wise to get as far away from Figg as possible.
At the carriage, Larney lifted Dearborn up, then climbed inside himself.
His jaw dropped.
Figg, in the seat across from him, rasped, “I’m here to get yer congratulations, Mr. Larney. You left without sayin’ ’well don, Mr. Figg.’ ”
Larney looked at the horrible dwarf who stood on the seat beside Figg, a flintlock aimed up at the back of Jacob Cribb, who sat outside on the driver’s seat.
“How, how did you-?”
“Find you, Mr. Larney? Little Merlin ‘ere, ‘im and another one of Mr. Barnum’s friends followed you and one of ’em comes back and tells me. Little fella like ‘im must be hard to see at night.”
Figg leaned forward. “And now you are goin’ to tell me, mate. Where is Mr. Poe and where is Jonathan?”
“I do not-”
Figg leaned over and backhanded a slap in his face. Larney fell to the side and lay there, whimpering.
Dearborn said softly, “They took Mr. Poe to the cemetery and left him there.”
Figg grabbed Larney’s hair, jerking him upright again. “If Poe is dead, you will lie beside him, me promise on that. Merlin!”
The dwarf jammed Figg’s flintlock into Jacob Cribb’s back. The carriage jerked forward, pulling away into the night.
* * * *
“Sweet Jesus,” muttered Figg.
He, Dearborn and Merlin stood beside the open grave as a disheveled, dirt-covered Hugh Larney and Jacob Cribb, pulled the cover from the coffin with bloodied hands.
Poe lay curled on his side. He didn’t move.
“Take ‘im out you two and pray to God ‘e ain’t dead, ‘cause if ‘e is, then you two will be as well.”
Larney and Cribb supported Poe between them. Was he breathing? Figg watched him carefully. Poe’s head snapped up and his eyes widened in his pale face. There was dirt on his wide forehead and on his mustache.
Figg grinned. “Evenin’ squire.”
“Mr., Mr. Figg. You, you do not look well, sir.”
“You ain’t no ‘angin’ tapestry yerself. Glad to see you, I am.”
“And I you, sir. And I you.”
“Little Miss Dearborn ‘ere, she tells me she saw you twice tonight. Sees you drive off with Miss Rachel, and quick after that she sees you tied up in Mr. Larney’s carriage. She is the one what told me you were ’ere in this awful place.”
“The-the duel, Mr. Figg. Did you-”
“We were victorious, Mr. Poe.”
Poe’s smile was weak. “I am delighted, sir. I am extremely delighted and pleased beyond measure.”
Pushing himself clear of Larney and Cribb, Poe staggered forward, found his balance and straightened up. “Wine, that bane of my existence, in essence saved me, for through its drugged mercies, I slept much more than I screamed and clawed at the coffin lid. Even now, I am not entirely in control of my mental faculties, but soon I shall be. Soon. I never imagined myself as ever being grateful to alcohol, but it was that which gave me welcomed sleep. Welcomed sleep.”
Poe stepped towards Figg. “You say I drove away with Mrs. Coltman?”
“That’s right.”
“I most certainly did not. I have not seen her in two days, having spent my time securing intelligence regarding the property owned by Mr. Larney. It is for that reason that I feel I know where Jonathan is.”
Figg held his breath. “We gots barely two hours before-”
“I know, Mr. Figg. I know.”
“One thing, squire. If it was not you what drove off with Miss Rachel tonight, then ’oo was it?”
Fear descended on Poe. ‘I am terrified, Mr. Figg. Not for myself but for Mrs. Coltman. Only one man has the power to create such forceful illusions, for it was not I who took her tonight. It was Jonathan. Even though he cannot leave the site of his evil ritual, somehow he managed to convince her that it was I who was beside her and so she succumbed to his illusion. Mr. Figg let us leave this place. We shall need fast horses, for we ride to the country, to the north of the city, to a certain abandoned horse farm-”
“No!” Larney took a step forward, then stopped. “I mean-”
Poe coughed. “You mean, Mr. Larney, that you pay the least taxes on that particular piece of land, that it has been under the least scrutiny by municipal authorities, that it has been without human habitation for over two years. You mean that Jonathan is there, as opposed to being on land of yours that contains tenants, cattle, hay, buildings. It is all there in the records, sir. All except where Jonathan is and you have just admitted that I am correct in my assumption.”
Poe looked at him with contempt. “That is why you and this swine Jacob Cribb, deceived me with a false note from my dear Muddy. You deceived me, then did this to me. There is no hell on earth that could properly torment the both of you.”
Figg looked at Larney and Cribb. “We needs a guide, Mr. Poe, and that would be Mr. Larney, willin’ or unwillin’. I am certain I can convince ‘im to make the journey with us. Merlin, you and Mr. Poe take the child with you back to the carriage. You go with them, Mr. Larney. Merlin, should Mr. Larney prove difficult in any fashion, put a ball in ‘im. Aim for his stomach.”
The dwarf leered and nodded.
As the men left, Jacob Cribb started to follow them. “Not you, Mr. Cribb.” Figg’s hand was inside his frock coat. In the moonlit darkness of the graveyard, Figg looked terrifying. Jacob Cribb trembled.
Figg walked toward him, the hand still inside the coat and on the belt buckle. “Somebody’s got to stay behind, Mr. Cribb, and I reckon it should be you.”
Seconds later, Figg joined Poe, Merlin, Larney and Dearborn at the carriage. No one asked why Jacob Cribb was not with him.
FORTY-SIX
As Poe tied the horses to the trees, Figg pulled Larney down from the saddle.
“You goin’ in first, mate. And remember: You get the idea to shake a loose leg and I will put a ball in you before you have run very far.”
Larney closed his eyes. His hands were tied in front of him and he’d ridden through the night on the same horse as Figg. There had been the hell of Figg literally breathing down his neck for the three-mile ride and the worse hell of knowing they were speeding to meet Jonathan. Jonathan who would soon be completing the nine-day ritual. Jonathan, who tonight would unleash dark forces that no man on earth could contend with. Larney had wanted to see Jonathan conjure the Throne of Solomon, but he had not wanted to come upon the magician in this fashion. Not as a prisoner, not with Poe and Figg at his back.
The three men stood in the small grove of trees, eyes on the barn that lay across an open expanse of moonlit snow. Poe shivered. His fears for Rachel were stronger than his fears for himself. Thanks to the drugged wine, the experience of being buried alive had emerged as almost unreal.
Figg looked at his pocket watch, squinting to see the hands in the moonlight.
“Gone half eleven, it has. We best be gettin’-”
From the barn, a woman screamed.
Poe clutched Figg’s arm. “It is her! It is Rachel!” He ran, loping through the snow, lifting his knees high, his dark brown hair wild around his head and face, his mouth open, a man obsessed with saving the woman he loved.
