in such an awful bad way.' She approached him and set the lantern down on the desktop. She wore a somber gray nightcap and a nightgown of similar hue, and on her face was a smoothing of ghastly green-tinted skin cream. Matthew had to believe that if Bidwell saw Mrs. Nettles in this state, he might think a froggish phantasm had crawled from its Hellish swamp. 'Your intrusion in this room, ' she said sternly, 'canna' be excused. What're you doin' in here?'
There was nothing to be done but tell the truth. 'I understand from Solomon Stiles that Bidwell has a map of the Florida country, drawn by a French explorer. I thought it might be hidden in this room, either in his desk or on the bookshelves.'
Mrs. Nettles made no reply, but simply stared holes through him. 'I am not saying I've decided, ' Matthew continued. 'I'm only saying I wish to see the map, to gain some idea of what the terrain is like.'
'It would kill you, ' she said. 'And the lady too. Does she know what you're wantin'?'
'No.'
'Don't ye think askin' her oughta be the first thing, a'fore ye start the plannin'?'
'I'm not planning. I'm only looking.'
'Plannin', lookin'... whate'er. Mi' be she doesn't care ta perish in the jaws of a wild beast.'
'What, then? She'd rather perish by burning? I think not!'
'Keep your voice reined, ' she warned. 'Mr. Bidwell mi' be mind-sick, but he's nae ear-deef.'
'All right. But... if I were to continue my search for this map... would you leave the room and forget you saw me here? This is my business and my business alone.'
'Nae, you're wrong. It's my business too, for it was my urgin' brought you into this. If I'd kept my tongue still, then—'
'Pardon, ' Matthew interrupted, 'but I must disagree. Your urging, as you put it, simply alerted me to consider that not all was as it seemed in this town. Which, whether you realize it or not, was a grand understatement. I would have had serious doubts as to Rachel's being a witch even if you had been one of the witnesses against her.'
'Well then, if her innocence is all so clear to you, why canna' the magistrate see it?'
'A complicated question, ' he said. 'The answer involves age and life experience... both of which, in this case, seem to be liabilities to cleat thinking. Or rather, I should say, liabilities to thinking beyond the straight furrow in a crooked field, which you so elegantly pointed out on our first meeting. Now: Will you allow me to search for the map?'
'Nae, ' she answered. 'If you're so all-fired to find it, I'll point it out.' She picked up the lantern and directed its glow to the wall behind the desk. 'There it hangs.'
Matthew looked. Indeed on the wall hung a brown parchment map, stretched by a wooden frame. It was about fifteen inches or so across and ten inches deep, and it was positioned between an oil portrait of a sailing ship and a charcoal drawing of what appeared to be the London dockside. 'Oh, ' he said sheepishly. 'Well... my thanks.'
'Best make sure it's what you're needin'. I know it's French, but I've never paid much mind to it.' She offered him the lantern.
Matthew found in another moment that it was indeed what he was needing. It actually appeared to be part of a larger map, and displayed the country from perhaps thirty miles north of Fount Royal to the area identified, in faded quill pen, as Le Terre Florida. Between Fount Royal and the Spanish territory the ancient quill had drawn a representation of vast forest, broken here and there by clearings, the meandering of rivers, and a number of lakes. It was a fanciful map, however, as one lake displayed a kraken-like creature and was named by the mapmaker Le Lac de Poisson Monstre. The swamp—identified with symbols of grass and water instead of tree symbols-—that stretched along the coastline all the way from Fount Royal to the Florida country was titled Marais Perfide. And there was an area of swamp in the midst of the forest, some fifty or sixty miles southwest of Fount Royal, that was named Le Terre de Brutalitie.
'Is it he'pful to ye?' Mrs. Nettles asked.
'More daunting than helpful, ' Matthew said. 'But yes, it does do some good.' He had seen what looked to be a clearing in the wilderness ten or twelve miles southwest of Fount Royal that stretched for what might have been—by the strange and skewed dimensions of this map—four miles in length. Another clearing of several miles lay to the south of the first, and in this one was a lake. A third, the largest of the three, was reachable to the southwest. They were like the footprints of some primordial giant, and Matthew thought that if indeed those cleared areas—or at least areas where the wilderness was not so perfide—existed, then they constituted the route of least resistance to the Florida country. Perhaps this was also the 'most direct route' Solomon Stiles had mentioned. In any case, it appeared somewhat less tasking than day after day of negotiating unbroken woodland. Matthew also noted the small scratchings of Indien? at three widely separate locations, the nearest being twenty miles or so southwest of Fount Royal. He assumed the question mark indicated a possible sighting of either a live Indian, the discovery of an artifact, or even the sound of tribal drums.
It was not going to be easy. In fact, it would be woefully hard.
Could the Florida country be reached? Yes, it could. By the directions of southwest, south, southwest and the linking together of those less-wooded giant's footprints. But, as he had previously considered, he was certainly no leatherstocking and the merest miscalculation of the sun's angle might lead him and Rachel into the Terre Brutalitie.
Then again, all of it was terre brutalitie, was it not?
It was insane! he thought as the frustration of reality hit him. Absolutely insane! How could he have ever imagined doing such a thing? To be lost in those terrible forests would be death a thousand times over!
He handed the lantern back to Mrs. Nettles. 'Thank you, ' he said, and he heard the defeated resignation in his voice.
'Aye, ' she said as she took the lamp, 'it does seem a beast.'
'Mote than a beast. It seems impossible.'
'You're puttin' it out of mind, then?'
He ran a hand across his brow. 'What am I to do, Mrs. Nettles? Can you possibly tell me?'
She shook her head, looking at him with saddened compassion. 'I'm sorry, but I canna'.'
'No one can, ' he said wearily. 'No one, except myself. The saying may be that no man is an island... but I feel very much like at least a solitary dominion. Rachel will be led to the stake within thirty hours. I know she is innocent, yet I can do nothing to free her. Therefore... what am I to do, except devise outlandish schemes to teach the Florida country?'
'You are ta forget her, ' Mrs. Nettles said. 'You are ta go on about your own life, and let the dead be dead.'
'That is the sensible response. But part of me will die on Monday morning too. The part that believes in justice. When that dies, Mrs. Nettles, I shall never be worth a damn again.'
'You'll recover. Ever'one goes on, as they must.'
'Everyone goes on, ' he repeated, with a taint of bitter mockery. 'Oh, yes. They go on. With crippled spirits and broken ideals, they do go on. And with the passage of years they forget what crippled and broke them. They accept it grandly as they grow older, as if crippling and breaking were gifts from a king. Then those same hopeful spirits and large ideals in younger souls are viewed as stupid, and petty... and things to be crippled and broken, because everyone does go on.' He looked into the woman's eyes. 'Tell me. What is the point of life, if truth is not worth standing up for? If justice is a hollow shell? If beauty and grace are burnt to ashes, and evil rejoices in the flames? Shall I weep on that day, and lose my mind, or join the rejoicing and lose my soul? Shall I sit in my room? Should I go for a long walk, but where might I go so as not to smell the smoke? Should I just go on, Mrs. Nettles, like everyone else?'
'I think, ' she said grimly, 'that you do nae have a choice.' He had no response for this, which by its iron truth crushed him.
Mrs. Nettles sighed, her face downcast and her shadow thrown huge by the lamplight. 'Go ta bed, sir, ' she said. 'There's nae any more can be done.'
He nodded, retrieved his dark lantern, and took the first two steps to the door, then hesitated. 'You know... I really thought, for a brief while at least, that I might be able to do it. That I might be able, if I dared hard enough.'
