Speaks the Nightbird

little windy sound with her lips, and returned to her labors at the pot.

'Ain't got on no shirt,' she announced.

'Mastuh Corbett got hisself three lashes today. You 'member, I told you they was gon' whip him.'

'Hm,' May said, at the pittance of three whipstrikes.

'Will you set y'self here, suh?' Goode motioned toward a short bench that stood before a roughly constructed table, and Matthew accepted the invitation. Then, as Goode went to a shelf that held a number of wooden jars, Matthew took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. The examination did not take long, as the house only had the single room. A pallet with a thin mattress served as the bed, and apart from the bench and table the only other furnishings were a highbacked chair (which looked as if it had once been regal but was now sadly battered), a clay washbasin, a crate in which was folded some clothing, and a pair of lanterns. Matthew noted a large tortoise shell displayed on the wall above the hearth, and a burlap-wrapped object (the violin, of course) had its own shelf near the bed. Another shelf held a few wooden cups and platters. That seemed to be the end of the inventory of Goode's belongings.

Goode took one of the jars, opened it, and came around behind Matthew. 'Suh, do you mind my fingers?'

'No.'

'This'll sting some.' Matthew winced as a cool liquid was applied to his stripes. The stinging sensation was quite bearable, considering what he'd just endured. Within a few seconds the stinging went away and he had the feeling that the potion was deadening his raw flesh. 'Ain't too bad,' Goode remarked. 'Seen terrible worse.'

'I appreciate this. It does soothe the pain.'

'Pain,' the woman said, as she stirred the pot. It had been spoken with an edge of mockery. 'Ain't no pain in three lashes. Pain don't start 'til they gets to thirty.'

'Now, now, keep that tongue still,' Goode said. He finished painting the stripes and corked the jar. 'Ought to do you, suh. Doubt you'll sleep so well tonight, though, 'cause whipburns get hotter 'fore they start to healin'.' He walked back to the shelf and returned the jar to its proper place. 'Pardon my speakin',' he said, 'but Mastuh Bidwell don't care for you, do he?'

'No, he doesn't. The feeling, I have to say, is mutual.'

'He thinks you're standin' up for Mistress Howarth, don't he?' Goode carefully lowered the burlap-wrapped violin from the shelf and began to unwind the cloth. 'Pardon my speakin', but be you standin' up for her?'

'I have some questions concerning her.'

'Questions?' Goode laid the wrapping aside. In the smoky yellow lanternlight, the violin took on a soft, buttery sheen. He spent a moment running his slim fingers up and down the neck. 'Suh, can I ask a question of my own?'

'Yes.'

'Well, it 'pears to me that Mistress Howarth's near bein' burnt. I don't know her so good, but one mornin' she picked up a bucket and helped Ginger carry water when Ginger 'as child-heavy.'

'He don't know who Ginger be!' May said. 'What're you goin' on for?'

'Ginger be May's sister,' Goode explained. 'Live right 'cross the way. Anyhows, it was a kind thing. You see, it's peculiar.' Goode plucked a note, listened, and made an adjustment by tightening the string. 'Why ain't no slaves heard nor seen nothin'.' He plucked another string, listened and adjusted. 'No, only them English seen things. An' y'know, that's kinda peculiar too.'

'Peculiar? In what way?'

'Well suh, when this first start up we had us a good many tongues bein' spoke in Fount Royal. Had them Germans, had them Dutchmen too. They all gots scairt and gone, but nary a one of 'em seen or heard nothin' to mark Mistress Howarth. No suh, just them English.' A third string was plucked, but he found this one satisfactory. He looked into Matthew's face. 'See what I'm sayin', suh? My question be: how come Satan don't talk German nor Dutch and he don't talk to us darks neither?'

'I don't know,' Matthew said, but it was a point worth consideration.

'Thought Satan knew ever' tongue there was,' Goode went on. 'Just peculiar, that's all.' He finished tuning the violin and his fingers plucked a quick succession of notes. 'Mastuh Bidwell don't care for you,' he said, ''cause you askin' such questions. Mastuh Bidwell want to burn Mistress Howarth quick and be done with it, so's he can keep Fount Royal from dyin'. Pardon my spielin'.'

'That's all right,' Matthew said. He dared to try to put his shirt back on, but his shoulders were still too tender. 'I know your master has ambitious plans.'

'Yes suh, he do. Heard him talk 'bout bringin' in more darks to drain that swamp. Hard job to be done. All them skeeters and bitin' things, got gators and snakes out there too. Only darks can do that job, y'see. You English—pardon my speakin'—ain't got the backs for it. Used to I did, but I got old.' Again, he played a fast flurry of notes. May poured some water from a bucket into the cooking-pot, and then she turned her efforts to a smaller pot that was brewing near the firewall. 'Sure never thought I'd live to see such a world as this,' Goode said quietly, as he caressed the strings. 'Sixteen hundred and ninety-nine, and the cent'ry 'bout to turn!'

'Ain't got long,' May offered. 'World's gone be 'stroyed in fire come directly.'

Goode smiled. 'Maybe so, and maybe not. Could be 'stroyed in fire, could be a cent'ry of wonders.'

'Fire,' May said sharply. Matthew had the thought that this difference of opinion was a bone of contention between them. 'Everythin' burnt and made new 'gain. That's the Lord's vow.'

''Spect it is,' he agreed gently, displaying his gift of diplomacy. ''Spect it is.'

Matthew decided it was time to be on his way. 'Thank you again for the help.' He stood up. 'I do feel much —'

'Oh, not to be leavin' just yet!' Goode insisted. 'Please favor me, suh! I brung you here to show you somethin' I think you might find a' interest.' He put aside the violin and went once more to the shelf that held the wooden jars. When he chose the one next to the jar that had held the potion, May said with alarm in her voice, 'What're you doin', John Goode?'

'Showin' him. I want him to see.' This jar had a lid instead of a cork and Goode lifted it.

'No! They ain't to be seen!' On May's wrinkled face was an expression that Matthew could only define as terror. 'Have you lost your mine?'

'It's all right,' Goode said, calmly but firmly. 'I done decided it.' He looked at Matthew. 'Suh, I believe you be a decent man. I been wantin' to let somebody see this, but . . . well, I was feared to.' He peered into the jar, and then lifted his gaze back to Matthew. 'Would you promise me, suh, that you will not speak to anyone about what I'm gon' show you?'

'I don't know that I can make such a promise,' Matthew said. 'What is it?'

'See? See?' May was wringing her hands. 'All he's gon' do is steal 'em!'

'Hush!' Goode said. 'He ain't gone steal 'em! Just calm y'-self, now!'

'Whatever they are, I do promise not to steal them.' Matthew had spoken this directly to May, and now he sat back down on the bench again.

'He say!' May appeared close to tears.

'It's all right.' Goode put his hand on his wife's shoulder. 'I want him to see, 'cause it's a thing needs answerin' and I figure he would care to know, 'specially since he got thieved hisself.' Goode came to the table and upended the jar in front of Matthew. As the items inside tumbled out, Matthew caught his breath. On the table before him were four objects: a broken shard of light blue pottery, a small and delicate silver spoon, a silver coin, and . . .

Matthew's hand went to the fourth item. He picked it up and held it for close examination.

It was a gold coin. At its center was a cross that separated the figures of two lions and two castles. The letters Charles II and Dei Grat were clearly visible around the rim.

At first he thought it was the coin that had been stolen from his room, but it took only a brief inspection to tell him that— though it certainly was Spanish gold—it was not the same coin. The stamping on this piece was in much fresher condition, and on the other side was an ornately engraved E and a faint but discernible date: 1675.