Speaks the Nightbird

that Matthew felt sure Jerusalem had proposed this arrangement so many times it was second nature. Or perhaps first nature. 'And companion in study and prayer,' Jerusalem added.

'The study of sin and prayer that you find another woman whom you can pluck from a gaol?' On Rachel's face was an expression of sheer disgust that might have curdled a pail of milk. 'I would rather kiss the flames.'

'Thy wish shall become reality,' Jerusalem said. 'And thy dark beauty shall be burnt from thy skull and crushed beneath the foot of God, and where thou dost lie the beasts shall come and tear thy very bones asunder.'

The anger was rising up in Matthew like a floodtide. 'I wish you to leave.'

'Boy, this a public place, and I have just as much right to enter it as thyself.' His eyes narrowed. 'At least I entered here to bring salvation to the witch, not to receive her vile blessings.'

'Madam Howarth and I are both aware of your purpose.'

'Oh, thou and the witch are coupled now, is that it? Yes, I knew it was only a matter of time.' He lifted his right hand and inspected his fingernails. 'I hath seen witches at work before. I hath seen them promise all manner of pleasures to young boys. Tell me this, then: how did she propose thou should ride her? From the north or the south?'

Matthew swung at him. It was so fast he hardly knew what he was doing, but the blood roared in his ears and his right fist came up and cracked across the preacher's prominent jaw. Jerusalem staggered back two steps but found his balance; he blinked, touched his lower lip, and then regarded the smear of crimson on his fingertips. Instead of offering a wounded and angry countenance, as Matthew had thought he would, the preacher only smiled, but there was some wicked triumph in it. 'Thou nicked me, boy. Yet I think I drew first blood.'

'I should apologize, but I will not.' Matthew rubbed his stinging knuckles.

'Oh, don't apologize! This action speaks for itself, and therefore should be reported to thy master.'

'As you please. The magistrate trusts my judgment.'

'Really?' Jerusalem's smile broadened. He licked his injured lip. 'What shall Woodward say, upon report that his clerk was caught in intimate conversation with the witch, and that his clerk is so bewildered in the mind that he hath struck a proper man of God? And look here! 'Tis the damage to prove it!'

'Tell what you like, then.' Matthew feigned indifference, but he knew this would not go over very well with the magistrate.

'When a right Christian boy is entranced by a witch, who knoweth where such actions may lead? Thou may find thyself sharing the fire with her, and thereafter thou may fornicate in Hell to thy eternal delight.'

Matthew shouted, 'Get out! By God, I'll strike you again!'

'And blasphemous as well!' Jerusalem crowed. 'This is a sorry day for thee, that I can promise!' His gaze slid toward Rachel. 'Then burn, witch!' His voice, at the fullest of its power, seemed to shake the walls. 'I offered thee salvation, and thou hast spurned the last hope of a Godly life! Yes, burn, and call upon me with thy last tortured breath but thou—'

Rachel reached to the floor. 'Move!' she told Matthew, who saw what she had picked up and so dodged the oncoming deluge.

'—shall call in vain, for Exodus Jerusalem shall not ans— ohhhhh!' he bellowed, as Rachel threw the contents of her waste bucket through the bars at him, and he danced backward to avoid as much as possible a meeting between the sacred and the profane. For the most part he was lucky, but his shoes received a washing.

Matthew couldn't help it; he burst out laughing at the preacher's whirligigging, and thus called upon himself Jerusalem's blackest regards.

'You'll be damned too, you young bastard!' It was amazing how a bucket of pee could knock the thees and thous out of a man. 'I'll call the wrath of Heaven down on both your heads!'

'Call away, then!' Rachel said. 'But do it somewhere else!'

Matthew was still grinning. Then he saw a fleeting look in Jerusalem's eyes that should only be described as terror; in that moment he realized that ridicule was the sharpest sword that could pierce the preacher's swollen pride, and thereafter Jerusalem spun around and fled the gaol like a cat with a burning tail.

Rachel threw the emptied bucket aside and viewed the wet floor. 'Mr. Green will have a few choice words to say about this, I'm sure.'

Matthew's grin faded away, as did the hilarity that had for a brief time lightened his soul. 'I'll tell the magistrate what happened.'

'Jerusalem will be there before you.' She sank down on her bench. 'You will have some explaining to do.'

'I'll take care of it.'

'The magistrate won't understand why you came here. I don't fully understand why, either.'

'I wished to see you,' he said, before he could ponder his choice of words.

'Why? Your business is finished here, is it not?'

'Magistrate Woodward's business is finished,' he corrected. 'I intend to continue working at this puzzle.'

'I see. Is that what I've become, then? A puzzle to be worked at?'

'Not entirely.'

Rachel looked at him, but said nothing for a stretch of time. Then she spoke in a quiet voice, 'Are you becoming interested in me?'

'Yes.' He had to pause to swallow. 'In your situation, I mean to say.'

'I'm not speaking of my situation, Matthew. I mean: are you interested in me?' He didn't know what to say, therefore he did not answer.

Rachel sighed and stared at the floor. 'I am flattered,' she said. 'Honestly. You are a bright and kind young man. But . . . though you're twenty and I am twenty-six, I am fifty years older than you. My heart is used up, Matthew. Can you understand that?'

Again, words failed him. He had never in his life felt so confused, timid, and utterly strange, as if his powers of self-control had melted away like a lump of butter set on a forge. He might have preferred three more lashes than wearing this simpleton's suit.

'As I said, I will be ready to die when the time comes,' Rachel continued. 'It will come soon, I know. I thank you for your help and care . . . but please don't make my death any more difficult than it has to be.' She sat for a moment, her hands clasped together in her lap, and then she lifted her head. 'How is the magistrate's health?'

Matthew forced himself to speak. 'Not well. I was on my way to see Dr. Shields. Where is the infirmary from here?'

'On Harmony Street, toward the gate.'

Matthew knew it was time to go. His presence seemed to be sinking Rachel into deeper gloom. 'I won't give up,' he vowed.

'Give what up?'

'Trying to find an answer. To the puzzle. I won't give up, because . . .' He shrugged. 'I can't.'

'Thank you,' she replied. 'I think—if you ever do find an answer—it will come much too late to save my life, but I thank you just the same.'

He went to the door, where he felt the need to look back at Rachel once again. He saw her lift her hood over her head and face, as if to block out everything possible of this treacherous world.

'Goodbye,' he said. There was no response. He left the gaol, but he had the most compelling sensation that part of himself did not follow.

 twenty-two

MRS. NETTLES CAUGHT MATTHEW at the staircase when he returned to the mansion after his visit with Dr. Shields. 'The magistrate asked that you see him directly ye arrived. I ha' to tell you that the preacher's been here, and he was might loud.'