out of Bidwell's mansion and would have to ring the bell to gain entrance; did he wish to let anyone in the household see him with this bucket in hand? Whatever game Winston was up to, Matthew didn't want to tip the man that his table had been overturned. He trusted Mrs. Nettles to a point, but in his opinion the jury was still out on everyone in the damned town. So: what to do with the bucket?
He had an idea, but it would mean trusting one person implicitly. Two persons, if Goode's wife should be counted. He was eager to learn the bucket's contents, and most likely Goode would have an implement to force it open.
With a great degree of thankfulness Matthew put the swamp at his back, negotiated the pinewoods to avoid the watchtower, and shortly thereafter stood before John Goode's door. Upon it he rapped as quietly as he thought possible, though the sound to his ears was alarmingly loud and must have awakened every slave in the quarters. To his chagrin, he had to knock a second time—and harder—before a light blotched the window's covering of stretched oilskin cloth.
The door opened. A candle was pushed out, and above it was Goode's sleepy-eyed face. He'd been prepared to be less than courteous to whoever had come knocking at such an hour, but when he saw first the white skin and then who wore it he put himself together. 'Oh... yes suh?'
'I have something that needs looking at.' Matthew held up the bucket. 'May I enter?'
Of course he was not to be denied. 'What is it?' May asked from their pallet of a bed as Goode brought Matthew in and closed the door. 'Nothin' that concerns you, woman, ' he said as he lit a second candle from the first. 'Go back to sleep, now.' She rolled over, pulling a threadbare covering up to her neck.
Goode put the two candles on the table and Matthew set the bucket down between them. 'I followed a certain gentleman out to the swamp just a while ago, ' Matthew explained. 'I won't go into the particulars, but he has more of these buried out there. I want to see what's in it.'
Goode ran his fingers around the tar-sealed lid. He picked up the bucket and turned it so its bottom was in the light. There, burnt by a brand into the wood, was the letter K and beneath that the letters CT. 'Maker's mark, ' he said. 'From a cooper in Charles Town, 'pears to be.' He looked around for a tool and put his hand on a stout knife. Then he began chipping the tar away as Matthew watched in eager anticipation. When enough of the seal had been broken, Goode slid the blade under the lid and worked it up. In another moment the lid came loose, and Goode lifted it off.
Before sight was made of what the bucket concealed, smell gave its testimony. 'Whoo!' Goode said, wrinkling his nose. Matthew put the sharp odor as being of a brimstone quality, with interminglings of pine oil and freshly cooked tar. Indeed, what the bucket held looked to be thick black paint.
'Might I borrow your blade?' Matthew asked, and with it he stirred the foul-smelling concoction. As he did, yellow streaks of sulphur appeared. He was beginning to fathom what he might be confronted with, and it was not a pretty picture. 'Do you have a pan we might put some of this in? A spoon, as well?'
Goode, true to his name, supplied an iron pan and a wooden ladle. Matthew put a single dip of the stuff into the pan, just enough to cover its bottom. 'All right, ' Matthew said. 'Let us see what we have.' He picked up one of the candles and lowered its flame into the pan.
As soon as the wick made contact, the substance caught fire. It was a blue-tinged flame, and burned so hot both Matthew and Goode had to draw back. There were small pops and cracklings as more flammable additives in the mixture ignited. Matthew picked up the pan and took it to the hearth so that the fumes might be drawn upward. Even with so little an amount, the heat on his hand was considerable.
'That's the Devil's own brew, ain't it?' Goode said.
'No, it's made by men, ' Matthew answered. 'Diabolical chemists, perhaps. It's called 'infernal fire, ' and it has a long history of being used in classical naval warfare. The Greeks made bombs from it and shot them from catapults.'
'The Greeks? What're you goin' on about? Uh... beggin' your pardon, suh.'
'Oh, it's all right. I think the use of this material is very clear. Our swamp-travelling gentleman has a zest for fire.'
'Suh?'
'Our gentleman, ' Matthew said, watching the flames continue to burn brightly in the pan, 'likes to see houses alight. With this chemical, he is sure of setting fire to even damp wood. I expect he might paint it on the walls and floor with a brush. Then the stuff is touched off at several strategic places... and the firemen will inevitably be too late.'
'You mean...' The truth of the matter was dawning on Goode. 'The man's been usin' this to burn down houses?'
'Exactly. His last strike was against the schoolhouse.' Matthew set the pan down in the fireplace's ashes. 'Why he would wish to do so, I have no idea. But the fact that this bucket was fashioned in Charles Town and was brought by sea bodes ill for his loyalty.'
'Brought by sea?' He stared long and hard at Matthew. 'You know who the man be, don't you?'
'I do, but I'm unprepared to speak the name.' Matthew returned to the table and pushed the lid down firmly on the bucket once more. 'I have a request to make. Will you hold this in safekeeping for a short time?'
Goode regarded the bucket with trepidation. 'It won't blow us up, will it?'
'No, it needs a flame to ignite. Just keep it closed and away from fire. You might wrap it up and treat it with the same care you treat your violin.'
'Yes suh, ' he said uncertainly. 'Only thing be, I don't believe nobody ever got blowed up from fiddle music.'
At the door, Matthew cautioned, 'Not a word to anyone about this. As far as you should be concerned, I was never here.'
Goode had picked up both candles to remove them from the immediate vicinity of such destructive power. 'Yes suh. Uh... you'll be comin' back to
'I will. I expect I'll need it very soon.' But not until he determined exactly why Edward Winston was burning down his employer's town, he might have added.
'The sooner I'll like it, ' Goode said, already looking for a piece of burlap with which to wrap the offensive visitor.
Matthew left Goode's house and walked to the mansion, which was a relatively short distance but a world away from the slave quarters. He knew he should get to sleep quickly, as there was much to do at daylight. But he knew also that sleep was going to be difficult in the few hours of dark that remained, be-cause his mind would twist this new revelation into every possible shape in an attempt to understand it. Banished now from his thoughts was the equine lust of Seth Hazelton; the crimes of Edward Winston loomed far larger, for the man had set those fires and willingly ascribed them—as did Bidwell and everyone else—to Rachel's pact with the Devil.
Matthew had every intention of going to the door and ringing the bell to gain entry if necessary, but between intention and deed he shifted his course a few degrees and soon found himself standing again on the grassy bank of the spring. He sat down, pulled his knees up to his chin, and stared out across the smooth water, his mind turbulent with questions of what was and what might be.
Presently he decided to stretch out, and lying on his back in the grass he looked up at the streams of stars that showed between the moving clouds. His last conscious thought before he drifted to sleep was of Rachel in the darkness of her cage; of Rachel, whose life depended on his actions in the hours that remained.
Of Rachel.
twenty-five
A CHORUS OF ROOSTERS CROWED like triumphant horns. Matthew opened his eyes to a rose-colored light. Above him, the sky was pale pink and dappled with purple-edged clouds. He sat up, drawing in the sweet air of what seemed the first true morning of May.
Someone began ringing a bell, and then a second higher-toned bell added its voice. Matthew got to his feet. He heard a man's joyous shout from further along Harmony Street, and then Matthew saw perhaps the most beautiful sight of his life: the sun, a golden fireball, was rising over the sea. This was the sun of creation, and its mere touch had the force to waken the earth. Matthew lifted his face toward the light as a third bell chimed. Two
