until he was paid by the Herrald Agency, and when that might happen he had no clue. In fact, at a distance the whole Herrald Agency idea sounded to him like a barleybone, a sugar candy that easily melted in the heat of day.
Still, he had his own hungry curiosity to feed. Right across the street was Dr. Vanderbrocken’s house, and Matthew had a few minutes to spare. He crossed to the doctor’s gate.
Going through the gate and up the path to the front door, he was about to ring the brass ship’s bell that hung there when he heard music coming from somewhere. It was a melody being drawn from a violin, and was quite pleasing though a touch melancholy. He realized the music was not coming from beyond the door, but rather from around the house. Leading to the backyard was another pathway, which Matthew followed under the spread of one of the large oaks.
A second wooden gate, chest-high, blocked his progress into a garden burst into its midsummer majesty of red and purple flowers and ornamental shrubs. The violin player seemed to mangle a few notes here and there, but otherwise sounded quite proficient at the difficult instrument. Matthew listened as the music soared up and then quietened to a whisper, and in the ensuing sound of birdsong from the trees he rapped on the gate with his knuckles. “Hello? Can I have a moment, please?”
“Who is it?” came the doctor’s voice, perturbed at being interrupted.
“Matthew Corbett, sir. May I speak to you?”
“Are you ill?”
“No, sir, I’m glad to say I’m not.”
“Go away, then. I’m occupied.” The violin music began again, this time a bit more lively as if to demonstrate the player’s ability.
“A nice tune, sir,” Matthew offered. “You ought to play some evening at the Dock House.”
The music screeched to a stop. “Oh, for the sake of Heaven! Aren’t you gone yet?”
“I had no idea you could play so well, sir.”
There was a pause, and then came a creaking noise as weight left a chair. Matthew waited. Around the corner of the house appeared Artemis Vanderbrocken, wearing what appeared to be the exact same pale blue nightclothes Matthew had seen under his cloak the night of Deverick’s murder. On the man’s feet were leather slippers, and he carried a violin of such rich color it might have been carved from amber. Vanderbrocken’s expression could have scared the music from a cat, as though he was so well-respected for his abilities he was also known for a surly demeanor that brooked no nonsense or-in this case-intrusion. He was of slim build and medium height, bald but for a halo of white hair, had a sharp nose and long chin garnished with a white goatee. His dark eyes behind round spectacles seemed lit with red, or perhaps that was just the sunlight off his violin. He was seventy-six if a day and had a plentitude of wrinkles in his face, yet commanded a straight-backed bearing and energy that belied his elder status. Right now, though, he just looked ready to break Matthew’s teeth.
“I think you’re mistaken, Mr. Corbett,” he said testily. “You must have an illness of the ears, not to hear me plainly say I am occupied.”
Matthew tried for a smile, but it didn’t stick under the red heat of the doctor’s glare. “But sir,” he parried, “if my ears were so ill I couldn’t have enjoyed the music that drew me here. I had no idea you were so-”
“Cease the bullshitting,” said Vanderbrocken. “What is it you want?”
This was going to be a tough nut. Matthew wasted no time before the doctor could turn his back and stalk away. “I was on Smith Street the night Mr. Deverick was murdered.”
“Were you? I’m sure many others were, as well.”
“Yes sir, that’s true, but I came up as you and Reverend Wade were over the body. I think you were pronouncing him dead.”
“I didn’t pronounce him dead. That was McCaggers’ job.”
“An unofficial pronouncement,” Matthew went on. “You know that I work for Magistrate Powers.”
“Yes, what of it?”
“Well sir…I also come into contact from time to time with High Constable Lillehorne, and he was telling me that-”
“Are you going to finish this today, young man?”
“Yes sir, please bear with me and I won’t take but a minute more.”
“I’m usually paid for my minutes.”
Matthew could only nod and smile. “Yes sir. You mentioned to High Constable Lillehorne that you were going to see a patient that night. Might I ask who your patient was?”
“You might,” came the indignant reply, “but I wouldn’t answer.”
“Understandable, sir, but you might be able to answer this, as it’s a simple question and doesn’t require you to betray an oath of confidence: were you and Reverend Wade travelling to the same destination?”
Vanderbrocken was silent. He lifted a hand to adjust his spectacles, which had slipped down to the sharp tip of his nose.
“I know you were in a hurry that night,” Matthew continued, daring the fates and the doctor’s temper. “I saw you were wearing a nightshirt under your cloak. Possibly the same one you have on now. So you must have been summoned from here, it being so late. And summoned for an urgent purpose, is my guess, but of course any question in that regard-”
“Is none of your business,” Vanderbrocken interrupted. His nostrils flared. “Are you here on behalf of the high constable?”
“No sir.”
“Then what the hell do you care whether William Wade and I were travelling to the same destination or not? Who are you, to be bothering me with ridiculous questions?”
Matthew stood his ground. He felt a stirring of anger, like hornets buzzing in his guts. He might even have raised his voice a bit to meet the doctor’s infuriated tone. “With a murderer on the loose,” he said while staring forcefully into the red-glared glasses, “I’d think there are no ridiculous questions, sir. Only questions that are either answered or evaded. You know Eben Ausley was killed by the Masker last night?”
Vanderbrocken’s mouth opened a little wider, but that was all the reaction. “I didn’t. Where did it happen?”
“Barrack Street.”
“His throat cut the same? And the marks around the eyes?”
“It would seem so.”
“My God,” the doctor said quietly, and he looked at the ground. He drew a long breath and when he exhaled he seemed to shrink in his clothes. “What’s happening to our town?” It was a question directed to the earth, or the air, or the birds that chirped in the trees. Then he took control of himself again and lifted a still fiery gaze to Matthew. “I’m sorry about Ausley’s death, as I would regret the passing of any citizen, but what does that have to do with Reverend Wade and myself?”
“I’m trying to clarify some information that the high constable was given. Am I correct in understanding that you met the reverend and were on your way to a common destination the night of Mr. Deverick’s death?”
“Young man, I’m still not comprehending what business this is of yours. Have you become a constable yourself? Are you asking these things with the authority of Lillehorne or Magistrate Powers?”
“No sir,” Matthew said.
“Ah, then you’re simply a private citizen wishing to…what? Cause me distress?”
“I regret the distress,” Matthew replied, “but I would like an answer.”
Vanderbrocken took a step forward and now stood almost chest-to-chest with Matthew, the gate between them. “All right, you listen to me. My comings and goings are none of your concern, do you understand that? As for Reverend Wade’s destination that night, I wouldn’t presume to say. I will tell you that I have taken on some of the late Dr. Godwin’s practice, and for that I am kept away from the fruits of retirement that I would otherwise be enjoying, including early nights and the freedom to pursue the violin in my own garden. So I’m not in the best of moods these days, Mr. Corbett, and if you fail to leave my sight within the interval I go into my house to get my loaded pistol and return I might show you what a man who seems to have no more privacy than a goldfish in a bowl is capable of.”
With that, the good doctor abruptly turned and walked quickly around the house, and Matthew reckoned it was past time to get to City Hall.
