the grave. The woman possessed an educated nose, to say the least.
“Listen here,” she told him. “I know just about everything that goes on in this town. Things that are easy to know, things that are hard to find out. I give you something, you give me something. That’s my rule.” She tapped his chest. “You might wish to know someone’s secret some time, and who will you go to? Me. But if you don’t want to have such an arrangement-and I don’t offer it to everyone-you can walk right out of here and take your business to Jane Neville, for all I care.”
“Well…why do you offer this particular service to me?”
“Because,” she said slowly, as if enunciating for a simpleton, “you obviously have a use for it. I saw that right off. You didn’t ask about Andrew Kippering for the sake of idle gossip, did you? Well, some would of course, but you’re not that type. Your questions have a purpose, am I not right?”
“You are.” There was no use trying to hide anything from this woman. She knew the secrets in every dirty collar.
“Have to do with your work, I suppose? At the magistrate’s office?”
“My work, yes,” Matthew said.
“Then you understand how I could be of value to you. An ear to the ground, so to speak. And all I ask is some little bit of information in return.” She looked up toward the door, as she’d thought someone was coming in, but the shadow passed. “So. A bit for a bit. What do you have?”
Matthew did indeed realize the widow Sherwyn could be of value to him, if she could ferret out information useful to the Herrald Agency. But could she be trusted to be discreet? He said, “You do realize that this information passed between us must be…how shall I say…”
“Kept on the low,” she suggested.
“Exactly. For instance, I wouldn’t want anyone to know I’d been asking questions.”
“Wouldn’t want your water to be boiled,” she said.
“Right. Very uncomfortable to be sitting in boiling water. So I’d ask you to keep any inquiry I might offer here as the utmost secrecy.” It occurred to him that he might even pay her a few coins, if he was ever paid, but best not to mention that possibility yet.
“Absolute secrecy.” Her eyes were bright and shining again. “So what do you have?”
“Well…Mr. Grigsby’s granddaughter Beryl arrived yesterday. It seems that two weeks out of port, the women were-”
“Washing their hair on deck while the Reverend Patrickson stood up on a stool giving a sermon. The girl dropped the soap, another woman stepped on it, slip-slid into Captain Billops and then he fell right into the preacher and knocked the man over the side. Either the preacher busted his head on the railing or he filled up with water pretty quick, because he went right down. Then they hit the whale.”
Matthew nodded. He’d heard all this from one of the mildewed passengers at the Trot yesterday afternoon, but it was fascinating to him how Widow Sherwyn gathered news so quickly and completely.
“The whale was already bloody. Bit by sharks, most like. Anyway, the Embry plows right into this whale before a hard wind and a piece of meat the size of a haywagon gets jammed right in the bow boards. Awful mess, must’ve been. Then the sharks came by the hundreds. Swimming ’round and ’round that ship, day and night. Whittling that whale meat down to nothing, and the Embry taking water at the bow and getting lower and lower every hour.”
“You’ve heard this already,” Matthew said.
“No sooner did they get the bow shored up, but the rain comes. Then the lightning, the thunder and the big waves.” The widow, her own storm, kept on rolling. “That’s when the mainmast cracked and fell. And after the tempest, the sun beat down and the wind went dead and there they sat on a sea of glass for day after day. That captain went crazy and wanted to throw the girl over the side, but the others stopped him because they knew it had just been an accident. Anyway, he was the one who knocked the preacher over. So yes, I’ve already heard this, and what else do you have?”
Matthew wondered if she might want to know that Cecily was still snout-slapping his knees under the breakfast table every morning. Then he glanced quickly at the door to make sure no one was coming in, opened his mouth, and before he could think better of it said, “Another murder victim was found a few days before Dr. Godwin’s death. Washed up out of the Hudson onto a farm about ten miles out of town. The high constable has been sitting on the information.”
She grasped the reason why. “Four murders instead of three. It was the Masker’s doing?”
“That, I can’t say. I can say the victim was a young man, still unidentified.” He decided to give her one more bit. “Multiple stab wounds.”
She gave a quiet whistle of appreciation. “And how did you come by this?”
“Again, I can’t say, but I can tell you that I’ve seen the body.”
“At close range, I presume. I think you’d best go home and change shirts before you draw buzzards, and I might add I consider our account even, for now.”
Sitting at his desk in the magistrate’s office, Matthew didn’t know how wise it had been to give up that information, but the widow Sherwyn was bound to be a useful fount of knowledge so count it as a payment on future business.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before Powers and Greathouse came back into the office. Matthew noted that Greathouse must have told the magistrate about Professor Fell, because Powers’ face was tight and his eyes hooded. He took off his coat and hat and put them in their places on the pegs. Then he said, “Matthew, you are relieved of your duties.”
“Sir?”
“Relieved of your duties,” the magistrate repeated.
“I’m almost done here, sir.”
“You are done. For today and tomorrow and forevermore. I release you from all duties of this office. You are now in the full employ of the Herrald Agency and Mr. Greathouse has an announcement for you.”
Greathouse held up an envelope. “We have a letter of inquiry, delivered to the Dock House Inn yesterday afternoon. You and I are going on a trip.”
“A trip? To where?”
“You ask too many questions for a junior associate. Don’t just sit there. Put away your pen and let’s get going.”
Matthew set his quill in its rest. He capped his ink bottle, not without a little anxiety at realizing this might be-would be-for the final time. “Sir?” he said to the magistrate as he stood up. “Won’t you be needing me anymore?”
Powers’ severe, almost grim expression slowly softened. He summoned up a wry smile. “No,” he said, “I won’t be. I think you’re needed elsewhere now, far away from these cases of decree-breakers, hog thieves, and pickpockets. You recall what I told you? About finding a future profession suitable to your talents? Well, I believe-as does Hudson-that you can use your talents to far greater effect out there in the world as opposed to in this office, behind that desk. Anyway, there’s never going to be a shortage of clerks. So onward with you, and good luck.”
Matthew didn’t know what to say. Of course he’d known this moment was coming, but now that it was here he didn’t think himself ready.
His hesitation clearly showed, for Greathouse said, “We have almost a day’s ride ahead of us. I’d appreciate a little more speed.”
Magistrate Powers sat down at his desk, shuffled some papers, and cleared his throat. He began to inspect a letter that Matthew knew had already been read this morning.
Greathouse went to the door and opened it.
“Sir?” Matthew said, and Powers looked up. “I wanted to thank you for taking me in. Giving me the opportunity of working here. I have learned a lot.”
“I think your education is just beginning,” the magistrate replied. “Now before you go, promise me you’ll come to my retirement celebration. All right?”
“Yes sir, I promise.”
“Good. And if you need anything, I’ll be right here. For a time, at least.” He motioned toward Greathouse and the open door. “Go.”
Matthew still hesitated. Suddenly that open door seemed terribly fearsome, and the open world beyond it a
