Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

tendrils through the trees. Birds were singing and the air was crisp; it was a very lovely morning, save for some dark clouds to the west. 'What a man must do for gold,' Greathouse said, almost to himself.

Matthew didn't reply. What a man must do, indeed. He had already worked out a plan for his riches. Over the course of time he would take a few coins to Philadelphia by packet boat, and there buy some items so as to break the five-pound pieces into smaller change. He was even thinking of coming up with a new identity for himself, for his Philadelphia visits. It wouldn't do for anyone in New York to know of his sudden wealth; besides, it was no one's business but his own. He'd almost perished on that estate. Did he not deserve some reward for all he'd gone through? For now, the money was hidden in his house-not that anyone was going to get through the lock on his door, but he felt easier knowing all those gold pieces were tucked into the straw of his mattress.

Today was Wednesday. Yesterday morning, a young messenger had arrived at Number Seven Stone Street with a summons for Matthew and Greathouse to make haste to Gardner Lillehorne's office at City Hall, for the high constable had urgent business. Greathouse's reply was that neither one of them could be called like cattle from a pasture, and that if Lillehorne wished to conduct business it would be at Number Seven.

'I think you're pushing your luck with Lillehorne,' Matthew had said after the messenger was gone. He picked up a broom and began to sweep the floor, as it was his usual task and-newfound riches or not-he at least wished to keep clean the area around his own desk.

'Do you? And what is he going to do to me for standing up to him?'

'He has his methods. And his connections.' Matthew swept the dust into a wooden tray, which he would later dump out the pair of windows that afforded a view of New York to the northwest, and beyond the wide river, brown cliffs and golden hills of New Jersey. 'You were very cavalier to him that night at the Cock'a'tail. I'm still amazed we didn't end up in the gaol, because after all was said and done we were breaking the law.'

'Course we were. But don't fret about it. Lillehorne's not going to do anything to either one of us. Certainly not put me where I can't be useful .'

'Can't be useful?' Matthew stopped his sweeping and looked at Greathouse, who was leaning back in his chair with his big boots-dusty boots, too-propped up on his desk. 'Meaning what?' He had a flash of insight when Greathouse just tapped his forefinger against his chin. I have an errand to run, Greathouse had said on Friday morning, there on Nassau Street. 'You're working on something for him.'

'I am.'

'Something for him as high constable? Or something as an ordinary citizen?'

'A citizen, the same as any man off the street might have come up to me at Sally Almond's a week ago Monday, offered to buy me breakfast, and then asked me to consider doing him a favor. I told him favors cost money, and the larger the favor the larger the sum. We made an agreement for a favor of moderate size, and there you have it.'

'And what exactly was the favor?'

'Is the favor,' Greathouse corrected. 'A work in progress, with no answer just yet.' He frowned. 'Why exactly should I be telling you, anyway? You didn't tell me you were riding up to the Chapel estate, did you? No, you didn't care to share with me what might have been your last trip on earth. Well, I'll tell you what! When Lillehorne gets here, you can tell him all about the tunnel. Or are you saving the story for Marmaduke and the next Earwig?'

'I didn't go for that reason.'

Greathouse wore a steely glare. 'Are you absolutely sure of that?'

Matthew was about to reply in the positive, but the bottom fell out of his resolve. Was he absolutely sure? Had he indeed been thinking of telling Marmaduke, so as to be the centerpiece of another story? No, of course not! But maybe just a little bit? He stood with motes of dust shimmering in the air around him. Was it true that maybe just a little bit he was no longer content to be only Matthew Corbett, magistrate's clerk become problem-solver, but wished the company of both wealth and attention? It seemed to him that attention could become as potent a drink as Skelly's apple brandy, and make one just as insensible. It seemed to him that one could be overcome by it, and without it would become as weak-willed and desperate as any half-penny drunkard. Was that part of why he'd ridden to the estate? No. Absolutely not.

But a few days ago he might have thought that if he'd ever found a bagful of gold coins, he would have first and foremost told who? Berry? She had also shared the ordeal; should she not share the reward? No, no; it was complicated. Very complicated, and he would have to consider this subject again when he had a clearer head, and anyway this dust in the air was about to make him sneeze.

'I regret telling you,' he said to Greathouse, in a voice as steely as the other man's glare continued to be.

'Why did you, then?'

Matthew almost told him. That maybe he'd gone into the tunnel to prove his courage, once and for all; or that he'd simply thought Greathouse would approve of his decision to go forward, and trust in his instincts. But the moment came and went and Matthew did not say any of this; instead, he said, 'Because I wanted you to know I don't need a bodyguard.'

'Your opinion. All I know is, Zed could help us both, if he could be taught correctly. It's a damned waste for that man to be hauling ship timbers for the rest of his life.' He waved a dismissive hand at Matthew. 'Now don't get me started on that, I'll have to go out and get a drink.'

Matthew returned to his sweeping, thinking that it was best to let some secrets lie undisturbed.

Less than a half-hour later, Gardner Lillehorne had arrived like a burst of sunlight in his yellow suit and stockings, his yellow tricorn adorned with a small blue feather. His disposition was rather more stormy, however, and as he marched up to Greathouse's desk his face bore the scowl of a particularly dark cloud. He placed a brown envelope sealed with gray wax before Greathouse. 'You're required for an official task,' he said, and cast a quick glance at Matthew. 'The both of you.'

'What official task?' Greathouse picked up the envelope, inspected the seal, and started to open it.

Lillehorne put his black-lacquered cane against Greathouse's hand. 'The envelope is to remain sealed,' he said, 'until you pick up the prisoner. When you take possession of him, you are to read the contents to both him and the witnesses, as a formality of official ' He cast about for a word. 'Possession.'

'You'd best rein in your runaways,' Greathouse cautioned, and moved the cane aside. 'What prisoner? And where is he?'

'The messenger from those two doctors said you would know. He came to my office yesterday afternoon. I have a wagon ready for you at Winekoop's stable. It's the best I can offer. The irons are ready, in the wagon. Here's the key.' He reached into a pocket of that blazing and slightly-nauseating suit jacket and brought out the item, which he also placed on the desk in front of Greathouse.

'The two doctors?' Greathouse looked at Matthew. 'Do you have any idea what he's going on about?'

Matthew did, but before he could say so Lillehorne went on, as if eager to be done with the responsibility. 'Ramsendell and Hulzen, at the New Jersey Colony's Publick Hospital for the Mentally Infirm. Near Westerwicke. You know it, of course. The order for removal has come. A constable representing the Crown will be arriving on the Endurance at the end of this month to take him into custody. I want the prisoner's boots on the next ship leaving for England, and good riddance to him.'

'Wait, wait, wait!' Greathouse stood up, the envelope in hand. 'Are you talking about that lunatic we saw in the window down there? That what was his name, Matthew?'

'His name is Tyranthus Slaughter,' Lillehorne answered. 'Wanted for murder, robbery and other crimes, all laid out in the article of possession. The messenger said the doctors had already mentioned to the both of you the fact that Slaughter would be transferred from the hospital to the New York gaol, to await the Crown's constable. Well, the time's come.'

Matthew recalled the first occasion he and Greathouse had gone to the Westerwicke hospital, during the investigation of the Queen of Bedlam. The two doctors who ran the place had introduced them to an inmate behind one of the barred windows. Sent to us almost a year ago from the Quaker institution in Philadelphia. The Quakers have found out he was a barber in London and he may have been involved with a dozen murders.