Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

And then Matthew heard Greathouse say, 'Whoa,' to the team as if he had a stone in his throat.

Greathouse eased back on the reins. The horses stopped.

'What are you doing?' Matthew asked sharply.

Greathouse set the brake. 'I have to piss.' He put the reins aside, climbed down to the road and walked off into the woods.

Slaughter had closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. He said nothing, nor did he move a muscle. Gathering his strength for another try, Matthew suspected.

Time passed. A minute or more. Matthew looked toward the woods where Greathouse had gone but couldn't see him for the thicket. One of the horses rumbled and shifted its weight, as if uneasy at just standing there waiting, and then it joined its brethren in chomping weeds.

Another minute may have passed before Greathouse reappeared, walking slowly through the brush. He was staring down at the ground, and kicking at stones and acorns. 'Matthew,' he said without looking up, 'will you come here?'

'What about-'

'He's not going anywhere.'

Matthew returned his attention to Slaughter, who yet remained motionless.

'Matthew,' said the prisoner, his eyes closed against the sunlight that lit up his beard like a coalfire. 'A very respectable name, that. Go right ahead, I'll just rest.'

Matthew got down off the wagon, the pistol in hand. He checked Slaughter's position once more before he walked the twelve paces or so to join Greathouse, but the prisoner had not moved.

'What is it?' Matthew asked, seeing the deep furrows of worry that cut across Greathouse's face. 'Is something wrong?'

Greathouse rummaged in the leaves with the toe of his boot, bent down and picked up a white rock, which he examined closely. 'I want your opinion,' he said at last, in a restrained voice calculated not to travel the distance of twelve paces. 'Is he lying about the money, or not?'

'I don't know.' The meaning of what Greathouse had just asked him hit Matthew like a timber board across the back of the head. 'Oh, my God! You're not listening to him, are you?'

'Keep your voice down.' Greathouse turned the rock in his hand, examining its cracks and crevices. 'What if he's not lying, Matthew? I mean why should he, at this stage of the game? It's all over for him, and he knows it. Why should he lie?'

'Because he wants to get us down that road and escape, that's why.'

'Escape,' Greathouse repeated. The word had been spoken gravely. 'How? Chained up like he is, with the ball on his leg? And us with the pistol? How the hell is he going to escape? He may be half-crazy, but he's surely not full-crazy.' Greathouse continued to turn the white rock in his palm as if studying every possible angle. 'He knows that I won't kill him, but he also knows he wouldn't get far with one knee shot off. Hell, I might kill him anyway. I'm not a Quaker, and I didn't make any damned decree with 'em.'

'He's lying,' said Matthew. 'That's my opinion, so there it is.'

Greathouse gripped the rock in his fist. 'You don't think I can handle him, do you?'

'I think we're both asking for-'

'Keep your voice down,' Greathouse commanded. He stepped forward, until his face was only inches away from Matthew's. 'I can handle him. I've handled plenty like him before-and worse, believe me-so he's not going to be any problem.'

Matthew shook his head. The intensity of Greathouse's stare compelled him to fix his own gaze on the dead leaves around their feet.

'Fifty pounds,' came the quiet voice. 'And more. The gold rings and the jewelry. It would buy Zed's freedom, Matthew. Don't you see?'

Matthew did suddenly see, and as he looked into Greathouse's eyes he felt his face tighten into an incredulous mask. 'That's what you want the money for?'

'Yes. What else?'

Matthew had to take off his tricorn and put the back of his hand against his forehead, for fear his brain had fired up a fever.

'Whatever van Kowenhoven named as a price, we could meet,' Greathouse went on. 'And pay off Cornbury for the writ of manumission as well. With that much money, we'd probably even have some to spare. You know, to split between us.'

Matthew looked for someplace to sit down, for his legs felt weak. He needed a sturdy boulder to at least lean against, but there was nothing. In his mind was the image of a lockbox disguised as a book, and within it a black leather bag, and within that bag a handful of gleaming gold coins that made him a rich young man.

'Now don't think I have the slightest intention of letting him go,' Greathouse said. 'That would be a crime against humanity. But listen, Matthew: we can make him believe we're in accord, and then when we have the money, it's right back on this road again, across the river and on to put him behind bars. What do you say?'

Matthew had no words. He was thinking of the gold coins, and his debts, and new suits in the latest fashion, and how he needed a fireplace for his house, with the winter coming on.

'I know that lying to him might not be to your liking. I understand and appreciate your show of moral character, but back there he said Two men out of all creation who have no need for money. Well, I do have a need for it, and I know you do too.' Greathouse frowned, taking Matthew's continued silence as stern disapproval. 'Matthew, we can trick it out of him. We can lie to a liar. Or you don't have to speak a word, I'll do all the lying. I have much more experience at it than you.'

'It's not that,' Matthew heard himself say, though he had no memory of speaking the words. He had hornets in his head, they were buzzing so loudly he couldn't hear. This was the moment to tell Greathouse about the gold coins; he knew it was, for if Matthew didn't tell, Greathouse was going to take them down the forest track in pursuit of Slaughter's safebox. There was plenty of gold in that leather bag to share. Of course there was. Fifty or more pounds spent for Zed's freedom, for a bodyguard he didn't need, and then the rest for all the things Matthew planned on buying. Forget the fireplace until next winter. He had enough clothes, why should he ever need any more? Yes, plenty to share.

'What is it, then?' Greathouse prodded.

Matthew started to speak. To say what? He wasn't sure. Possibly I am a rich man or It's not fair, I found the money, me alone, and it's not fair

The world spun about him, and in the air he smelled the faint burned scent of autumn's decay.

Matthew said, with what seemed a genuine labor, 'I am ' And then the rest of it spilled out: ' afraid of him.'

Greathouse grunted, his face screwed up in a scowl. But slowly the scowl eased, Greathouse dropped his white rock and put his hand on Matthew's shoulder. 'Listen, so am I. A little, maybe. But I'll take care of everything. Just follow along with me, all right?'

Tell him, he thought. And demanded of himself: Tell him!

But he did not, and he stood looking down at all the leaves at his feet as if the earth might open and swallow him up in an instant.

'Come on.' Greathouse clapped his shoulder. 'Let's get to it.'

Matthew followed Greathouse to the wagon, where Slaughter still lay with his eyes closed like a beast dozing in the shifting sunbeams. Two more flies had found him and were whirling about his face. Matthew wondered how many he'd dined on since he'd been lying there.

Greathouse slammed his palm against the side of the wagon, which caused Slaughter only to lift his eyelids to half-mast and yawn. 'Saying we might believe you,' Greathouse told him roughly, 'and that we might be interested. How far down that road do we go?'

Slaughter worked his head from side to side, stretching his neck. 'To the end of it, as I've already said.'

'How far?'