Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

rasp of a pistol being cocked, 'get that beast out of my sight!'

'And out of our noses, too,' said one of the gentlemen at the rear, which told Matthew that they had no friends in this particular house.

'Very well, then.' Greathouse shrugged, as if it was all done and sealed. 'Just one drink for him, and we'll be gone.'

'He'll drink my piss 'fore he gets a drop of my liquor!' hollered Skelly, and above Matthew the lanterns swayed on their chains. Skelly's eyes were wide and wild. His red beard, matted with the thousand-and-one grimes of New York, quivered like a viper's tail. Matthew heard the wind howl outside. Heard it shriek and whistle through chinks between the boards, as if trying to gnaw the place to splinters. The two wharfmen were on their feet, and one was cracking his knuckles. Why did men do that? Matthew wondered. To make their fists bigger?

Greathouse never lost his smile. 'Tell you what. I'll buy a drink for myself. Then we'll leave everyone in peace. That suit you?' To Matthew's horror, the great man-the great fool!-was already walking to the bar, right up to where Bonehead and Baiter obviously longed to bash him down. Skelly stood where he was without moving, his mouth curled in a sneer, and when Matthew glanced at Zed he saw again that the slave had no interest in taking another step nearer destruction, much less getting a dirty mugful of it.

'He's gonna give it to the crow, is what he's thinkin'!' the lady protested, but it was already a thought in Matthew's mind.

We're expecting a man I might hire to join our agency, Greathouse had said.

Matthew had heard nothing of this. Hiring Zed? A slave who understood limited English and could speak not a word of it? Greathouse obviously needed no drink here, for he had ample supply of brain-killing liquor in his quarters at Mary Belovaire's boarding house.

As Greathouse approached the bar, Bonehead and Baiter moved away from him like cautious wolves. Matthew stood up, fearing a sudden burst of violence. 'Don't you think we ought to-'

'Sit down,' Greathouse answered firmly, with a quick glance back that had some warning in it. 'Mind your manners, now, we're among good company.'

Good company my assbone, Matthew thought. And, hesitantly, he sat down upon it.

The two wharfmen were edging nearer. Greathouse took no notice of them. Nack was rubbing his eyes, blinking at the huge black figure against the door.

'One drink,' Greathouse said to Skelly. 'Your best, if you please.'

Skelly didn't move.

'I'm paying,' said Greathouse, in a cool, calm voice, 'for one drink.' He reached into a pocket, brought out a coin and dropped it into the cashbox that sat atop the bar.

'Go ahead,' Baiter spoke up, scowling. 'Let him drink and get that black beast out of here, and to Hell with all of 'em.'

Greathouse's eyes never left those of the sullen tavern-keeper. 'As the gentleman proposes,' he said.

Suddenly Skelly smiled, but it was not a pretty sight. It revealed the broken black teeth in the front of his mouth, and showed that some faces wore a smile like the devil trying on a halo. It was just wrong. Because of that hideous smile, Matthew felt the danger in the room rachet up, like a bowstring tightening to loose an evil arrow.

'For sure, sir, for sure!' said Skelly, who then turned away to fetch a mug from a shelf and uncork a bottle of the usual nasty brandy. With a flourish, he poured into the mug a coin's worth. He thumped the mug down in front of Greathouse. 'There you are, sir. Drink up!'

Greathouse paused, measuring the distance of Bonehead, Baiter and the two slowly approaching wharfmen. Now the three well-dressed gentlemen were on their feet, puffing their pipes and watching intently. Matthew stood up again, no matter what Greathouse had told him; he glanced at Zed and saw that even the slave was crouched in a position of readiness, but for what Matthew did not know.

Greathouse reached out and put his hand on the mug.

'One minute, sir,' said Skelly. 'You did say you wanted the best, didn't you? Well, lemme sweeten it for you.' And, so saying, he leaned his head forward and drooled vile brown spittle into the drink. 'There you are, sir,' he said, again with that devil's smile, when he'd finished. 'Now either you drink it, or let's see you give it to the crow.'

Greathouse stared at the mug. 'Hm,' he said. His left eyebrow, the one with the teacup scar across it, began twitching. He said nothing more for a space of time. Bonehead began chuckling, and the lady just plain cackled. Dippen Nack gripped his constable's lantern and his black billyclub and began to try to stand up, but without a third arm he was having no luck at the task.

'Hm,' Greathouse said again, inspecting the froth that bubbled atop the liquid.

'Drink up, then,' Skelly offered. 'Goes down smooth as shit, don't it, boys?'

To the credit of their good sense, no one answered.

Greathouse took his hand from the mug. He stared into Skelly's eyes. 'I fear, sir, that I've lost my thirst. I beg your pardon for this intrusion, and I ask only that I might retrieve my coin, since my lips have not tasted of your best.'

'No, sir!' The smile disappeared as if slapped away. 'You bought the drink! The coin stays!'

'But I have no doubt you can pour the liquor back into the bottle. As I'm sure you often do, when patrons are unable to finish their portions. Now I'll just take my coin and we'll be on our way.' He began reaching toward the coinbox, and Matthew saw Skelly's right shoulder give a jerk. The bastard's hand had found that axe behind the bar.

'Hudson!' Matthew shouted, the blood pounding at his temples.

But the great man's hand would not be stopped. Greathouse and Skelly still stared at each other, locked in a silent test of wills, as one hand extended and another prepared to chop it off at the wrist.

In no particular hurry, Greathouse reached into the coinbox and let his fingers touch copper.

It was hard to tell exactly what happened next, for it happened with such ferocity and speed that Matthew thought everything was blurred and dreamlike, as if the mere scent of the brandy was enough to give a man the staggers.

He saw the axe come up, clenched hard in Skelly's hand. Saw the glint of lamplight on its business edge, and had the sure thought that Greathouse was going to miss tomorrow's rapier lesson. The axe rose up to its zenith and hung there for a second, as Skelly gritted his teeth and tensed to bring it crashing down through flesh, sinew and bone.

But here was the blurred part, for the axeblow was never delivered.

There came from the direction of the door a sound of Satan's minions thrashing in their chains, and Matthew turned his head fast enough to see Zed whipping out with the chain he'd just leaped up and wrenched off its hook from an overhead rafter. The chain still had a firelit lamp attached on the end Zed had thrown, and when it snapped across the room the chain not only wound itself around Skelly's upraised forearm, but the lamp hit Skelly midsection in the beard hard enough to shatter its glass sides. It was apparent in an instant that a blue flicker on a lump of wax might enjoy a feast of New York dirt and a week's drippings of apple brandy, for in a burst of eye-popping fire it consumed Skelly's beard like a wild dog would eat a muttonchop. As a thousand sparks flew around Skelly's face, Zed planted his boots and with one solid wrench of the chain pulled the old rapscallion over the bar as easily as hauling a catfish over the side of a skiff, the only difference being that a catfish still had whiskers.

Skelly hit the floor on his teeth, which perhaps was an improvement to the beauty of his dentals. Even with a mouthful of blood, he held firm to the axe. Zed began to haul him across the floor hand-over-hand, and with a tremendous ripping noise the back of the slave's suit coat split wide open as his back swelled. When Skelly was at his feet, Zed bent down, tore the axe loose and with an ease that looked like a child throwing jackstones he imbedded the axeblade in the nearest wall.

Some people, it seemed to Matthew, are born stupid. Which could be the only reason that, despite this display of fighting force, the two wharfmen jumped Greathouse from behind.

There was a flurry of fists and a barrage of cursing from the wharfmen, but then Greathouse had thrown them off with a shrug of disdain. Instead of smacking them both flat, as Matthew expected, he backed away from them. They made the supreme miscalculation of rushing after him, their teeth bared and their eyes drink- shiny.