Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

herself often strolled about strumming a gittern and singing in a light, airy and extremely pleasing voice.

Rain had fallen all night, but had ceased near dawn. Through a large window that overlooked the pedestrians, the passing wagons, carts and livestock on Nassau Street could be seen beams of silver sunlight piercing the clouds. Directly across the street was the yellow brick boarding house of Mary Belovaire, where Greathouse was presently living until he found, as he put it, 'more suitable quarters for a bachelor'. His meaning was that Madam Belovaire, though being of a kind spirit, was wont to monitor the comings-and-goings of her lodgers, and go so far as to suggest they regularly attend church services, refrain from cursing and drinking, and generally comport themselves with great decorum as regards the opposite sex. All of which put Greathouse's large white teeth on the grind. The latest was that Madam Belovaire had been trying to matchmake him with a number of ladies she deemed respectable and upstanding, which in Greathouse's opinion made them as interesting as a bowlful of calf's-foot jelly. So it was no wonder that Greathouse had taken to spending some nights working at Number Seven Stone Street, but Matthew knew the man was sleeping on a cot up there in the company of a brandy bottle.

But not to say either of them had been bored in the last few weeks. Far from it. Since the Herrald Agency had been getting such publicity in the Earwig, there'd been no lack of letters and visitors presenting problems to be solved. Matthew had come to the aid of a young man who'd fallen in love with an Indian girl and wished to prove himself worthy before her father, the chief; there'd been the bizarre and disturbing night ride, in which Matthew had determined that not all the creatures on God's earth had been created by the hand of God; and there'd been the incident of the game of jingo and the gambler who'd had his prized horse cheated away from him by a gang of cutthroats. For Greathouse's part, there'd been his ordeal at the House at the Edge of the World that had so nearly cost him his life, and the eerie matter of the last will and testament of Dr. Coffin.

As Mrs. Herrald had told Matthew at dinner one night, back in midsummer when she'd offered him a position as a 'problem-solver' with the agency her husband Richard had founded in London, You can be sure, Matthew, that the criminal element of not only England but also greater Europe is looking in this direction, and has already seen the potential. Whatever it might be: kidnapping, forgery, public and private theft, murder for hire. Domination of the mind and spirit, thereby to gain illicit profit. I could give you a list of the names of individual criminals who will most likely be lured here at some time or another, but it's not those petty thugs who concern me. It's the society that thrives underground, that pulls the marionette strings. The very powerful and very deadly group of men-and women-who even now are sitting at dinner just as we are, but they hold carving knives over a map of the new world and their appetites are ravenous.

So true, Matthew thought. He'd already come into contact with the man who held the largest knife, and sometimes in dark moments he imagined its blade pressing against his neck.

Greathouse put his cup down. He said, 'Zed is a ga.'

Matthew was sure he hadn't heard correctly. 'A ga?'

'A ga,' Greathouse answered. His gaze ticked to one side. 'Here's Evelyn.'

Evelyn Shelton, one of the tavern's two waitresses, was approaching their table. She had sparkling green eyes and blonde hair like a combed cloud, and as she was also a dancing instructress she was quite nimble on her feet at negotiating the morning crowd. Ivory and copper bracelets clicked and jingled on her wrists. 'Matthew!' she said with a wide smile. 'What might I get you?'

A new set of ears, he thought, as he still couldn't comprehend what a 'ga' was. 'Oh, I don't know. Do you have cracknel today?'

'Fresh baked.'

'You might try the hot sausage,' Greathouse urged as he chewed into another of the links. 'Tell him how they'll make a man out of him, Evelyn.'

Her laugh was like the ascending peal of glass bells. 'Oh, they're spicy all right! But they go down the gullet so fast we can't keep 'em in stock! Only have 'em a few days a month as is, so if you want 'em you'd best get your order in!'

'I'll leave the fiery spice to Mr. Greathouse,' Matthew decided. 'I'll have the cracknel, a small bowl of rockahominy, some bacon and cider, thank you.' He returned his attention across the table when the waitress had gone. 'What exactly is a ga?'

'The Ga tribe. Whew, this is hot!' He had to blot his forehead with his napkin. 'Damn tasty, though. Zed is a member of the Ga tribe. From the West African coast. I thought he might be, when you first described to me those scars on his face. They're given to some of the children at a very young age. Those determined to be suitable for training as warriors.' He drank more tea, but obviously the sausage was compelling for he started immediately in on it again. 'When I saw the scars for myself, the next step was finding out how well Zed could fight. I think he handled the situation very competently, don't you?'

'I think you could have been responsible for his death,' Matthew said grimly. 'And ours, as well.'

'Shows how much you know. Ga warriors are among the finest hand-to-hand fighters in the world. Also, they have a reputation for being fearless. If anything, Zed held himself back last night. He could've broken the neck of every man in there and never raised a sweat.'

'If that's so,' Matthew said, 'then why is he a slave? I'd think such a fearless warrior would have resisted the slaver's rope just a little bit.'

'Ah.' Greathouse nodded and chewed. 'There you have a good point, which is exactly why I arranged with McCaggers to test him. It's very rare to find a Ga as a slave. See, McCaggers doesn't know what he's got. McCaggers wanted the biggest slave he could buy, to move corpses for him. He didn't know he was buying a fighting machine. But I needed to know just what Zed could do, and it seemed to me that the Cock'a'tail was the place to do it in.'

'And your reasoning why this fighting machine became a slave, and why he just didn't fight his way out of his predicament?'

Greathouse ate a bite of corncake and tapped his fork quietly against the platter. It was of interest to Matthew, as he waited for Greathouse to speak, that Sally Almond had bought all her plates and cups in that popular color called 'Indian Blood' from Hiram Stokely, who'd begun to experiment with different glazes after rebuilding his pottery shop. Due to the rampage of Brutus the bull, the Stokely pottery was now doing twice the business it ever had.

'What put him in his predicament, as you call it,' Greathouse finally replied, 'will probably always be unknown. But I'd say that even one of the finest warriors in the world might be hit from behind by a cudgel, or trapped in a net and smothered down by six or seven men, or even have to make the choice to sacrifice himself that someone else might escape the chains. His people are fishermen, with a long heritage of seafaring. He might have been caught on a boat, with nowhere to go. I'd say he might have lost his tongue because he wouldn't give up the fight, and it was explained to him by some tender slaver that another body part would be the next sliced off. All possibilities, but as I say we'll likely never know.'

'I'm surprised, then, that he just hasn't killed McCaggers and run for it.'

'Now why would he want to do that?' Greathouse regarded Matthew as if he were looking at an imbecile. 'Where would he go? And what would the point be? From my observation, McCaggers has been kind to him and Zed has responded by being as loyal ' He paused, hunting his compass. 'As loyal as a slave needs to be, given the situation. Also, it shows that Zed is intelligent. If he weren't, I'd have no interest in him. I wouldn't have paid the money for Benjamin Owles to sew him a decent suit, either.'

'What?' Now this was getting serious. Greathouse had actually paid money for a suit? To be worn by McCaggers' slave? When he'd righted his senses, Matthew said, 'Would you care to explain-as reasonably and rationally as possible-exactly why you have enough interest in Zed to entertain hiring him for the agency? Or was I dreaming that part of it?'

'No, you weren't dreaming. Here's your breakfast.'

Evelyn had arrived bearing a tray with Matthew's food. She also showed an empty burlap bag, marked in red paint Mrs. Sutch's Sausages and, below that, the legend 'Sutch A Pleasure', to the other patrons in the room. 'All out, kind friends!' Her announcement brought a chorus of boos and jeers, though in good nature. 'We ought to be getting another shipment next month, which we'll post on the board outside.'

'A popular item,' Matthew remarked as Evelyn put his platter down before him.