Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

'They refuse to believe it's gone until they see with their own eyes. If this lady didn't live so far away in Pennsylvania, I think Sally would go into business with her. But, anyway,' she shrugged, 'it's all in the spices. Anything else I can get for you?'

'No, this looks fine, thank you.' When Evelyn retreated again and the hubbub died down, Matthew stared across the table into Greathouse's eyes as the man continued eating. 'You can't actually be serious about hiring Zed.'

'I'm absolutely serious. And as I have the authority from Katherine to make decisions in her absence, I intend to put things into motion right away.'

'Things into motion? What does that mean?'

Greathouse finished all but a last bite of the sausage, which he obviously intended to savor when he'd gone through his corncakes. 'First, the agency has to arrange to buy him from McCaggers.'

'To buy him?'

'Yes, that's what I said. I swear, Matthew! Aren't you getting enough sleep? Don't things get into your head the first time these days?' Greathouse gave a wicked little grin. 'Oh, ho! You're up late tripping the moonlight with Grigsby's granddaughter, aren't you?'

'Absolutely not!'

'Well, you say one thing and your blush says another.'

'Berry and I are friends,' Matthew said, in what he realized was a very tight and careful voice. 'That's all.'

Greathouse grunted. 'I'd say two people running for their lives together across a vineyard either never want to see each other again or become more than friends. But I'm glad you brought her up.'

'Me? I didn't bring her up!' For emphasis, he crunched his teeth down on a piece of the cracknel.

'She figures in my plan,' Greathouse said. 'I want to buy Zed from McCaggers, and I want to petition Lord Cornbury for a writ declaring Zed a freed man.'

'A free-' Matthew stopped himself, for surely he did feel a bit thick-headed today. 'And I suppose McCaggers will gladly sell you the slave he depends upon to do such a vital work?'

'I haven't yet approached McCaggers with this idea. Now bear with me.' He chewed down the last bite of sausage, and again he reached for the tea. When that didn't do the trick, he plucked up Matthew's cider and drank half of it. 'That jingo business you went out on. Walking into that den of thieves, and casting yourself as a foppish gambler. Well, the foppish part was true enough, but you really put yourself in danger there, Matthew, and don't pretend you didn't. If I'd known you were accepting a task like that, I'd have gone with you.'

'You were fully occupied elsewhere,' Matthew said, referring to the problem of Dr. Coffin that had taken Greathouse across the river to New Jersey. 'And as I interpret the scope of my profession, I am free to accept or reject clients without your approval.'

'Exactly so. Which is why you need someone to watch your back. I paid McCaggers a fee to allow Zed to dress up in the suit I bought for him and to come to the Cock'a'tail. I told him Zed would be in no danger, which is true when you consider what he can do.'

'But you didn't know it was true. He had yet to prove himself.' Matthew returned to the statement that had caused him to cease crunching his cracknell. 'Someone to watch my back? You mean Zed would be my bodyguard?'

'Don't fly off the handle, now. Just listen. Do you know what instructions I asked McCaggers to give Zed last night? To protect the both of us, and to protect himself. I was ready to reach in if anything went wrong.'

'Yes,' Matthew said, with a nod. 'That reach of yours almost got your hand chopped off.'

'Everybody knows about that axe Skelly keeps behind the bar! I'm not stupid, Matthew!'

'Neither am I,' came the calm but heated response. 'Nor do I need a bodyguard. Hasn't it occurred to you that being in the company of a slave might cause more trouble than simply walking into a place-a den of thieves, as you say-and relying on your wits to resolve the problem? And I appreciate the fact that Zed is fearless. An admirable quality, I'm sure. But sometimes fearless and careless walk hand-in-hand.'

'Yes, and sometimes smart and stubborn walk ass-in-hand, too!' said Greathouse. It was hard to tell whether it was anger or sausages flaming his cheeks, but for a few seconds a red glint lingered deep in the man's eyes; it was the same sort of warning Matthew occasionally saw when they were at rapier practice and Greathouse forgot where he was, placing himself mentally for a dangerous passing moment on the fields of war and the alleyways of intrigue that had both seasoned and scarred him. In those times, Matthew counted himself lucky not to be skewered, for though he was becoming more accomplished at defending his skin he would never be more than an amateur swordsman. Matthew said nothing. He cast his gaze aside and drank some cider, waiting for the older warrior to return from the bloodied corridors.

Greathouse worked his knuckles. His fists are already big enough, Matthew thought.

'Katherine has great hopes for you,' Greathouse said, in a quieter tone of conciliation. 'I absolutely agree that there should be no boundaries on what clients you accept or reject. And certainly, as she told you, this can be a dangerous-and potentially fatal-profession.' He paused, still working his knuckles. It took him a moment to say what he was really getting at. 'I can't be with you all the time, and I'd hate for your gravestone to have the year 1702 marked on it.'

'I don't need a-' Matthew abruptly stopped speaking. He felt a darkness coming up around him, like a black cloak here amid these oblivious breakfast patrons of Sally Almond's. He knew this darkness very well. It was a fear that came on him without warning, made his heart beat harder and raised pinpricks of sweat at his temples. It had to do with a small white card marked with a bloody fingerprint. The card was in the writing desk in his home, what used to be the dairyhouse behind Marmaduke Grigsby's abode. Of this card, which had been delivered to his door by an unknown prowler after his adventure involving the Queen of Bedlam, Matthew had said nothing to any other person. He didn't wish Berry to know, and certainly not her grandfather with his ready quill and ink-stained fingers. Though Matthew had almost told Greathouse on several occasions he'd decided to close his mouth and shrug the darkness off as best he could. Which at times was a formidable task.

The card was a death-threat. No, not a threat. A promise. It was the same type of card that had been delivered to Richard Herrald, Greathouse's own half-brother, and after seven years the promise came true with his hideous murder. It was the same type of card that had been delivered to Magistrate Nathaniel Powers, whom Matthew had clerked for and who had brought Matthew and Katherine Herrald together. The death promise yet lingered over Powers, who had left New York with his family during the summer and gone to the Carolina colony to help his brother Durham manage Lord Kent's tobacco plantation.

It was a promise of death, this year or next, or the next year or the one after that. When this card was marked with a bloody fingerprint and sent to its victim, there could be no escape from the hand of Professor-

'Are you going to eat your rockahominy?' Greathouse asked. 'It's lousy when it's cold.'

Matthew shook his head, and Greathouse took the bowl.

After a moment during which the great man nearly cleaned all the rockahominy out of the bowl with four swipes of a spoon, Matthew's darkness subsided as it always did. His heartbeat returned to normal, the little pricklings of sweat evaporated and he sat calmly, with a blank expression on his face. No one was ever the wiser about how close they might be sitting to a young man who felt a horrific death chasing him down step after step, in a pursuit that might go on for years or might end with a blade to the back on the Broad Way, this very evening.

'Where are you?'

Matthew blinked. Greathouse pushed the bowl aside. 'You went somewhere,' he said. 'Any address that I might know?'

'I was thinking about Zed,' Matthew told him, and managed to make it sound convincing.

'Think all you like,' came the quick reply, 'but I've made the decision. It is absurd for a man of Zed's talent to be limited to hauling corpses around. I tell you, I've seen a lot of slaves but I've never seen a Ga in slavery before, and if there's a chance I can buy him from McCaggers, you can be sure I'm going to make the offer.'

'And then go about setting him free?'

'Exactly. As was pointed out last night, it's against the law for slaves to enter taverns. What good would Zed be to us, if he couldn't enter where by necessity he might need to go?' Greathouse began to fish in a pocket for his money. 'Besides, I don't like the idea of keeping a slave. It's against my religion. So, since there