Matthew Corbett 03 - Mister Slaughter

was halfway down the stairs when he heard Greathouse shout, 'You wouldn't have made a very good slavemaster, anyway!'

Matthew set off into the traffic on Broad Street. It was a bright day, warm for the season though light cloaks and coats were in order. Matthew went directly to City Hall, climbed the attic steps to McCaggers' domain and knocked at the door. He waited, but there was no answer. He thought he knew where McCaggers and Zed might be, since Berry had told him that the light this time of year-and especially on sunny afternoons such as this-was to be taken advantage of before the gray gloom of winter set in. Matthew had not missed the fact that where Berry was to be found, McCaggers also was.

He left City Hall and walked east on Wall Street toward the harbor. Another fact he didn't miss was that at the end of this street was the slave market.

He had been a slave owner for nearly a week. It had been an expensive proposition. McCaggers had been agreeable, with the understanding that Zed would continue his present living arrangements and also help the coroner as needed. But the villain of the play had been Gerritt van Kowenhoven, who brought in a silver-tongued lawyer before he would consider any discussion of selling his valuable slave. When the discussion began, it seemed to revolve around not Zed's future but the street van Kowenhoven had been promised as an honor to his name. Then, after being assured the street was indeed on the new map-and actually getting a view of the new map, courtesy of McCaggers-the talk had turned to van Kowenhoven's profit on his investment.

When the quills finished their job, Matthew's remaining money after the payment of debts had been whittled down to twenty-three pounds. The next step had been arranging a meeting with Lord Cornbury.

In Cornbury's office with its overstuffed chairs, a desk of English oak that seemed as wide as a continent and a portrait of Queen Anne glowering from the wall, the Lord himself had regarded Matthew through bored, blue- shaded eyes and idly twisted a curl of his high blond wig while Matthew stated his case. It wasn't easy, stating a case to a man in a purple gown with puffy frills of blue lace down the front. But after the case was stated, Cornbury then coldly informed Matthew that the Herrald Agency had embarrassed him in front of his cousin the Queen over that Slaughter business and Matthew might believe himself to be a celebrity, and think he had some influence due to this mistaken belief, but that Matthew should not let the door hit him in the cheeks on the way out.

'Ten pounds for your signature within the week,' Matthew had said. And remembering his station in life, which was just a citizen the same as everyone, added: 'Your Lordship.'

'Are you not hearing me, sir? Anyway, these things take time. Even though we're speaking of personal property, we have the town's safety to consider. There has to be a discussion of the council. A meeting of the aldermen. Some of them are vehemently opposed to this kind of thing. No, no. Impossible.'

That was when Matthew had reached into his pocket and put the intricately-engraved silver ring from Slaughter's safebox on the desk. He'd pushed it across the continent toward Lord Cornbury.

It had been picked up by a purple-gloved hand, inspected in the spill of light from the window next to the face of Queen Anne, and tossed aside. 'Nice enough,' came the voice through the painted lips, 'but I have a dozen of those.'

Matthew then took from his pocket the necklace of grayish-blue pearls that indeed were very beautiful, now that they were cleaned up. 'Your Lordship, pardon me for asking,' Matthew had said, 'but do you know what a string of pearls is selling for these days?'

Obviously, Lord Cornbury had known.

Matthew found McCaggers, Zed and Berry at the waterfront near the fish market at the end of Smith Street. Small boats were coming in and throwing lines to the wharf. Baskets full of the sea's bounty were being unloaded onto the dripping timbers. Salters stood by with their carts, and both customers and cats were prowling around looking for supper.

In all this haste and hurry of commerce, Berry and Zed stood drawing with black crayons on pads of paper as the fishermen delivered their catch. McCaggers stood a distance away, putting on a brave face though it was apparent the fish market was not his favorite place in town; he held a handkerchief with which he dabbed at his nose, and Matthew figured it had some kind of aromatic tonic applied to it.

Matthew approached them where they stood alongside the wharf. Zed saw him coming first. The huge man touched Berry's shoulder, who looked up, followed Zed's gaze and smiled when she saw their visitor.

'Good afternoon!' she called to him. Her smile became more of a sideways grin. Today she was an eyeburst of colors, as befitting her artistic nature. She wore a wide-brimmed red hat and a floral-print gown of red and yellow. A light green wrap covered her shoulders and arms, and she wore gloves of yellow wool that exposed her fingers, the better to control the crayon.

'Afternoon,' he answered, and walked to her side to look at what she and Zed were drawing. On each pad were partially-completed scenes of boats arriving at the wharf. Zed's were created with much more force and intensity, each line as thick as a finger. Again, as in the drawings of Zed's that Matthew had seen in the attic, they had an alien quality. The boats looked more like long canoes, with scrawled, menacing figures aboard that seemed to be carrying spears and shields.

To be sure, the sight of a slave drawing a picture at the waterfront was not common, and several people paused to glance and mutter, but the printmaster's granddaughter had been seen around town on many occasions with McCaggers' man, both of them drawing as easily as if they'd been talking. Of course everyone knew the printmaster's granddaughter was a bit strange-an artist as well as a teacher, you understand-but as long as McCaggers tagged along to keep his man under watch there was no need for fear. Still the size of that man; he could go mad with rage and tear down a building, as it was said he'd done to the Cock'a'tail tavern just last month.

''Lo Matthew,' said McCaggers, offering one hand while keeping the handkerchief near his nose. 'How are you feeling?'

Matthew shook the hand. 'Almost myself again, thank you.' He took in a deep draw of air. There were the smells of the briny sea, the wet timbers and the fresh fish. Very invigorating, he thought.

'We were just about to move along,' McCaggers said, with a hopeful note.

'Before you do, I have this.' Matthew held up the envelope. Berry and McCaggers stared at it, but Zed had returned to his art. Matthew broke Cornbury's seal, removed the parchment from within and unfolded it. 'Ah,' he said when he saw the crimped and altogether ugly signature. No matter, it was the intent that counted. 'The writ of manumission,' Matthew said, and showed it first to McCaggers, then to Berry.

'My God.' McCaggers sounded stunned. 'I can't believe you actually secured it.' He turned to look at Zed, who was concentrating on further thickening a line and paid the others no attention whatsoever.

'Matthew? May I tell him?' Berry asked.

'Tell him? How?'

'Let me,' she said.

He gave her the document.

'Zed?' When Berry spoke his name, he immediately turned his head and looked down at her. She held up the writ. 'You are free,' she said. 'Do you understand that? You are free.' She touched Lord Cornbury's signature.

He frowned, his fathomless ebony eyes moving back and forth from the parchment to Berry. There seemed to be no comprehension of what he was looking at.

Berry turned the document over, put it down on her pad, and began to draw something. As Matthew watched, a fish took shape. It was leaping out of the water, like one of the many drawings of fish Zed had done and kept in a box under his cot. When she had finished, Berry showed him the picture.

He stared at it, his tribal-scarred face immobile.

Slowly, his mouth opened. He gave a quiet gasp, from deep in his throat.

'Yes,' Berry said, nodding. She offered him a kind smile. 'You are as free as that.'

Zed turned his head toward the market itself, where the catch was being laid out on tables beneath a roof of brown canvas. He moved his gaze across the many dozens of shimmering silver, brown-patterned and green- streaked bodies brought up on the lines and in the nets, across the seabass, the snapper, the fluke, the cod, the flounder, the bluefish, the mackerel, the cunner and the hake. He was a fisherman too. He knew the difference between a dead fish losing its magnificent colors and shine on a wet table as opposed to the fish that had slipped a hook or sensed the fall of a net and gone deep into the blue, deep where no man might catch it, deep where it might swim for yet another day as a bird might fly through the air.