The Constable's Tale (9 page)

“You have a suspicious mind, Mister Burke. But that is exactly what I was thinking.”

*

They found Comet Elijah locked inside a run-down, otherwise empty warehouse near the waterfront. Harry had heard the town was paying a small monthly rent for its temporary use while plans went ahead for replacing the old jail, which had been judged unsafe for humans, even criminals. Comet Elijah was the only inmate.

Two or three dozen people milled about the front, trying to get a glimpse of the prisoner through a row of small barred windows. Harry muscled his way through, Noah following in his wake. The heavy wood door was latched from the inside. Despite distortions in the door’s small bull’s-eye glass, Harry recognized several members of the town watch on the other side. They let Harry and Noah pass through the entrance. All had scrapes and bruises, signs of recent combat.

The inside was dark, humid, and smelled of tar and pitch, ghostly leftovers from barrels once stored there awaiting shipment. The plank flooring bore a dull polish from years of ground-in grime. Lining two walls were eleven-foot-tall wooden stalls intended for storage of higher-priced items coming into New Bern: furniture and silverware and fancy clothing and the like. Each stall had its own set of lockable doors and small barred windows, making ideal cells.

Comet Elijah was sitting cross-legged on the floor of a stall, eyes closed, as if asleep. He looked poorly. Bruises on his face, one eye swollen and darkened to the color of river clay.

“Is that Harry?” he said, his good eye barely parting into a slit.

“What happened?”

“It was a great surprise. I didn’t foresee them coming. They said I had to go with them. I asked where they wanted to go. They said New Bern. I asked why. They said I didn’t need to know that. Then I started getting suspicious. They looked like men, but they could have been
monsters disguised as men. Before I could get out my tomahawk, they were upon me.”

“Looks like you put up a pretty good fight.”

“I was able to knock one of them out with my fists. At least, I think I knocked him out. When I looked again he was gone. But there were too many. I don’t remember much else. I woke up in here. Where am I? They won’t tell me.”

“You’re in a warehouse on the Trent River in New Bern.”

“Are you really Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Can you say why I’m here?”

“It’s a mistake. They think you are the person who killed the Campbells. I’m going to see if I can’t get it straightened out.”

“That’s good. I’d like to get back home. Before dark, if I can. Some bad things are about to happen.”

“Bad things?” said Noah.

“Not right away. But I need to be in a more peaceful place so I can figure it out, get a better idea of where and when they’re going to take place.”

“What kind of bad things?” Noah wanted to know.

“Well, a big wave coming in from the sea is going to drown thousands of people if it isn’t stopped.”

“Thousands? Has that ever happened here?”

“I’m not talking about North Carolina. This is going to happen somewhere in Japan. But that’s not the worst. Several million people are going to starve in India because of a famine.”

“You can foresee disasters in Japan and India?”

“I foretold an earthquake in China in 1555. Killed almost a million people.”

“You predicted something that happened more than two centuries ago?” The confusion on Noah’s face was plain.

“I might be a few of years off. Can’t remember now. It was a long time ago.”

“Are they feeding you all right?” asked Harry, who had heard this kind of thing from him before, to the point where he was no longer amazed.

“Eating isn’t my biggest worry right now. I need to get out of here. It’s killing me.” He again partly opened his working eye, which had drooped shut.

“I’m working on that,” said Harry.

“You’d better hurry up. No fooling, I’m dying in this place.”

*

If Carruthers wanted to show New Bern he had an easier, more cultivated side to his nature, the brick-walled flower garden in his eastern side yard could not have served better, with its cunningly thought-out sections of annuals and perennials separated by grassy stretches and walkways made of paving stones. Everything laid out with exacting symmetry. In the center was a bronze sundial mounted on a slab of blue granite that Carruthers boasted of having paid to transport all the way from South Carolina.

The sheriff was about to enter his house with a handful of hydrangea when Harry and Noah rode up. Carruthers said, “I’m afraid I haven’t got time to talk just now, I’m about to dress for the service. But I do want to thank you for your fine work in chasing down the savage.”

“You can’t really think such an old man as Comet Elijah could have killed the Campbells,” said Harry.

“You are speaking of the Indian named Tom Walker, yes? The one whose Indian name sounds like some nonsense combination of a prophet and a heavenly body?”

Harry nodded.

“Son, you weren’t there when my deputies picked him up. He put up a fight. I have no doubt he is capable of murder. ”

“But why would he do such a thing? You’ve at least heard of King Walker. He was always a friend of New Bern.”

“Yes, and I’m sure we will find out what inspired him to commit murder before this is over. Now, if you will excuse me.” He slammed the door behind him with more force than Harry felt was needed.

McLeod also was in a hurry. “You are going to the memorial service, aren’t you?” he called from the parlor when Harry and Noah arrived. “I’ll make sure you and your wife have a seat up near the front.”

“Judge, you must know that forty-eight years ago Comet Elijah saved the lives of many settlers in this place by keeping his people out of the attack that destroyed it.”

McLeod let out a gust of breath. “Look, Harry, he will have every opportunity to explain himself at the trial. And he’ll have lots of time to get ready. The next session of Superior Court won’t be until the middle of October.”

“You’re going to keep him locked in that little stall until October?”

“I’d rather not, of course. Feeding prisoners is expensive. But capital crimes can’t be tried in a quarterly session. And I can’t convene a superior court before its term just to hear one case.”

McLeod’s manner had been pleasant, almost fatherly. Now Harry’s ear was picking up a sharper tone. Nevertheless, he pressed on.

“Judge, I will post whatever bond you think is right and guarantee Comet Elijah’s presence at the trial, if you’ll release him into my custody. My wife has already agreed to let him stay with us. A man of his age and state of health may not live that long in those conditions in the warehouse. I beg you to do this.”

“And I beg you to remember your place,” said McLeod, the last smidgen of moderation dropping off. “Constables do not question decisions of high sheriffs and magistrates. Those of us with duties to the community must look to the greater good. At this moment, the people we have the privilege of governing are living in fear. They need to see someone in jail. One of these days you may be in a position such as I, and then maybe you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”

Harry heard him mumble something else as he turned away. It sounded like, “Or maybe not.”

CHAPTER 9

74: When Another Speaks be attentive your Self and disturb not the Audience if any hesitate in his Words help him not nor Prompt him without desired, Interrupt him not, nor Answer him till his Speech be ended.

—R
ULES OF
C
IVILITY

REVEREND REED PUT A GOOD MEASURE OF ENERGY INTO HIS SERMONS,
a style of preaching Harry did not associate with other Anglican ministers he had seen, like those from the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts who would pass through New Bern while on tours of the colonies. Reed’s style was more akin to that of Congregationalists, Anabaptists, and adherents of other rebellious
religions whose clergy, from time to time, filled tents rigged just outside the town.

Reed was in especially lively form for the Campbells’ memorial. As soon became plain, he had something new to say.

Harry had wanted to skip the whole affair. His thoughts were still occupied with Comet Elijah’s dilemma, trying to decide what he should do. But Noah convinced him that as time went along he would regret not going. McLeod, true to his word, had arranged space for Harry and Toby in the third row, with just enough room for Noah to wedge in beside them. Talitha and Natty had come separately, early enough to find seats halfway back.

Now people filled every pew shoulder to shoulder, house servants and field hands of both races touching arms with the wealthy and powerful. Everyone perspiring. Throngs pooled up outside the windows, hoping to hear what Reed would say. It was the kind of affair the governor himself would have attended were he still a resident of New Bern, and his absence was yet another sad reminder of his recent adjournment to Wilmington.

Harry looked around for Maddie and Ayerdale and, not seeing them, guessed they had departed for Williamsburg.

It seemed the hearts of everyone in Craven County had been gladdened in some way by the Campbells. A testament, the preacher declared, to the generous and loving spirit of the young couple. Reed used for his text Samuel II:18, “It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth to him good.” But he soon departed from the fatalistic tone of this verse and turned to a theme he had been exploring from Christ Church’s high pulpit for the past several weeks: how, after a time of growth and enlarging fortune, New Bern had begun to slide into the abyss of complacency, even outright godlessness.

“Church attendance continues to slacken,” Reed said in a voice louder than the usual Anglican monotone, “and along with it, the tithes that make possible the continuation of the Lord’s work.” Harry smirked inwardly at this, recalling that ever since Reed had arrived five years earlier he had complained endlessly about his low rate of
pay, which was often late, and the living arrangements he and his wife had been afforded: a not especially handsome three-room house with a small garden, only one servant, and the vague promise of a glebe sometime in the future.

“And what is the result?” he demanded. “Public drunkenness has become all too common. As have sloth and other lascivious behavior. Not to speak of a generalized lack of respect for the Crown. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard of a toast being offered to our gracious king, whether in tavern or at home.”

Nods of agreement greeted each one of these statements. The reverend had brought up the same concerns on previous Sabbaths. But now he entered new territory.

“As much as it pains me,”” he said, touching the fingers of one slender hand to his black-robed breast, “I must say that all of us as a people fall short every day in the eyes of our Lord. Landlords charge their tenants too much rent. Tenants find sly ways of deceiving landlords. Masters cheat servants and the other way around. Oh, yes, don’t look away. Tavern keepers charge too dearly for drink and food. Farmers demand too much for their victuals. Merchants parade before our eyes their wondrous luxuries from across the ocean, extravagances that far exceed the plain necessities of life. And how do we respond to their lures? We borrow money to buy things we cannot afford, in hopes that such baubles will somehow give our lives value and purpose.”

As he continued in this direction, his voice rising even further, the idle coughing, rustlings of clothing, and creaking of pews typical to Sabbath services ceased. Everyone now sat rigid, eyes tending downward. And Reed was far from finished.

“Blasphemies of the flesh have grown all too common, accompanied by an increase in bastardy and orphans. Husbands lie with women who are not their wives. Wives are untrue to husbands. Among the lower classes, brothers lie down with sisters, and uncles with nieces. Oh, yes, my children. All of us have sinned in some way, and now all are being punished. With the departure of our beloved
governor, we have lost a faithful friend and the Christian religion an able advocate among us. Can there be any doubt that meetings of the assembly and members of the governor’s council will soon follow him to Wilmington? What then shall become of our beloved city? Were we so puffed up that we could not have conceded him a better house at lower rent? Day in and day out, paid him even the simple courtesies due his royal office?”

Harry now felt the reverend was on a considerable drift from what he guessed all this was leading up to, that the Campbells’ death was just another a piece of how God was scolding them for their wickedness. A familiar theme, how the Almighty would punish an entire village for the sins of just a few. In Dobbs’s case it was the sins of many. It just was not in the nature of New Bernians to make reverences for anyone who had not in their opinion earned them. And Dobbs had not.

“My little children, ours is a jealous God. Who knows what more disasters will befall us?”

He was now bobbing his head and jabbing his hand to the rhythm of his words. His volume having grown to such a level that Harry was sure those standing outside could plainly hear every damning word. Those nearest shrank from his passion and from balls of spit firing from his mouth like tiny cannonballs.

“Listen well, sons and daughters of New Bern,” he said, aiming a finger skyward. “As the people of Sodom and Gomorrah discovered, the Lord does not suffer a wicked people. Our own city was once destroyed by fire through the offices of satanic savages. Such destruction could rain down on us again. We are being warned.”

He took a step back and fell silent. Then, mopping his brow with his kerchief, he finally turned to the subject at hand. Harry sensed relief sweeping through the pews as he began speaking of the beloved Campbells. Their unshakeable faith in the Almighty while they lived. The special challenge they had been given by the Lord in the person of Andrew, who, the reverend reminded everyone, was one of those children who would try the patience of saints.

“During his nine short years on Earth, the child suffered from a mental restlessness. A seemingly constant need to be in motion, angry and, at times, given to destructive outbursts. And the occasional vile tongue. We wondered where he had even heard such language as sometimes issued from his innocent mouth, to the point we considered the possibility of demons. But now Andy’s struggles, along with those of his parents, are over. They have departed this dark vale of ours to await the final reward our blessed Savior has prepared for us, the mansions he’s built in a land far away from North Carolina. Until that day of resurrection, may all three of them rest in the peace of our Lord.”