The Providence Rider (38 page)

“Wasting their balls and powder,” was the captain’s comment. “Dark falling. They wanted to get their shot off while they could still see. We’ll have no lights on this ship tonight.” He paused, watching the other vessel, and then he said, “But I speak too quickly.”

“What is it?” Berry asked.

“Hardwick is changing course. Going to…north by northeast, it appears. Crossing our stern.” He grunted. “Giving up the chase, or
pretending
to. But I think Hardwick knows he can’t catch us in the dark, or
find
us for that matter.”

“Thank God,” said Minx.

“Thank the axes, saws and hammers. Thank your strength. Thank those sails above your heads. I think we’ve seen the last of the revenge.”

“The
what
?” Matthew asked.

“
Temple’s Revenge
. The name of Hardwick’s ship.”

“May I?” Matthew held his hand out for the spyglass, and Falco gave it to him. Through the lens, Matthew could see the dim shape of the vessel moving away to their starboard side. As he watched, he saw first one oil lamp and then another flare to life aboard
Temple’s Revenge
. Several lamps were lit. Matthew wondered which one spread its glow upon Professor Fell and what guise he maintained on that ship.

Indeed, the professor had called halt to the chase, probably on the advice of the ship’s master. They were heading north by northeast? To England?

I think we’ve seen the last of the revenge
, Falco had said.

The ship…yes, Matthew thought. But the revenge…no.

Never
, if he knew Professor Fell.

“We should run without lamps for a few hours longer,” Falco decided. “In the meantime, we have candles below in the galley. To illuminate your mutton stew, biscuits, shelled peas and cups of lemon water.”

“That at least
sounds
good,” said Berry, who was so tired she could hardly stand but also so famished she couldn’t sleep without eating.

“Oh, the first five nights, it
is
good. You will not be as coddled on this trip back as you were on the trip here. You will eat with the crew, and what the crew eats…because you
are
part of the crew.”

“Fair enough.” Minx lifted her chin and gave Falco a haughty stare that might have withered any other man to cinders. “Just don’t let anyone get between my food and my knife.”

“I’m sure that won’t happen, miss,” the good captain said, with the nod and slight bow of a gentleman. “After you put your knife away, you might consider letting me look at those wounds. I’m not sure a needle and catgut are needed, but scars would not be to your liking.”

Minx didn’t reply. Matthew was thinking that she bore her scars within, and any on the outside paled in comparison.

After the meal in the galley, the ship settled down for the night. Watches were set, and much to his chagrin Matthew was given an order by Mr. Spedder to report to the poop deck at eight strikes of the ship’s bell. Four o’clock in the morning, by his knowledge of that damn bell ringing on the way over. He was assigned a hammock in the cramped and—it must be said—smelly quarters amid the other men who were not on duty, the women and children being quartered elsewhere, and within a very few minutes of taking his boots off and stretching out into the netting he was gone to the world.

However weary he was, he awakened before the eight bells. He lay in the hammock, assaulted by the snoring, rumblings and fartings of the men around him. He was greatly bothered by something he could not rid from his mind.

The Lesser Key Of Solomon
, the book was titled. The compendium of demons and spells to raise them. What were the odds that he would have found a second copy of that tome in Professor Fell’s library? Like the stealing of sugar, it boded ill. And it boded evil, to be perfectly honest about it. Also…another thorn in his mind…the matter of Brazio Valeriani.

I shall pay five thousand pounds to the person who locates
Brazio Valeriani
, the professor had said.
I shall pay ten thousand pounds
to the person who brings him to me
.
Force may be necessary
.
You are my eyes and my hands. Seek and ye
shall find
.

Ten thousand pounds. A fortune. For one man?

Why?

The professor’s words:
If you found him I would pay you enough to own that little
town of yours
.

Again:
why
?

Matthew knew himself. This was going to eat at him, day and night. Yes, Professor Fell’s castle and refuge and gunpowder plant and much of his criminal Parliament might be destroyed—for today—but there was always tomorrow, and the professor was nothing if not industrious. And ambitious.

But what exactly was his ambition?

He knew his own mind. He could not let this rest, and neither could
he
fully rest.

The ship’s bell sounded eight. Matthew got up at once, pulled on his boots and rid himself of the palace of snores.

His instructions had been to report to the poop deck and make the rounds of the deck, every thirty minutes turning an hour-glass mounted on a gimbel next to the ship’s wheel and tending to the the bell until he was relieved in four hours. A lovely proposition, for one so weary as he. Yet when he went on deck and the fresh breeze hit his face and he saw the huge sky full of stars and a silver moon still just past full shining upon the sea he thought he was so lucky to be alive in this month of March in this year of 1703. He had survived so much. He was so much stronger than before. Before when? Before yesterday.

He greeted the man on watch who awaited him for relief and also greeted the helmsman. His responsibility, Mr. Spedder had told him, was to keep accurate time by the bell: one bell in thirty minutes, two in one hour, three in ninety minutes and so on. The hour-glass’s sand was already running for the first half-hour of the morning watch, and thus Matthew began his initial round of the deck.

The
Nightflyer
was flying smoothly this night. The waves were kind to the girl’s hull, and kind also to a landlubber’s stomach. The sea all around was dark, not a light showing.
Temple’s Revenge
had gone its own way, carrying Professor Fell to his next crime against humanity.

Matthew was on his second round when he was joined by a figure wearing a gray cloak. Her red hair was still tangled and matted, and her feet were still dirty. She was still a mess, but she was a welcome sight on this silent voyage.

“May I walk with you?” Berry asked.

“Of course.”

They walked without speaking. They were comfortable in their quiet. Then Berry said, “I’m sorry I caused you trouble.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, really. I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. I regret putting you in the position of looking after me.”

“I managed,” he said. “I just thank God you weren’t hurt.”

She nodded. They reached the bow and started again toward the stern, as the
Nightflyer
spoke softly around them and the sails stretched wide before the currents of night.

“You are changed,” she told him. “Forgive me for saying this. But Matthew…you never came back when you went after that man.”

“Yes,” he had to say. “I know.”

“You can tell me. What happened, I mean. I’ll bear it for you.”

Something in her voice broke him. It happened just like that. A voice, offering to listen. Just like that. He resisted, because it was so awful. Because the Gray Kingdom still had him, and it was so very strong. Because this world was not the world he’d imagined it to be, and because he was lost in its harshness.

“Oh,” Matthew said, and it was nearly a tormented moan. He stumbled in his progress, and just like that he knew the moment had arrived to unburden himself because Berry Grigsby had offered to listen.

“Tell me,” she said. She took his hand. “I can bear it for you.”

He clasped her hand. Tightly, and more tightly still. She was holding him, it seemed, to the earth. Without her grasp, he might be swept away. He stopped, and they stood together amidships on the
Nightflyer
, and he looked at her in the moonlight and starshine and saw her blue eyes gleaming. When he opened his mouth he didn’t know how he would begin; he just trusted that it would all make sense.

He told her. About everything. About Tyranthus Slaughter and his crimes and horrors, about Lyra Sutch, about the sausages made from human flesh, about the hideous cellar where the bodies were hacked to pieces, about the moment when he knew he would have to kill the woman or be killed himself, about what it felt like to drive an axe into the flesh of another human being.

And, in so telling, Matthew opened up his box of pain and began to weep.

He wept not only because of that experience, but because he was changed. Because he could never go back to a place of innocence, and because this world had tainted him. Because he had not asked for this, but because this had been thrust upon him. And his weeping became crying and his crying became sobbing for the lost boy who had been Matthew Corbett, who now had to become a man whether he liked it or not. And not only any man, but a man who knew what dark things hid underneath the stones. Professor Fell was in him, and how could he get that disease out? There was only one way…to destroy the professor, and the evil that he did. Only one way…to continue the course he had been set upon.

As Matthew sobbed, Berry put her arms around him. She did not tell him to be calm or to be quiet, for she knew he needed to sob, to clear his eyes and his mind and his heart, for she knew also he had so much ahead of him.

She kissed his cheek, and held him, and when he had finished his recounting of this tale of terror and tribulation she whispered into his ear, “You did what you had to do.”

It was the truth, plainly spoken. Matthew said with an effort, “Yes. I did.”

And though it was the dark of night, a little sunlight broke through.

“Never,” she said, “doubt yourself. Yes, it was terrible. But
never
doubt, Matthew…that you are where you are, for a reason.”

He nodded, but he could not speak.

“As God said to Job,” Berry said.
“I will demand of thee.”

“Yes,” Matthew answered, as he stared out at the unfathomable sea. “I understand.”

She kissed his cheeks and took the tears. She held his hand and walked with him a distance further, and he realized he was late in turning the hour-glass and ringing the bell. But he didn’t hurry for he felt as if he had all the time in the world, that the gray kingdom was a passing country of the soul, and that it might take a while longer…but day by day, if he concentrated on getting there, he would get closer by small steps once again to the realm of joy.

Berry left him to return to her own hammock and a few more hours of much-needed sleep. Matthew was on his way to the poop deck when a shadow moved at the mainmast. A tinderbox sparked, a flame stirred, and a clay pipe was lighted.

“Matthew,” said the captain, “do you not know that I am always aware what time it is, whether the crewman on watch rings the bell or not?”

“I’m sorry. I was—”

“Talking with your friend, yes. I wandered over that way, and heard a bit. I hope you don’t mind. After all, this is
my
ship.”

“I don’t mind,” Matthew said.

“Nice night for a talk, isn’t it? All those stars. All those mysteries. Yes?”

“Yes,” was Matthew’s reply.

“You’re a terrible watchman and a worse time-keeper,” said Falco. “Those errors should get you whipped.”

I’ve been whipped before
, Matthew thought, but he said nothing.

“Getting me off my floor where my bed used to be.” A spout of smoke drifted up and was blown away by the breeze. “I should whip you myself.”

“It
is
your ship,” Matthew said.

“For certain, she is.” Falco leaned against the mainmast, a slim shadow in the dark. “As I say, I heard a bit. A little bit, but enough. I will say this, and mark it: every captain must realize, sooner or later, that to progress his ship sometimes means casting things overboard that are no longer needed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, sir,” replied Matthew.

“Now you’re mocking me. But I will give you that, Matthew. I will also give you one minute to get to that bell, ring it twice for five o’clock—though you will be nearly twenty minutes late—and turn the glass. Then you will continue your rounds and you will pay attention to your duties. Clear again?”

“Clear,” was the only possible answer.

“Go,”
said the captain. As Matthew started to hurry away, Falco gave out a voluminous puff of smoke and said, “And thank you for ruining my taste for sausages for the rest of my life.”

Matthew couldn’t help but smile.

It was a very good feeling.

On the warm and sunny afternoon of the seventeenth day of April, a trumpet sounded from the crow’s-nest of the
Nightflyer
.

Matthew Corbett, bearded and sun-darkened, stood up from his task of swabbing the never-ending deck. He peered forward, one hand visoring his eyes.

“We’re home,” said Berry, who had come to his side from her own job of stowing away ropes into neat coils. She was wearing a blue floral-print dress from Saffron’s wardrobe. She had learned she was a natural at nautical crafts, and had become proficient at such things as reading a sextant, tying knots of twenty different kinds for different tasks, and actually keeping wind in the sails on the few times Captain Falco had allowed her to take the wheel. In fact, the captain had told her she had an easy touch with the
Nightflyer
, and he wished some of the men aboard could read the wind as well as she.

“Home,”
she repeated, and she felt the leaping of joy within her heart but also a little sinking of sadness, for her adventure—a dirty and dispiriting spell in the brig, fearsome men with torches and swords, crabs in the dark under a wooden floor, violent earthquake and all—was almost ended. And almost ended were the days—the little more than three weeks—she had spent with Matthew, for aboard this ship he seemed to have all the time in the world and never shunned her…whereas, in the town that lay on the island before them…

Ever the same.

Matthew saw Oyster Island ahead on the port side of the ship. And beyond it, New York. The forest of masts at the Great Dock, and beyond them the buildings. The shops and homes, the taverns and the warehouses. The lives of people he cared about. His own life, renewed. He was the captain of his own ship now, and he had done as Falco directed. Over the course of this voyage he had made a great effort to throw overboard from the ship of his soul those things that caused him pain, grief and regret, and that he could not change no matter what. Revealing those personal agonies to Berry on deck, in the quiet under the moon and stars, had been a revelation to himself. How much he trusted her, and how much he also cared about her. Yet…

The shark was still in the water, out there somewhere.

The shark would not rest. It never rested. It would think, and plan, and wait…and then, sooner or later, it would stop its circling and attack. Would it come after Berry? Would it come after anyone to whom Matthew held an attachment?

He didn’t know. But he did know that Professor Fell never forgot, and so he was not done with the professor and he was certain that the professor was not done with him.

A small fleet of longboats was rowing out to meet the new arrival. The harbormaster or one of his representatives would be aboard one of them, to find out where the ship was coming from and what it was carrying. In just a little while, then, the word would begin to spread that Matthew Corbett and Berry Grigsby had returned from their nearly two months absence. Lillehorne and Lord Cornbury would want to know the whole story. And Hudson Greathouse also. Matthew decided it was time to be honest with everyone and get things out in the open. But to go so far as to allow Marmaduke to write a story for
The Earwig
? Matthew wasn’t so sure about that.

Minx Cutter joined Matthew and Berry at the railing. She was in good health and had scrubbed herself from a washbasin this morning. Aria Chillany’s knife would leave only a thin scar across Minx’s forehead, but it was hardly anything. She had come into her own on the voyage also, and had been quite admired by the crew when she showed them her knife-throwing abilities. Particularly when Captain Falco had volunteered to stand on deck and have Minx outline him against a bulkhead with blades. That had gone over greatly with everyone except Saffron, who didn’t intend to raise their child alone.

The three hundred pounds in gold coins had been paid to the captain and the account settled. In fact, Falco had told them that as members of the crew Matthew, Minx, Berry and Zed were entitled to a share, to be divided up when they reached New York. And so they were almost there, as the longboats came alongside to get their towropes tied up. Then there would be a short while for the rowers to guide them to a harbor berth. A rope ladder was lowered, and who should come aboard but the new assistant to the harbormaster, a man who knew ships and their cargoes and who prided himself on being watchful that no enemy of New York was trying to slip past his guard.

“Lord God! Am I lookin’ at a a phantom, what’cha might say?” asked old wild-haired Hooper Gillespie, made more presentable in a new suit. He took in Berry and his eyes got wider. “
Two
phantoms, then? Am I dreamin’ in daylight?”

“Not dreaming,” Matthew replied. It occurred to him that the phantom of Oyster Island was standing only a few feet away. Zed had shaved for the occasion of returning to New York, and since he’d done the work of three men and on this voyage eaten the meals that three men might have consumed he was as big and formidable as ever before. “Miss Grigsby and I are glad to be home,” said Matthew.

“Where ya been, then? Everybody’s gone near crazy tryin’ to figger it out!”

“Yes.” Matthew smiled at him, and squinted in the sun. He scratched his beard, which would soon be coming off with the strokes of a new razor. “Let’s just say for now that we were in someone’s idea of paradise.”

“Huh? That don’t make a hog’s lick a’ sense! Think you’re tryin’ to rib old Hooper, is what I think! Yessir! Rib ’im!”

“Is this a typical New Yorker?” Falco asked with his pipe in his mouth, drawing nearer to Matthew.

“No,” Matthew confided. “He makes more sense than most.”

The
Nightflyer
, a sturdy gal, was towed into harbor. Matthew smelled the earthy aroma of springtime. The air was warm and fresh, and the hills of New Jersey and north of the town were painted in the white, violet, pink and green of new buds and new foliage. By the time the Nightflyer had been guided in, docked and tied up, Hooper Gillespie had seemingly told everyone in New York that Matthew and Berry were arrived, for a sizeable crowd had gathered and still more people were converging upon the wharf. Of course anytime a ship of large size drew in to port a throng of merrymakers, musicians and food peddlers appeared to hawk their talents and wares, but it was as clear as the weather that today the names of Corbett and Grigsby had true worth.

The gangplank was lowered. Matthew decided he would take his ease going down it, as he only had the one much-worn outfit left.

“Oh my Jesus!” shouted someone from the crowd. A familiar voice, usually directed toward Matthew in the form of irritating questions concerning the activities of a problem-solver. “Berry! My girl! Berry! Let me
through
, please!”

Thus the moon-faced, rotund, squat and bespectacled figure of Marmaduke Grigsby either shoved his way forward or was allowed to pass, and seeing his granddaughter navigate the gangplank broke him to tears that streamed down his cheeks and caused him to look the most miserable man on earth on perhaps the most joyous day of his life.

When Marmaduke flung himself at her in a bone-crushing embrace the energy of his delight staggered Berry and nearly took them both swimming, but for Matthew’s catching them from careening across the wharf.

“Oh dear God!” said Marmaduke, his eyes still flooding. He had to take off his spectacles to see. “Where
were
you? Both you and Matthew gone…no word for days and then weeks…I’m a puddle, just look at me!” He crushed Berry close again, and Matthew saw Berry’s eyes widen from the pressure. Then Marmaduke looked at Matthew and the round face with its massive red-veined nose and slab of a forehead that walnuts could be cracked upon flamed like a warlock’s rum toddy. “
You!
” The blue eyes nearly burst from their sockets and the heavy white eyebrows danced their jigs. “What did you drag this poor child into?”

“I didn’t exactly—”

“I should make you pay for this! I should throw you out of that abode of yours and see you in court, sir, for—”

A finger was pressed firmly against Marmy’s lips. “Hush that
nonsense
,” said Berry. “He didn’t drag me into anything. I went where we were taken. Neither of us wanted to go. I’ll tell you all about that later, but right now all I want to do is get home.”

“Oh, my bones are shaking.” Marmy put a hand to his forehead. He looked near passing out. “I’ve been chewed to pieces over this. Dear Lord, I’ve prayed and prayed for your return.” He fired a quick glance at Matthew. “The return of
both
of you, I’m saying. Granddaughter…will you help me walk?”

“I will,” she said, and took his arm.

“Please,” said Matthew before Marmaduke could be helped away in his state of disrepair, “don’t walk straight to a pen when you reach home, and begin to pepper your girl with ink and questions. Berry? Would you please allow a few days to pass before you give any information to anyone?”

“I want to sleep for a few days, is what I want,” she replied, and though Marmaduke scowled at the thought of a broadsheet to be filled with a delicious story that he was yet unable to bite into, he allowed himself to be guided through the crowd.

Others came up to greet Matthew. There was Felix Sudbury and Robert Deverick, John Five and his wife Constance, the widow Sherwyn she of the all-seeing eye and sometimes flowing fountain of a mouth, Phillip Covey, Ashton McCaggers, the Munthunk brothers, Dr. Polliver, Hiram and Patience Stokely, Israel Brandier, Tobias Winekoop, Sally Almond, Peter Conradt and…

…the owner of a black cane topped with the silver head of a lion, which now was placed underneath Matthew’s nose so as to steer his attention to the waspy wisp of a man dressed in pale yellow from breeches to tricorn, topped with a white feather plucked from the dove of peace.

“Mr.
Corbett
,” said Gardner Lillehorne, making it sound like the nastiest curse ever to leave a man’s lips. “Where the
devil
have you been?”

Matthew regarded the long, pallid face with the small black eyes that seemed to be either perpetually angry or eternally arrogant. The precisely-trimmed black goatee and mustache might have been painted on by a nerveless artist. “Yes,” he answered. “That’s where.”

“Where what?”

“Where I’ve been.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“That’s right,” said Matthew, with a slight smile.

“My God,” Lillehorne said to his cur Dippen Nack, who stood glowering beside his master. “The man’s lost his bird.”

“I’ve been with the devil,” Matthew clarified. “And I’ll be glad to tell you about him. You and Lord Cornbury, whenever you please. Just not this afternoon.
Oh
.” He remembered his promise to himself, the one he’d made when he’d fully realized the enormity of his dangerous situation on Pendulum Island. He stepped forward and kissed Dippen Nack on the forehead, proving to himself that a promise made was a promise kept.

Nack in stupefied horror fell back. Nack nearly fell over a wharfboard crack.

And then through the crowd came a man who, it appeared, no longer needed a cane. He walked tall and steady, he looked strong and wolfish and ready for any battle ahead. Perhaps it was also due to the very comely—strapping, it might be said—blonde widow Donovan holding his hand and all but cleaved to his side.

“The wanderer has returned,” said Hudson Greathouse. “I believe you have some tales to tell.”

“I do. And as I have said to the High Constable, I am more than willing to tell everything to him, to Lord Cornbury, and to you. And
you
, first.”

“Over a bottle of wine at the Trot, I presume?”

“Two at least.”

“You are buying?”

“I am currently without funds, though tomorrow I will be paid for being part of the crew of that fine—”

He was unable to finish, because Hudson had picked him up and hugged him, and when Hudson put his strength into it the back was pressed to the test. Fortunately, Matthew’s back passed that test, and he was returned to the ground unbroken.

“Seven o’clock tonight, then,” said Hudson, who suddenly had something in his eye and was trying to get it clear with a finger. “Don’t be a minute late or I’ll hunt you down.” His eyes examined Matthew’s face. “You look older.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s the beard.”

“I love the beard!” said the beauteous widow. Her hands roamed Hudson’s chest and shoulders. “Something about that…makes me tingly.”

“Really?” Hudson’s brows went up. “I shall lose my razor this evening,” he decided.

Others came up and either shook Matthew’s hand or whacked him so hard on the back he thought he might yet be crippled. Hudson and his lovely departed, and so did Lillehorne and his ugly. Matthew had caught sight of Minx Cutter moving through the throng, speaking to no one, putting distance between herself and him. And also, possibly, distance between herself and the memory of Nathan Spade. He would find her later. Right now he looked around for someone in particular, a person who would be easy to spot if indeed he had left the ship.

It seemed, however, that Zed had never come down the gangplank.

Matthew went back up, to where Falco was still giving some orders to tidy the deck before any of the others might leave. “Where’s Zed?” Matthew asked.

“Forward,” Falco answered, and indeed there stood Zed at the bow, staring out across the town that had known him as a slave and then never known him as the phantom of Oyster Island.

“Isn’t he departing?”

“Oh yes, he’s departing. As soon as I find a full complement of crew, and I am able to restock my ship, we’ll be departing. That would be a week or so, I’m thinking. Until then, Zed is a guest on my ship and he prefers to remain here until we leave.”

“Until you leave? Going
where
?”

Falco relit his pipe with a small taper, and blew smoke into the world. “I am taking Zed home to Africa. Back to his tribe’s land, where he has asked me to take him by drawing me a very persuasive picture. And paid me, also.”

“
Paid
you? With what?”