He strained to keep his fingers from skipping to the last page. Short Pinky took a deep breath and calmed himself. Take your time.
He’d been reading for four hours straight and had entered a state of deep focus. Short Pinky didn’t feel the ache in his neck or hear the noises at the mouth of the mine.
Ten more pages to go. He read another and another until he reached the second to last page. Short Pinky felt the twinge of sadness at finishing the tale and then noticed a problem. The last page was missing, ripped off.
He felt a stab of exasperation and dread that snapped him from his reverie. Now the noises in the mine came into his consciousness.
A large hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to look up at a man in a black wool uniform.
Short Pinky said, “I, I just came here to read my book. Is that okay?”
THEY HADN’T CHECKED KAMP for weapons on his way into the jail, and so he’d trudged in with the pepperbox pistol tucked into his left boot.
The man in the cell next to him yelled again.
“Guard!”
Kamp said, “You have nothing to gain.”
“Guard, there’s a fugitive here!”
“Listen, they’ll never let you collect the re—”
An iron door slammed, silencing both Kamp and the man in the next cell.
They heard footfalls and clinking shackles getting closer, as the guards led Aodh Blackall down the corridor.
THIRTY-SIX
KAMP PUT HIS HAND TO THE PEPPERBOX. If Aodh Blackall recognized him, perhaps the two of them could attempt an escape.
He expected to see Aodh first, but instead the familiar form of the Reverend A.R. Eberstark, outfitted in a robe and somber black stole, came into view,
Kamp’s hopes of breaking out vanished when he saw Aodh. The man he remembered—upright and powerful—was gone. Aodh Blackall was now hunched over and bent sideways at the waist, head down and shuffling, manacled hands hanging limply in front of him.
And he was surrounded by three police officers in blue wool uniforms. Behind them were two more armed men, Black Feather company police, and bringing up the rear was the sheriff.
PEOPLE STARTED PACKING THE SQUARE at dawn and soon pressed shoulder to shoulder, jockeying to get and keep the best view of the gallows. Emma Wyles felt safe moving freely in the crowd without worrying she’d be spotted, that is, if she could move at all.
She didn’t care to see the execution. Rather, she knew all the town dignitaries would be in attendance, and more importantly, so would the men who ran Black Feather. The public demise of an enemy represented a victory for them, a confirmation that the law was on their side. She wanted to see these men, identify them in person so that she’d know to whom to press her case when the time came.
She also knew that somewhere in the teeming mass, or just outside it, would be Kamp and Nyx. Neither would stand by and merely witness the deed. While she feared they’d be killed if discovered, Wyles realized they had to take action, as did she. She took Pickler by the wrist.
“Stay close,” she said.
JOACHIM S. THALER STEPPED UP into his fine carriage, and once he was seated, the driver closed the door behind him. Soon the carriage began to roll, and the gang of Swedes, eight in all, jogged behind it.
Thaler had told the associates who’d already arrived at his home to stay there and watch the spectacle from his veranda. He’d provided them with an assortment of telescopes and Porro prism binoculars for just this purpose.
Some of the guests, of course, wished to have a closer view, although Thaler warned against them “descending into the madness.”
Thaler himself had no qualms about going. He’d be surrounded by guards, but more than that, he needed to be there. The town belonged to Black Feather, and his presence would be a reminder.
KAMP STOOD NO CHANCE of overwhelming the men surrounding Aodh Blackall. He was locked in his cell, and the pepperbox only held four rounds. Blackall himself was in no position to orchestrate a jailbreak, even if he knew Kamp was there.
So, Kamp resolved to keep quiet. The man in the next cell did not.
He said, “Sheriff, I need to speak with you this instant.”
The Reverend A.R. Eberstark hissed, “Not now, man.”
“This man in the cell beside me has evil intentions!”
Eberstark shot a look at Kamp, and the blood drained from the reverend’s face, as if he’d seen a demonic phantasm.
The man persisted. “Sheriff, you must know, there’s a plot at work here, a plot to undo the hanging.”
“Pipe down, Curtis,” the sheriff said.
“But this fiend next to me is proof. He’s not who you think he is. In fact, he’s none other than—”
A loud boom echoed down the hallway, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
“For the sake of Christ,” the sheriff said, “what now?”
A Black Feather officer said, “Irish confetti.”
The sound of bricks pelting the front of the building intensified. The sheriff pushed to the front of the group and then hurried down the hall and out of sight.
The officers closed in around Aodh, who glanced at Kamp. Kamp couldn’t tell whether Aodh recognized him or not.
Soon the procession had moved down the hall and out of view. Kamp knew they’d gone out the front door by the raucous cheer that went up outside.
The man in the next cell turned to Kamp, and said, “I had to tell the sheriff. You understand, don’t you?” Then he sniffed loudly and said, “If you’re stuck over there in that cell, it’s not as if you can do anything to me.”
Kamp said, “Sure about that?”
ANGUS SAW THE FIRST BRICK SLAM into to the building’s façade and saw the next one sail through a window on the ground floor.
Angus hated crowds, but now he felt compelled to descend into the mob that pulsed and pushed toward the gallows. He assumed that no one would recognize him. Given his status as an outsider and an outcast, though, if his identity were discovered, Angus knew he’d be torn to shreds.
But Kamp had to be close by, and Nyx as well. Angus didn’t know when or how he’d be able to help, but he knew he had to be there when the action started.
He peeked out from under the brim of his hat and watched a half a dozen more bricks cascading onto the gallows before a man emerged from the courthouse. Angus recognized him as the sheriff.
The sheriff stood on the gallows platform and said, “By order of the Honorable J. Blasius Grimp, Carbon County Judge, you are hereby commanded to cease and desist all seditious activities.”
A man next to Angus yelled, “All what activities?”
The sheriff zeroed in on him and said, “Anything that would start a riot.”
Another man said, “Or else what?”
The sheriff gestured to the rooftops around the square. Dozens of uniformed men had been stationed there with rifles.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, and not another brick was thrown. The sheriff motioned to the front door, and the Reverend A.R. Eberstark appeared, followed by Aodh. When he stepped into the daylight, Aodh glanced out over the people, and when they saw him, a great cheer arose.
KAMP HEARD THE FRONT DOOR OPEN again and then footfalls coming back in his direction. Otherwise, the jailhouse was quiet.
The sheriff appeared, and before he said anything, the man in the next cell started talking.
“Sheriff, do you know who this man is?”
“Yah, it’s Smitty.”
“Ach, no.”
“Okay, tell me. Who is he?”
“He’s that fugitive that’s been on the loose. From Bethl’em. Just look at him. That ain’t Smit.”
“It ain’t?”
“Jesus boom, it’s that murderer, Nickel Glock.”
The sheriff turned to Kamp. “What’s your name?”
“Smitty.”
The man went apoplectic. “It ain’t him. It ain’t!”
“It looks like h
im.”
“Yah, but it ain’t. Why, just look at that scar there on the side of his head. Smit didn’t have no scar like that.”
The sheriff unlocked the door to Kamp’s cell, unholstered his pistol and stepped in. He grabbed Kamp hard by the chin and said, “Show me.”
Kamp turned his head so that the sheriff could see the star-shaped scar on his left temple where the Minié ball had entered and where Major Eustachius Fosdick had sewn him back up.
The sheriff studied the scar for a long moment and motioned for the man in the next cell to come closer.
“See, see what I—”
The sheriff raised his pistol and fired, putting the bullet between the man’s eyes. Before the sheriff could turn back to him, Kamp pressed the barrels of the pepper-box to the sheriff’s throat.
The sheriff said, “You won’t make it out of here, Glock, not without my help.”
“It’s Kamp.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
SHAW SEARCHED THE CABIN, then the woods around the property, and she didn’t find her father. It wasn’t strange for him not to be there, but he usually told her he was leaving. Then again, she’d woken late, having had a succession of nightmares, each worse than the previous one and each involving Kamp.
At dawn, real sleep had finally overtaken her, but now her father was gone. She remembered him saying that a hanging was to take place in town, someone she didn’t know, and he’d warned her to stay away. Her nightmares had involved the execution.
“Come on,” she said to Autumn.
“Where are we going?”
“To town.”
ANGUS ELBOWED HIS WAY as close to the gallows as he dared, a few rows back, close enough to get a clear look at the police officers who formed a wall in front of the hanging frame. Each held a shotgun across his chest.
When the Reverend A.R. Eberstark came out the front door of the jail and stepped onto the gallows, Angus looked at the ground, lest Eberstark recognize him. After that, Aodh appeared, shuffling and clinking like a worn out ghost.
From his vantage point, Angus could see a spreading blood stain on the back of Aodh’s shirt. Others noticed it as well, and once the loud cheering died down, men began shouting from the crowd.
“Ain’t it enough to kill him? You had to cut him first?”
“At least let him die like a man.”
“And, Jaysus, what’s that clown doing up there? Where’s the priest?”
Angus felt the anger and unrest surging through the crowd and saw anxiety in the faces of the officers who surrounded Aodh.
One of the officers said, “Sheriff should be here.”
The murmuring in the crowd grew louder and the throng began to surge toward the gallows.
The sheriff emerged, and the energy in the mob ebbed again. All eyes focused on him and not on the man who followed close behind, who wore plain clothes and a slouch hat.
Joachim S. Thaler had stepped out of his fine carriage and climbed onto its roof to get a better look and to project his authority. As soon as the sheriff emerged from the jailhouse, Thaler noticed something amiss.
The sheriff’s movements were stiff and tentative, not at all his normal bearing. He noticed, too, the man behind the sheriff. In his conversation about the hanging with the judge and the sheriff, no one had mentioned an attendant. The man behind the sheriff didn’t belong there.
Thaler surmised that the man was pressing the barrel of a pistol to the sheriff’s kidneys.
He knew, though, that if he were to raise an alarm, the scene would explode. The conspirator would start shooting, and chaos would descend.
He decided to address the matter personally and quietly, if possible. If he could get there unnoticed, he could foil the plot, whatever it was.
FROM THE EDGE OF THE MOB, the disgraced district attorney B.H. Grigg and Bethlehem police officer Falko Stier saw a man with wavy golden hair combed straight back and wearing a bespoke suit, climbing down from the roof of a fine carriage and threading his way through the throng.
Grigg said, “That’s him.”
“Who?”
“The guy in charge. Thaler. That’s who we want.”
Falko Stier started pushing his way forward before Grigg finished the sentence. Grigg followed Stier through the hole he made. They’d have to cover a good fifty yards to intercept Thaler.
Stier led with his forearms and elbows, knocking spectators left and right. Grigg followed close behind, and they their way steadily forward.
But their progress didn’t go unnoticed by several of the police officers on the roof who aimed their rifles at the pair.
THE SHERIFF STEPPED ONTO THE GALLOWS and motioned for two of the officers to bring Aodh to him. The mob erupted again.
“This ain’t right.”
“You’ll burn in hell for this, sheriff.”
“At least let him say his last!”
The sheriff said, “He had his say in life.”
So preoccupied was the sheriff with affixing the noose and quieting the mob that he didn’t notice the platform beneath their feet beginning to sway.
E. WYLES NOTICED and said to Pickler, “It’s going to fall.”
“What is?”
“The gallows. Look.”
Now Pickler saw it, too. “Oh, yah, I believe you’re right. They should really fix that.”
She didn’t hear him, because she was already pressing forward in hopes of reaching the gallows before it collapsed. Her specific concern was the kid standing under the hanging frame. His job was to pull the lever that would release the trapdoor through which Aodh Blackall would drop.
If and when the gallows gave way, the boy would be crushed. Her progress was slow, however, and she feared she wouldn’t get there in time to rescue him. So E. Wyles began to shout.
“That structure is unsafe. Stop this instant!”
Her shouts were drowned out by the rising din of the mob. All the police on the rooftops noticed was a woman waving her arms and pushing frantically toward the front. Two of the officers trained their rifles on her.
THE FOREMAN OF THE SWEDES, who’d been entranced by the thrill of a criminal’s imminent demise, heard a woman’s voice. He couldn’t discern what she was saying, but it was enough to snap him from his trance. When he did, he noticed his boss, Thaler, was no longer standing atop his carriage.
His men hadn’t noticed either. The foreman scanned the mob and caught a glimpse of Thaler’s wavy locks, vanishing into the mob.
He clapped the biggest Swede on the shoulder and pointed at Thaler.
“Protect that man.”
The Swedes barreled into the crowd, adding considerably to the commotion.
HAVING DENIED AODH HIS LAST WORDS, the sheriff had nothing to do but finish cinching the noose and positioning the condemned man on the trapdoor.
In the rehearsal for the execution, he’d instructed the kid whose job it was to pull the lever that the signal would be two sharp heel kicks to the platform. When he heard the kicks, the kid was to pull the lever. The sheriff had neglected to mention what the lever would do.
Now the sheriff directed Aodh to the stand on the trapdoor. Or at least to make it seem so.
Back inside the jail, with the pepperbox barrels pressed to the sheriff’s neck, Kamp had instructed the sheriff to make it appear as if he intended follow through on the execution. The sheriff, having no reason to believe Kamp wouldn’t make good on his threat, made certain that Aodh Blackall stood beside the trapdoor and not on it.
From his vantage point on the gallows, Kamp saw two familiar faces advancing on the platform, the district attorney Grigg and the cop who’d doused him with kerosene the year before and threatened to light him on fire.
What were they doing here?
Kamp scanned the rest of the crowd and saw a gang of burly blonde-haired men also pushing closer. To the side of the platform, he caught a glimpse his old friend, Emma Wyles. She, too, was forcing her way toward the gallows. All were converging on t
he hanging frame, though none seemed aware of the other’s presence.
The one person Kamp didn’t see coming toward him was Joachim S. Thaler, who emerged from the mob, ducked behind the gallows and climbed the wooden ladder on its side.
As soon as Thaler put his full weight on the first rung, the entire structure listed.
Kamp knew his moment had arrived.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE FIRST BULLET SLAMMED into the beam to which the rope was attached. The second and third bullets hit the rope, fraying it.
Kamp saw that the hanging rope was ready to snap. He grabbed it with both hands and yanked hard. The rope didn’t give. Joachim S. Thaler scrambled onto the gallows and tackled Kamp, and the weight of their bodies hitting the platform caused the entire frame to shift again, timbers straining to hold it upright.
The commotion roused Aodh from his stupor. He saw Kamp and Thaler tussling at his feet, and he delivered a kick to Thaler’s ribs.
The fourth bullet hit the rope, and Kamp saw that it was nearly severed. He got to his feet and pushed Aodh sideways so that he stood on the trapdoor.
Kamp kicked the floor twice, the kid pulled the lever, and Aodh dropped. When the rope went taut, it held Aodh for a second, then another, and then it snapped. Aodh landed at the feet of the kid, who now knew the lever’s purpose.
NYX BAUER STARED DOWN the scope atop the Sharps. Hours before, she’d set up on a ridge a couple hundred yards up on the mountainside, digging in and getting comfortable. She’d covered her cheeks and chin with charcoal. With the combination of Kamp’s sniper jacket and the dark grey wool forager’s hat, she’d be invisible to anyone in town.
Through the scope she’d watched the crowd form below, watched the officers take their positions on rooftops that surrounded the square. Nyx had a clear line of sight to the hanging frame and the people gathered around it.
She saw a man in a black uniform pull his pistol and aim at Kamp. Before he fired, she pulled the trigger and saw blood mist at the side of the man’s head as he fell.
Kill the Raven: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 3) Page 20