by Jeffrey Ford
“Yes,” said Ahab. “We’ll help you find justice for these children.”
“I’m not looking for justice,” said Madi. “I’m after revenge. And the first time you treat me like a servant, I’ll abandon you to your blind groping.”
“Very well then,” I said, rose, and stepped forward to shake the harpooneer’s hand. His grip was strong; he was a frightfully sturdy fellow. He wasn’t the giant Ish had made him out to be, but I still wouldn’t want to be the object of his revenge.
“How do we proceed?” I asked.
“This evening, an hour before sunset, we meet near Kips Bay. The farthest point east on Forty-First.”
“That’s more or less the boundary of the city,” I said.
“Are you familiar, Mr. Harrow, with the shantytown there? Some call it Dutch Hill, some Goat Hill?”
“Christ, yes. I’ve been there only once and once was enough. The Five Points is paradise in comparison.”
“You must promise that you won’t attempt to make a move without me. I’ll be bringing Fergus along. His daughter was one of the slain children.”
“I know the place is like a maze of shacks and lean-tos, a warren of paths winding amid hovels all set on a high rocky outcropping. Very dangerous, even in daylight.”
“Yes, dangerous. Those poor people have nothing. But you’ll never find the Jolly Host without me. They have a place there, larger than most, acquired for nothing by Malbaster, where they congregate before setting out on their missions of mayhem or gather after the evil has been done. They have a number of such spots all over the city. I know how to identify the place. When we meet tonight, I’ll reveal the secret.”
“Very well,” said Ahab. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Be prepared for a fight,” said Madi. He rose and led the way to the door. We stepped out into the cold, bright afternoon and made our way back to the hired hansom cab.
Once we were moving south along the rugged lane, I told Ahab that we need not travel all the way back to James Street. “We’ll hold up somewhere between Forty-First and there, somewhere back within the circumference of civilization. The sun will set in four hours or so.”
The captain’s thoughts seemed elsewhere. He merely nodded.
“You know,” I told him. “I have a friend who works at City Hall. He’s an informant of mine. Not long ago, he told me that the decision has already been made to dismantle Seneca Village to make way for a park that will take up a large parcel of land in the middle of Manhattan.”
“What’ll become of the harpooneer and the others who live there?” he asked.
“They’ll all be paid some weak sum for their dwellings and their land. Then the entire village will be leveled. It was on my mind during our meeting, but I didn’t have the heart or courage to out with it. From what my associate said, the park is inevitable. The mayor is behind it. The decision is twofold. The first reason is a park that can be surrounded by wealthy communities. The second reason—and who knows, this may really be the first reason—is to rid the city of a community of free colored who own land and are gaining the right to vote.”
“And I thought the sea could be cruel,” said Ahab.
10
We sat on the patio of the New Rose Inn, overlooking the East River, bundled in our coats and the blankets that had been brought to us. The captain couldn’t possibly have sat inside where there was a fire blazing in the hearth and we were closer to the gin. He was still mulling his conference of the walking ghosts with Madi. I couldn’t fathom what the importance of the meeting was, but it turned out to be propitious in that the harpooneer fell in with our purpose and brought us closer to our goal.
“You know, Ahab,” I said, interrupting his grim contemplation, “it just crossed my mind that whereas you have a pistol and ax, I’ve got nothing to protect me should there be a scuffle this evening.”
“The pen is mightier than the sword,” he said and gave a strangled gasp of not-laughter.
“What exactly are we going to do there on Dutch Hill?” I asked.
“Shake the beehive. Grab one of the Host and make him tell us all.”
The vehemence with which he spoke unnerved me. “Sounds like things could get dire.”
“Time bounds away, Harrow. I feel I have only weeks or months before Gabriel reaches an age where it will be impossible for me to make contact. Afterward, he won’t have any use for me.”
“Take a deep breath,” I said. “You’ve got a hook in your own mouth.” We then sat in silence for quite a while, drinking and watching dead leaves fly on a strong wind out over the water. Sally Cocharan, wrapped in a red cape with a hood, brought us another round. She was a friend of my sister, Ivy, a schoolmate who married into the Cocharan family that owned the inn.
She put our whiskeys on the table between us and slid the tray under her arm. “I thought of you, George Harrow,” she said. “I had a gentleman in here a day or so ago, and he was cockeyed drunk.”
“Is that the part that made you think of him?” said Ahab.
“No,” she said with a giggle. “This fella stopped in to whiskey up before continuing his flight up to West Farms. He kept repeating that the city was secretly hell. He never knew it before but he’d seen something that convinced him. He was getting out of hand, so my husband told him if he didn’t pipe down, he’d be tossed out into the road. So, he whispers to me and Will, and the tale he spits out was something I could see Georgie writing for his paper.”
“Do tell,” I said. “I’m always up for free fodder.”
“I thought you’d be,” said Sally. “He said he knew Manhattan was part of hell when the previous night, on his way home from work—he tended bar at one of the groggeries by Washington Square—he passed an alleyway that was given some light from a gas lamp perched on the sidewalk at its mouth. What was revealed in that cavern of darkness . . . ?”
“Cavern of darkness, Sally! That’s downright poetic,” I said.
She slapped me on the shoulder. “Listen,” she said. “He saw a strange creature. ’Twas a large cat, like a puma with the face of a woman and long, curly tresses. He said it had a tail that was like the stinger of an insect. And the worst part of it was that she was boring through a man’s neck, blood and muscle and tendon flying. Here’s exactly what he said, ‘Her terrible rows of teeth were some kind of machine with serrated blades turning in unison.’”
She laughed when she was finished and wore an expression as if she were expecting us to join her. Ahab and I were staring at each other.
“Tell me something, miss,” the captain finally said. “Was there a mention of poetry being recited?”
Sally looked confused but then nodded. “The drunk kept saying the word ‘Poetry, poetry,’ as my husband hustled him to the door and tossed him into the road. How did you know about the poetry?”
Ahab mumbled, “Luck.”
“George, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, nothing. Sometimes the captain has second sight.”
“George?”
I shook my head and changed the subject. “Sally, has William some kind of weapon handy I might borrow? I’m going to Dutch Hill tonight to track down a story.”
“Dutch Hill? You’re desperate for stories if you be going there. I thought you just made that tripe up from outta your head.”
She went inside and a few minutes later William, her husband, a shambling, good-natured fellow (as much as I knew him), came out. “I can’t give over my pistol, George,” he said as he approached. “But I’ve got this old fid left in one of the upstairs rooms by a shady-looking sailor. You might bash someone on the head with it or poke ’em in the eye with the other end.” He handed me the tool he’d been carrying.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “To tell the truth, I can’t imagine doing either, so this is all the weapon I need.”
“You look like an authentic man of the sea with that marlinespike, aye,” said Ahab. He wasn’t missing many opportunities to
skewer me, and each time I was surprised by it. At least it was a sign he might be coming out of his melancholy. I’m sure it was the promise of impending mayhem that revived him.
Two hours later, we met Madi and Fergus about a mile north of the New Rose Inn. An orange sun was on the horizon and throwing enormous shadows over everything. We spent the first few minutes of our reunion discussing what it was exactly that we were about to do. I’ve already admitted, I’m a coward. The thought of battling someone hand to hand in the dark in one of those stinking hovels was the stuff of nightmare for me. My compatriots didn’t seem anxious about it at all.
Madi was carrying an odd weapon that looked like a cross between a handheld scythe and a throwing knife, the blade in the form of a bird’s head. When I inquired as to what it was, he told me, “A Fang bieri.” He said he’d been given it by an old man from Orungu who’d lived at Seneca Village. Over his left shoulder, Fergus toted a long two-handed club with an iron spike jutting from its head.
“I thought we might take a hostage and interrogate him. See what ambergris we can drain,” said Ahab.
“We’ll make them talk,” said Fergus.
“Take two,” said Madi.
I just stood there clutching my fid until they all looked over at me and stared. After a time, Madi said to me, “You’re trembling, Mr. Harrow.”
I hadn’t been aware of it. I was instantly self-conscious and slipped my fid back into my satchel. In that moment, I realized how dangerous it was to keep company with the characters from books. They lived book lives of fierce deeds and deep yearning. This was true not only of Ahab and Madi but Fergus, too. I could imagine a novel in which he played a significant role.
We were off in an instant and I missed the announcement of the final plan. Before I knew it, we’d strayed from the road and were moving toward the river. Dark had come on, the wind blew cold, and I stumbled more than once on the rutted ground. I smelled the water and saw the stars and distant lamplight reflected in it. Then we traipsed uphill, and halfway to the top, we came upon a pen holding two pigs, skinny like bone sausages. Beyond that, where things leveled off (me out of breath and the captain struggling), we encountered a path that ran among the shacks and hovels and run-down houses from the old days of the Dutch settlers.
There was candlelight in the windows of those few dwellings that had them and it leaked out from around the leather flaps at the entrances to lesser homes. Fires blazed outside doorways and most were set up for cooking. One large spit held a medium dog roasting above the flames. There were fires within the hovels as well, burning in crumbled chimneys or dug in the dirt floor. It was a cold night that was only going to get even colder, that much was clear. I had to tip my hat to those people for surviving, but truth be told, I’d not give them another thought if I could have abandoned our mission and made my way back to a gin and cigar at James Street.
As we passed, people either melted into the shadows or came out to their makeshift porches to slap a truncheon against an open palm and stare at us as if in defiance, to let us know they meant to defend their homes no matter how ramshackle. I brought up the rear of our small parade and didn’t understand our movements. It seemed that Madi was leading us from one hovel to another, leaning in to inspect the doorway of each. None seemed to his satisfaction until we came to one with a brand burned deep into the wood.
It was that same circle within a larger circle design left upon the victims of the Jolly Host. As soon as it came to me what was going on, Madi spoke in an urgent whisper. “This is it,” he said and I moved in closer to listen.
“Board her and take prisoners,” said Ahab, who pushed the door open with his shoulder and led the charge followed by Madi and Fergus. Afraid of being left in the road alone, I screwed up my courage and joined them. Immediately upon stepping into the dark, I could smell that sweet aroma, like paradise in hell. I recognized it immediately from when we’d encountered Ish in the underground. Moving down a short hallway, we entered a large room that was lit by the guttering flames of two candles. A dozen or so young men leaned against the wall or lay on broken-down divans and couches. A blue-gray haze hung thick in the air.
The four of us stood ready for battle, but there was no battle. All was surrender. I could feel the tension emanating from Ahab’s subverted expectations of hand-to-hand combat. For a second I thought he might shoot someone merely for good measure. Instead he called out in a booming voice, “Who wants to talk to us?” From one shadowed corner, there came a protracted fart and following it a moment later from another corner, a faint laugh. “Do any of you know Gabriel?” he asked. Farts resounded from all quarters.
The captain tapped two steps to the left, leaned over, and grabbed one of the opium smokers by the collar. As he hoisted the lad to his feet, he said, “Front and center.” A groan came from his catch.
“I think there are more rooms in the back of this place. Let’s take him back there,” said Fergus.
We helped Ahab drag the hapless fellow down a hall to an empty room. After closing the door behind me, I turned around and saw that the entire back wall of the room was caved in, affording us an excellent nighttime view of the river. Someone had conveniently left behind a straight-backed chair and we dropped our prisoner in it. When the lad tried to get to his feet, the captain shoved him back into the chair, which tilted on the rotting floorboards. Fergus leaned in and slapped the fellow lightly across the cheeks and chin. “Wake up, ya ratbag.”
Once the prisoner’s eyes opened, Madi stepped up and laid the blade of the Fang bieri against the boy’s throat. “Who killed the children at Seneca Village?”
“Harrow, have you a match in your satchel? Light this rogue’s face so we can see what’s going on,” said Ahab.
I lit a match and moved it close to see who we were waylaying. He was younger than I had suspected, maybe fifteen years old, with a thin, pinched face, a poorly healed scar across the forehead, and a mess of sandy hair.
“The killings at Seneca Village?” repeated Madi, still holding the blade in place.
The boy gave a vague smile, missing two teeth, and Madi dropped the weapon to his side. Fergus stepped in, saying, “You think you’re the cat’s uncle, eh?” and he smashed the lad’s face with the side of his hand. Blood trickled from his nose. The match went out, and when I lit another, there were tears in our prisoner’s eyes.
“Hold off,” Madi said to Fergus. “He’s only a boy.”
“Agreed,” I said.
Ahab tapped me on the back and pulled me into the shadows. “Have you got some money, Harrow?”
“A little.”
“We’ll offer him a three-dollar bill and see if he’ll dance for it.”
I dug in my pocket and produced the suggested amount.
Ahab approached the boy in the chair and drew his pistol. “We’ve not got the time to play here, son. I’m going to give you one chance. You’ve got a choice to live or die. If you don’t speak, it’s the harpoon for ya. If you tell us what we want, I’ll give you three dollars. Harrow?”
I lit another match and Ahab held the bill out for him to see.
“You’ve got one second to decide.”
The boy roused from his opium stupor and cried out like a toddler from a bad dream. “Noooo.”
“Where do I find Malbaster?” asked Ahab. He drew his pistol from beneath his coat and cocked the trigger.
“He’s got a lair neath the street near the Tombs. I swear to you.”
“We’re looking for a lad in his clutches by the name of Gabriel. Do you know him?” I asked.
“Yes. The boys call him the Malbastard since he’s a favorite of the Pale King Toad. Can I have my money now and leave?”
“Who killed the children at Seneca Village?” asked Madi.
“I’ve no clue,” said the boy. “Though I know Malbaster gave the order to cause trouble and fear among the people there. He’s magic.”
At that moment, the sound of shouts and footsteps came from the hal
lway outside the room.
11
Ahab gave the boy the bill with one hand and swept him out of the chair with the other. If a man with a whalebone leg could ever have been said to pounce, he did. In less than a second the chair was leaning back, wedged beneath the knob. There was a banging on the door from the hallway. “Open,” a voice outside shouted. I headed for the hole in the wall. Madi and Fergus were already through. As I passed the boy leaning in a daze against the wall, I snatched my three from his hand. Ahab’s gun went off in an attempt to frighten the horde in the hall and that hastened me.
I gathered with my compatriots out behind that rotting carcass of a house, and we waited for Ahab. The wind was up, and the footing on the hill was uneasy. I wasn’t so sure of myself in the dark. My blood was pumping and I was breathing fast. Swinging my satchel around, I reached inside for the fid and retrieved it. Then there were footsteps on the path and Ahab appeared, locomoting like an ailing steam engine. Behind him was a pack of the Jolly Host. I couldn’t see their faces but I heard their cries. The captain got to us only an instant before they did.
Madi and Fergus stepped forward and the wave broke against them. It was immediately clear that they’d decided to avoid causing grievous bodily harm. They went at the Host with fists instead of blade and club. Fergus felled three with uppercuts before he was inundated. Madi spun and used his feet as well as his fists, and Ahab swung broadly, parting the onslaught. I stood like a statue behind them until I felt a hand tighten on my throat. I lashed out with the fid and cracked the cheekbone of my assailant, who dropped to his knees, clutching his head. More came in his place and I swung the weapon like I was swatting flies.
Three of the Host backed me up a hill that edged out over the beach along the East River. I called to the captain for help. I heard him grunt as I backed up the slope and before they were on me he called, “Give them the pen, Harrow.” A pummeling, mostly of me, took place at the top of the rise. I managed to fell one of the louts by poking his eye with the end of the fid. His screams drove the other two toward me. The scrawnier one, in that instant, reminded me of Mavis’s younger brother, only far more dim-witted and demonic looking. It was he who pounced and wrapped his legs around my waist and snapped at my throat. I couldn’t wound him with the marlinespike, for he was too close and the momentum of his lunge put me back on my heels.