P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death

by Red Death(Lit)

  "Aye," said Nash. "You're still the hero with the men for all that you've done. That's a night I shall not soon forget myself. Your sister is in good health, I hope?"

  "Very well, thank you."

  "And I trust your arm is healing?"

  "Middling fine, sir."

  Nash took note of all the curious eyes trained on us and invited me to a more private room. It was the same one as we'd used before, but his manner indicated that it held no inconvenient memories. He inquired after the purpose of my visit.

  "I wish to see the prisoner, Roddy Finch."

  "May I ask why?"

  There was more than sufficient candlelight to work with. "You may not," I said evenly, fixing my eye hard upon him.

  He blinked only once and with no alteration of his expression, stood. "Very well, then, Mr. Barrett. I should be pleased to take you to him. You'll want that candle, as it's very dark."

  "He's in the cellar?"

  'There was no other place to put him. This village is too small to have a proper lockup."

  Until the soldiers came we'd had no need of one, but I held my peace and picked up the candle. Nash led the way through the common room, where we were both-and I imagined myself in particular-subject to more staring. I caught a glimpse of the landlord, but he ducked from sight when I turned for a better look. Elizabeth's fear that I'd have to have a "talk" with the whole island had some substance to it. Well, Mr. Farr and the rest would just have to wait.

  We reached a back passage near the kitchen, where a man with a sword and musket came to attention when he saw Nash. He moved from off the trapdoor where he'd been standing and slid back a bolt that looked to have been recently attached. Lifting the door, he took a ladder from the wall and lowered it into the darkness, then went down ahead of us. Nash took charge of the candle and I followed the guard as best I could, hindered as I was with my arm in its sling. The place had a nauseating smell of food stores, damp, human sweat, and unemptied chamber pots. The roof was low; Nash and his man were all right, but I had to stoop quite a bit to keep from bumping my head.

  "Over there," said Nash, pointing to a far corner. I took the candle back and peered, needing every ray of its feeble light in this awful place. I could just make out two hunched shapes huddled close by a supporting pillar of wood. Drawing closer, they took on form and identity and became Roddy Finch and Ezra Andrews. Both stirred sluggishly and winced against the tiny flame. There were chains on their wrists, the links solidly fixed to the pillar with huge staples. Neither of them had much freedom of movement and they reeked from their confinement.

  Turning toward Nash, I thanked him and made it very clear that he and the guard need not remain. As before, he gave no outer sign, but instantly obeyed my request. The two of them went up the ladder. The trap was left open, but I didn't mind. What do ye want?" Andrews demanded when I returned to them..

  An excellent question and not one that could be answered while he was listening in. I knelt close so he could see me. "I want you to sit back and go to sleep."

  I knew I'd reached him, but it was still a little startling to witness how quickly he complied. He gaped at me empty-eyed for a few seconds, then did just as I said, just like that. Oh, but I could see that Father was very wise in advising me to be sparing with this ability.

  Roddy was also gaping, albeit for a different reason. "What-?" "Never mind him, I came to talk to you." He raised himself up, his chains clinking softly. There were raw patches on his wrists and his face was dirty and drawn. His

  own eyes were nearly as empty as Andrews's, but, again, from a different cause. Beneath the sweat and grime and the heavy miasma of night soil, I could smell the clear sour stench of his fear.

  'Talk about what?" he asked. There was a lost and listless tone to his voice. "About what happened to me."

  He shook his head, not understanding. "I didn't do it, 'twere Nathan. An' I'm that sorry about it, though." He nodded at my arm.

  "Not this, about what happened at the kettle when the soldiers were after you for the horses."

  "They was our hosses. It weren't right as they should take 'em the way they did. I was only tryin' to get 'em back for Da." "Yes, and you... killed a man doing it." "What? I didn't kill nobody."

  He protest was so genuine that it put me back a step, until I realized that under these circumstances he would certainly deny any accusation against him, especially one of murder.

  "But you did, Roddy. I know. All I want to know now is why."

  "You're daft," he stated, looking mulish enough to pass for his younger brother.

  We could go around all night on this, but I saw no advantage to it, only wasted time. "Look at me, Roddy, and listen to me.... Do you remember the day you took back the horses from the soldiers?"

  "Yes," he said in a voice as flat and lifeless as his expression.

  "You were standing above the kettle and you looked across and you must have seen me." "No."

  "You saw me and raised your gun and shot me." "No."

  "You did, I saw you do it, Roddy." "No."

  Damnation. How could he not speak the truth while in this state? He was so far separated from his own will he couldn't possibly do otherwise. I was frustrated to the point of trying to shake it out of him, until a simple little thought dropped into my mind like a flash of summer lightning on the horizon. Since

  waking up in that damned box, I'd had a thousand distractions keeping me busy, keeping me exhausted, keeping me from seeing that which should have been obvious. In all the time since his capture I'd never once questioned why Roddy, of all people, had expressed no surprise at my miraculous return from the dead. I'd looked across the kettle and recognized him and his eye was sharp enough for him to know me in turn.

  Or rather, I thought I'd recognized Roddy.

  Nathan Finch. I hadn't seen him in three years. He'd have grown up in that time and at a distance... I'd taken him for his brother.

  "Nathan shot that man, didn't he, Roddy?" I asked tiredly.

  'Told 'im he shouldn'ta done it," he replied.

  I lowered my head and groaned and wished myself someplace that didn't have soldiers or prisons or scaffolds.

  "Why? Why did he do it?"

  "They were comin' for us and Nathan said as that fellow in the coat must be their general, shootin' 'im would solve our problems. They'd leave off chasin' us and see to 'im, instead, and they did."

  "Coat?"

  "A fine red coat with braid, 'e said, which meant 'e were like to be General Howe. So Nathan got Mm."

  Just as I'd mistaken him for another, Nathan had returned the favor.

  I found I could not speak for a very long time. It was absurd and awful and idiotic and unutterably sad.

  It was the truth.

  The whole night might have slipped past with me staring into nothing and trying not to think and failing if not for Roddy. He eventually woke up to regard me with both wariness and curiosity. He also seemed to have some vague memory of the questions I'd put to him.

  "You goin' to turn Nathan in as well?" he asked.

  "He killed that man, didn't he?" I returned. I still had enough wit to try maintaining the fiction of another's death.

  "Well, it's war, ain't it? People get killed in wars."

  There was no point in gainsaying him on that. "And what if it had been you? Would you care to have someone shoot you down just because there's a war?"

  He shook his head, not for an answer, but in puzzlement. He'd never really considered himself as being a target before.

  "Did Nathan kill that Hessian boy as well?"

  Roddy's eyes dropped in reply.

  "Then I suppose they'll hang you for that, too."

  "But Ezra here said that-"

  "They know you're no soldier. He can take any oath he likes on your behalf, but they won't believe him. They'll hang you for a horse thief or a murdering spy no matter what."

  "But I'm no spy, an' how can I be a hoss thief when it was our own hosses we we
re takin' back?"

  And how could I leave him to be hanged?

  That was the only question spinning through my mind now and the unavoidable answer was that I couldn't.

  "There's been enough death..."

  "Eh?"

  "Roddy, if I get you out of here, can you find a way off the island?"

  "What d'you mean?"

  "If you escape you'll have to get as far from here as you can. That means not going home or even to Suffolk County, as those will be the first places they'll look."

  "I don't see as how it can be done, but Ezra here said as he knew where we could lay hands on a boat."

  "Where is it?"

  "Five miles, maybe less from here."

  "Think you can make it there before light?"

  "Easy. But how can-"

  "Never mind how. I'll be back in a few minutes. Wake up your friend and tell him to keep his mouth shut when I come."

  I left the candle with them and, bending low, made my way back to the ladder. Nash had gone but the guard was still at his station as I emerged.

  "All is well?" he asked.

  "Ja. Are you sleepy?" I added in English. I couldn't recall the right words in German.

  "Was?"

  "Sleepy?" I pantomimed a yawn, lay my head to one side with my eyes shut for a moment, then pointed questioningly at him.

  He grinned and shook his head.

  The idiot.

  "What is the German for... ?" I repeated my pantomime. Puzzled that I should want a language lesson, but flattered by my interest, he promptly supplied me with the weapon I

  sought. Schlafen."

  "Yes, schlafen, mein Freund. Schlafen. Schlafen..."

  I caught him as he dropped forward, not an easy task with only one arm. A dead weight and unwieldy, I just managed to lay him out without making too much noise. His musket and sword caused a little clatter, but there were stout doors between as and the rest of the inn. I had to hurry, for Nash might return or someone else could blunder in and disturb me while I was clawing through the man's pockets. Snuffbox, a few coins- where did the fool keep it?

  There. A ring heavy with keys. I grabbed it and dived down the ladder. Andrews was awake and looking belligerent.

  "What d'ye plan for us? That we should be shot while escaping? Is that what yer up to?"

  "Don't be such a fool, Mr. Andrews-"

  "That's Lieutenant to you, ye lyin' Tory."

  "Lieutenant, then." I sorted through the keys, trying to find the right one to fit the locks on their chains. "Think what you like, but keep your mouth shut. If you get caught again, then we're all for the gallows and I've no wish to die for the likes of you."

  "He's tryin' to help us, Ezra," put in Roddy. As if to confirm his statement the next key worked and his hand was free. I gave him the ring and told him to finish the job while I kept watch.

  The guard was as I'd left him, safe for us, but highly noticeable should anyone come in. My stomach turned over and over. If we were caught now-it still wasn't too late to put things back-it was too much to expect Roddy and Andrews to get away... there were too many soldiers about.

  Turn and turn again.

  Roddy's head appeared above the opening. He looked feverish with his sweat-smeared face and frightened and overly bright eyes. He goggled at the sleeping soldier, but sensibly nodded when I put a finger to my lips. He stepped out and made room for Andrews.

  "Keys?" I whispered.

  "I left 'em down there," he said unhappily.

  Oh, well, I'd have to go back for the candle, anyway. 'Through there," I said, pointing to a passage behind them. "It should take you outside and as you value your lives don't make a sound and don't be seen."

  By now it had finally penetrated Andrews's hard skull that I'd had either a change of heart or of loyalties. He grabbed Roddy's arm and they were gone.

  Stomach still spinning, I made one more trip down the ladder, painfully jarring my arm when my footing slipped on the last rung. I bit back a grunt and kept moving, retrieving the keys and candle from where they lay on the earthen floor. When discovered, the abandoned chains would be a considerable mystery to Nash.

  A final clumsy climb up and I was stuffing the keys back in the guard's pocket with trembling hands. Looking at his stupidly peaceful face, I realized I couldn't leave him like this. Any hint of irregularity and the first course of action would be to check on the prisoners. They needed time to get away and I needed to put some distance between myself and my crime.

  Good arm under his shoulders, I heaved the man to his feet, shaking him. The activity brought him awake and left him somewhat confused. Giving him what I hoped would seem a smile of friendly concern, I helped him pull himself together, dusting his clothes and hoping to confound him more with swift, incomprehensible speech.

  "Dear me, but I thought you might have hurt yourself, everything all right now? Bumped our heads together, don't you know, when I'm came up, you went down, and bang! There you are, but accidents do happen. All's well now, eh, what?" "Was?"

  "Ah... der Kopf..." I tapped first my forehead, then his, and said "Ow!" while giving an indication that he'd fallen. For all my acting, 1 received a deservedly strange look from him, which I pretended not to notice. He picked up his musket, straightened his sword and scabbard, and tried to resume a dignified attitude. I indicated that he should close the trap and shoot the bolt.

  "I'll just be off to see Lieutenant Nash. Vielen Dank undgute Nacht."

  The mention of Nash's name reminded him that I had some kind of special status. I gave him a couple of pennies for his trouble and left. Now, if he'd just leave his charges undisturbed

  for a while. A pity I didn't know much of the language or I could have arranged something more to my advantage. On the way back, I vowed to take some positive steps toward enlarging my German vocabulary before another week had passed.

  Nash welcomed me and asked if my interview had gone well.

  "Very well, indeed, sir. I am most grateful for your kindness. Just wanted to see the wretch one more time and to ask if you would be so good as to find a use for this." I produced a small purse and lay it on the table between us.

  He pretended surprise. "But what is this, Mr. Barrett?"

  "Let's just call it a contribution toward His Majesty's victory. I'm sure that you can find some way to make life a bit easier for your soldiers."

  Peering into it, Nash looked quite gratified. He must have been worried that the bribe I'd promised would be unduly delayed. It was my own and not Father's money, though, part of what I'd managed to bring back from England. He'd written that good coin was becoming rare and the paper money in circulation hardly more than a grim joke. It seemed to me that a ready supply of silver and gold would be a very handy thing to have around and so it was now proved.

  Nash gave warm thanks for my generosity and offered to stand me to the best the house could offer in the way of drink. He could well afford it, but I politely declined.

  "I must head home before it gets too late..."

  Someone began pounding on the door. "Herr Oberleutant!"

  Oh, good God.

  But the man who rushed in was not the guard I'd left; however, his news was just as calamitous. Some eagle-eyed sentry had spotted two men haring out of town, recognized them as being the prisoners, and given the alarm.

  "How the devil did they escape? You don't know? Then find out! Never a moment's peace," Nash complained. "I'd ask you to come, sir, as you might enjoy another hunt, but with your arm..."

  Feeling that my face might crack under the strain of looking calm and brightly interested, I waved down his objections. "But I wouldn't miss this for the world, Lieutenant. I would be singularly honored if you allowed me to render such limited service as I might be capable of offering."

  "Well, you do know the land and I was highly impressed with the sharpness of your vision the other night. One of the men said that you'd be like to find a black cat in a root cellar."

  I laug
hed deprecatingly, wishing that he'd not mentioned cellars.

  "Lauder reports that he believes they are only just ahead of us, sir," said the sergeant.

  "He believes?" Nash sneered. "Go back and inform him that I am not interested in what he believes but what he knows." The sergeant whipped off.

  Nash had been optimistic when we'd started the expedition but as the night grew old and he and the men more tired, his high spirits had taken a sharp turn in the other direction. His faith in my ability to see well in the dark had also suffered a decided setback. At the first opportunity, I'd done what I could to lead them in the wrong direction, but it hadn't been very successful, largely due to the tracking efforts of one Hessian corporal. The man must have been part hunting hound, for each time I suggested a misleading course to take, he invariably brought us back on the right trail again. I was forced to hold myself back, lest Nash become suspicious.