‘Enough!’ Percy growled as he turned from her, facing the falls. ‘Know this, Mercia. I am not so terrible as you suppose. I did not kill Clemency. Nor any of them.’
‘What?’ The unexpected declaration brought her up short. ‘Then … who? Surely not Amery. He is too terrified. Merely your shadow. Too cowardly.’
‘Stop it!’ Amery’s shaking voice rang through the night. ‘Both of you! Percy, ’tis obvious she will not join us. But I will not let you kill her. I should have stopped you before.’ He jangled his hand, his arm quaking as surely as his gun had shook ever since they had arrived. ‘’Tis all over, isn’t it? I should never have believed you! And now I have to make you let her go, and she will tell the governor, and we will all be hanged.’ He looked at her, wild-eyed. ‘I killed nobody! I didn’t even help them plan those deaths! But Percy told me this was the only way to find the alkahest, that sacrifices were needed to prove our devotion, just as Abraham was prepared to sacrifice Isaac!’ His face trembled. ‘But he lied, and it will never happen, never, and we have to let her go!’
He was raving, snatching for breath, but his panic was not mere desperation. His repentance seemed real. Mercia seized on the chance.
‘Amery, if you want me to live, point that gun at Percy and do not let him move. I will fetch help, and I will come back for you and for Nicholas, and all will be well. Do you hear? If you confess your part, all will be well.’
She nodded in encouragement, hoping he was too confused to realise she was lying. In response he raised his gun, for a moment at her, but then he swung the barrel towards Percy.
‘She is right,’ he said. ‘We must let her go.’
‘Come.’ Percy took a bold step towards him. ‘These melancholies of yours, we always overcome them. Think of those marvels you seek. Will you give them up now?’
He shook his head. ‘It is too late. It is over!’
Another step, and another, until he had covered half the distance. ‘You will not kill me.’
‘I will if I must!’ By now his whole body was shivering. ‘I will not hang!’
Mercia looked at Nicholas on the ground. She could try to run while the other two were arguing, but if she did, he would still be trapped.
‘Amery,’ she called. ‘Do not let him get any closer. He knows now I can never join him. And so he must kill me, and Nicholas too.’
Amery glanced down: barely half a second, but his doubt was evident. ‘Nicholas?’
‘You have become friends of sorts, have you not, sharing your house? He is a good man, Amery, a father too. He must have told you. Would you let his daughter lose him?’
‘Do not listen,’ said Percy. ‘I know you are with us, even if she claims she is not.’ His eyes flicked towards the forest. ‘You see, Mercia, you do not understand me as you think.’ He took another large step. It was one too many. Of a sudden, Amery’s fear vanished into the wind, and he held his gun steady at Percy’s heart.
‘You are wrong, Percy,’ he said. ‘And I think you mean to have me killed too now I have wavered.’ He cocked the pistol. ‘So I will be saving myself as well as these others.’
Percy inched forwards. ‘Amery, I—’
A gunshot rang out. Birds fled from the trees behind.
On the ground, the noise made Nicholas stir.
Percy stared at Amery, clutching his chest. But then he looked down, and breathed steadily out, for he could see there was no shower of blood streaming from his doublet.
Mercia watched horrified as not Percy but Amery fell to his knees, the pistol falling from his grasp. With one last, lingering look at his friend, he slumped to the ground, and was still.
She wheeled round. On the edge of the wood, scarcely ten feet from where she was standing, a figure was holding his raised pistol towards the spot where Amery had fallen, the black space above thickening with the smell of gunpowder.
‘You let him talk too much,’ said the newcomer. ‘I always knew he was the weak one among us.’
Percy looked across, visibly upset. ‘He would not have fired. Why did you do that?’
‘You trust too easily, Percy. You trusted Amery and you trust this woman. Neither would give you what you need.’ He lowered his gun. ‘But now, it matters not. The evening is at hand.’
Kit West strode into the firelight. Nonchalant, he reached into a pouch at his side, drawing out a ball and powder to reload his gun. ‘For the Lord will judge and find those unworthy wanting.’
‘Kit,’ Percy sighed. ‘This is not the time.’
‘It is always the time.’ He peered down at Amery. ‘Tonight especially. And you, Mercia. Over there with Nicholas where I can see you both.’ Without looking, he pointed the gun in her direction; more nervous of Kit than of Percy, she complied.
‘So, Percy,’ she said. ‘This is your murderer.’
Kit scarcely glanced across. ‘Rather, a protector of souls. All those I killed were troubled.’
Her bile rose afresh. ‘It is not for you to judge what is troubled.’
‘No, it is for God to judge.’ He held up his head. ‘Now they have the chance to explain themselves. If He accepts their penitence, they will enter into heaven.’
Percy let out an unsure laugh. ‘What is this, Kit? Some kind of pretence?’
‘Not at all.’ His eyes searched the area. ‘Sit down beside her. And do not try to reach Amery’s gun.’
He nudged the dropped pistol out of reach. Face aghast, Percy did as he was bade.
Mercia turned from him. ‘You, Amery, now Kit.’ She felt sick. ‘That meeting we all had, it was merely a ruse.’ He made to reply, but she shook her head. Now near Nicholas, she slipped the toe of her boot under his side and pushed, hoping to stir him awake. ‘But if you have been acting together, why is he talking like this?’
‘Because,’ Kit answered, ‘I have never been acting for him. He thought to command me, as he thinks to command everyone else. But his lust for power is irrelevant.’
‘Stop this, Kit,’ Percy spoke clearly, but there was a faint tremor in his voice. ‘You have had your jest, as is your wont.’ He looked at Amery lying dead on the ground. ‘Yet hardly a jest.’
Kit shook his head. ‘Do you think the Lord is interested in your delusions? You seek to establish your petty government, while I work to reveal the throne of Christ itself.’
‘Kit.’ The moon shone its white light on Mercia’s uneasy face. ‘What is going on?’
Kit looked to the sky, his aim never straying from his captives. ‘I had a different name once, did you know that? Like many in this place. But unlike any other, my purpose is sacred.’ He turned to face her, reaching into his shirt with his free hand to withdraw his beloved locket. ‘Roger Alvechurch, that was me. And I had a brother. Mark.’ He opened the clasp to show her an image of a young man’s face, although in the gloom she could barely see. ‘He was with the Fifth Monarchists, or what you would call as such. To me he was simply my brother.’
‘I too had a brother,’ she tried, but Kit ignored her. He closed the locket, leaving it hanging over his shirt.
‘I came to realise that what he said was right, that the King was the Devil himself. But all would come right, for Christ would soon rise again to herald the Millennium of peace. And so he and his friends defied the King, but the Devil spewed his poison and they were slaughtered.’ His piercing eyes saddened. ‘I should have died with them, but my mother had locked me away. I did not know why, but later I understood. God had saved me to continue Mark’s calling. But not in England, where the corruption was too great. Instead He told me to come to America, where the land is untouched. For here in this wilderness will be the Second Coming.’
As Kit spoke, Mercia rammed her boot more firmly under Nicholas’s belly. His eyes eased half open, but if Kit had noticed, it did not distract him from his speech.
‘I changed my name on the crossing. To Christ-carry West, because that was my mission. In Boston I met Amery, who talked of the secrets of the earth, of
knowledge he believed God would reveal if he was worthy.’ He gazed at his corpse. ‘But he never was. Through him I met Percy, who saw a devout man in me and thought to sway me to his cause, encouraging me to kill through the lie that I might cleanse the land of sin. But I could tell his real intentions, for they were weak, of temporal power. And so his false reasons became my truth.’ He bounded onto a wide pillar of rock. ‘And now I have purged this land, tonight the town sheds its unholy skin of pain and beseeches the Lord’s deliverance. The signs are revealed, the glory of Eden shall descend!’ He looked up at the stars. ‘Come Lord, for I have made all ready!’
Mercia looked skywards herself, half expecting some answer. But the night continued untouched. Kit twisted his neck, the glow of the fanatic in his eyes.
‘He will come, Percy. It is prophesised.’
‘Stop this foolishness,’ Percy said. ‘We need to return to our tasks in the town.’
Kit laughed. ‘Your blindness is persistent, unbeliever. Your days are over. As are your father’s, Winthrop’s, the King’s … any mortal man’s who has shunned the Lord’s true teachings.’ He grasped his locket and held it high. ‘Brother, come now! Lead the angels from heaven as I know is your duty, and unite with me once more!’
‘I don’t know what he is doing.’ Agitated, Percy turned to Mercia. ‘I have heard none of this before.’
‘Of course you have not. He is as crazed as you have been, and you could not see it.’ She shifted still closer to Nicholas. ‘You see, you cannot control men’s minds as you think. And once tonight is over, those townsfolk you have roused, they will feel the relief of knowing the killer is found and they will go back to their lives, King or no. But our lives are forfeit if we do not work together now. Kit must be stopped.’
She kicked again at Nicholas. Percy hesitated, then followed suit. This time Nicholas groaned. Mercia leant forward to cover his mouth, whispering in his ear.
‘What are you doing?’ said Kit.
‘Checking to see if he lives.’
‘No matter. He lives or dies through God’s will.’ He held up his hands. ‘The gates to Eden stand open!’
Nicholas was now awake, but Mercia held him still. ‘Stay silent,’ she whispered. ‘I need you to run to Nathan and get help.’
Clearly groggy, he nonetheless tried to lift himself up, gazing blindly about him. Over to the right, the leaves of a bush seemed to tremble.
‘I will not leave you,’ he managed.
‘You must. Nathan can—’
‘You!’ A terrible cry came from the woods, a guttural shrieking of unnaturally high pitch. Startled by its violence, Mercia looked up to be surprised by Sooleawa, the Indian woman advancing through the darkness, her bow pulled tightly back.
‘Why are you here?’ rasped Kit. ‘This is no savage’s concern!’
‘You!’ she repeated, a deranged look in her eyes. ‘I came tonight to take my vengeance on your constable, but some madness has taken you all, and he is protected by your great fire.’ She glanced at Mercia. ‘I saw her climb to the fort, and loose the big gun, and I heard her words. I have followed her through the woods, and I have watched this madness grow, seen you shoot this man down.’ Slowly, she walked ever forwards. ‘I have not understood all you have said, but one thing I know. You are the man who has killed my friends.’
‘Go, heathen.’ Kit looked on Sooleawa with the conceit of his zeal. ‘The Lord will allow no intrusion tonight.’
‘Your warrior Lord?’ Her eyes burnt as fiercely as his. ‘I do not think He will deny me my revenge!’
‘Sooleawa,’ called Mercia, but she refused to hear.
‘You killed our powwow!’ she cried, releasing her arrow into Kit’s left arm. The sawyer tumbled from the pillar, dropping his gun as he landed close to the edge of the falls. ‘You killed Clemency!’ She took another step, strung her bow, and fired a second arrow, this time into his neck. ‘You killed Hopewell!’ She took another pace and loosed a third arrow, penetrating his stomach. With none remaining, she reached for a dagger at her side. ‘And now I will have my vengeance, if not on Godsgift then on you!’
In unexpected silence, she rushed forward. Crawling on the ground in agony, Kit still managed to look up in surprise, long enough for Nicholas to stagger to his feet and for Mercia to crawl backwards with Percy. But the blow to Nicholas’s head had been too much, and he nearly fell, catching his breath.
Sooleawa had no such impediment. As if the air itself, she roared towards Kit and crashed into him, stabbing her knife through his shirt. But she did not stop there, for her motion carried her onwards, and with a terrible cry she toppled them both from the waterfall’s height, plummeting over the cascades to the river below.
Mercia ran to the edge, looking over. She thought she could see a figure pull itself from the shallow water, another left for dead at its side, but it was too dark to be sure. Then she heard someone running behind her, and she turned, but there was no time to recover. With Nicholas dazed, Percy had snatched up Kit’s gun and was aiming at her chest.
She circled away from the waterfall. ‘Percy. You do not need to do this.’
‘I do.’ His jaw was shaking, the panic he had sought to foster in others now taking hold in himself. ‘Whatever Kit said, this is not over. I can rule here still. It is my right!’ His words came fast. ‘I had hoped … I wanted you to stay, to be together. To forge this new world together, you and me. But now I have to put aside those feelings and …’ He raised the gun. ‘If you will not join with me, you shall have to join with Clemency instead.’
She closed her eyes, thinking only of Daniel. But then she felt disturbed air, and her eyes sprang open as Percy swivelled his gun towards Nicholas, the two beginning a fight for dominance. For a moment Nicholas pressed his attack, but he was weak with his wound. Cracking the gun barrel over his skull, Percy forced him down, the intensity of the blow careering the pistol in her direction. Percy hauled Nicholas up by his shoulders, pushing him to his feet near the waterfall’s edge.
‘I will do it,’ he said. ‘I will push him if I must.’
Calm, in contrast, Mercia reached for the gun. She looked at the trigger, at Percy, at the mourning ring she wore still. She cocked the gun and lifted it.
‘Let him go, Percy. It is over.’
‘No!’ He took another step, taking them to the edge. ‘I will not lose!’
‘You killed Clemency as surely as Kit did. Even so, I do not want to do this.’ She held the gun steady. ‘Damn you, Percy! Let him go.’
His cheeks trembled. ‘I cannot.’
For an instant, she hesitated. Then Nicholas roared again to life, thrusting his elbows into Percy’s stomach. With a cry, his arms fell away, but for Nicholas the effort was too great. He collapsed at Percy’s feet.
Percy snatched up a rock. ‘I will strike him with it. Lower your gun, or I will!’
‘He will do it anyway,’ slurred Nicholas. ‘You know he can let neither of us live.’
She knew, but the knowledge did not soothe her. Percy stared, the madness filling his wide eyes. He raised his arms higher, and she knew the instant she dropped the gun he would dash the rock against Nicholas and then he would come for her.
She prayed that God and her son would forgive her.
His fingers tightened on the rock.
She fired.
Chapter Thirty-Six
She laid the flowers at Clemency’s grave, saying a prayer for the woman she had called friend. She paused a moment in tranquil solitude, remembering the happy evening in the illicit Hartford tavern, the horse rides in the woods, the joyful, smiling face. Tears welled up, and now all was over, she allowed them to flow, crying out the hurt and the pain, the sorrow at needless loss, the remorse that she was alive, while her friend was not. Half an hour later she dried her eyes, calming her breathing. She said another prayer, to add to the innumerable she had already uttered, and then she left, stroking the hard gravestone, reading anew the expression the townspeople
had allowed her to write: Here lies Clemency Carter, vibrant of mind and of spirit.
The small graveyard had multiplied of late, the fatal triumvirate of Amery, Kit and Percy now lying in hallowed ground, gone to their eternal rest. John Lavington was broken at the news of his son’s death, and for him she felt a deep pity. Enough tragedy had befallen this beautiful corner of America of late. Surely, she hoped, that was enough.
Governor Winthrop had come from Hartford, bringing Daniel with him, and it was perhaps only the comfort of her son that kept Mercia alive through those dark days. Over and again she saw the moment in her mind, the recoil of the gun, the shock on Percy’s face, how he tumbled backwards over the waterfall’s edge to join his false accomplice in his grave. There had been no choice, she knew, Nicholas knew, Nathan knew, the whole town in its guilt and its grief knew, but for herself, she would say that there had been a choice, that she could have saved him if she had realised sooner, and she felt a deep and painful guilt that would not go away. She would see Percy’s startled face for a long time in her dreams, waking and asleep, of that she was certain. Never again, she told herself that day, would she allow herself to become close to anyone, for she always lost them, she always blamed herself, right or wrong, and she would not allow that to go on.
So when Nathan came to comfort her, she brushed him away. She knew deep down how she loved him, desperately and without hope, for she could never let herself show it, even though he loved her, desperately and with hope, and she longed for the life where they could share his farm and her manor house, raising Daniel together, perhaps with a sister or brother, but she tore that from her mind because she knew, there in Meltwater, that it must never be.
Nicholas saw her pain and read her thoughts; he argued with her, tried to convince her she was wrong, that the barriers she had thrown up were barriers of the mind that she could overcome as surely as she overcame the tragedies of real life. But she shook her head, begging him to desist from his words. She could be honest with him, because he was but her manservant, and perhaps, one day, her friend, but never anything more, and so as she turned from Nathan, because she loved him so much, she drew closer to Nicholas, because he was a man with whom love would never be.
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