The Devil's Mask

by Christopher Wakling

  ‘I knew a sailor who owned a tool not dissimilar to this pair of … things … once,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The hooked-stiletto end he found useful for jabbing open knots in rope, apparently, and the shearing action had something to do with sail-cloth. What profession did you gentlemen say you engage in again?’

  I glanced sideways and saw what I can best describe as resignation in Blue’s expression. So as to avoid him spelling out that he was a sailor, I found myself not responding to the Justice’s question myself. ‘They struck me as perhaps relevant to a surgeon’s work,’ I said quietly, instead. ‘Perhaps Waring gathered them up from among his medical kit to use in self-defence.’

  At this Pearce puffed out his hollow cheeks again. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘And perhaps not. It’s a theory I’m happy to pitch into the pot. But the mix is going to take some stirring. And you gentlemen, I’m afraid, are going to have to bear with me, by which …’ he bared the tips of yellow teeth in a grin ‘… by which I mean assist with the investigation, just until we’ve got this … unfortunate business … sorted out.’

  Fifty-two

  By which I mean assist meant no such thing of course. While we stood talking upstairs I’d been dimly aware of noises outside: the thud and clack of hooves, men’s voices gruff above the town hubbub. It turned out that the Justice had sent for deputies. We followed him out into the light and there they were, two mounted, two on foot, all four wearing greatcoats fastened with wide leather belts, giving them a hackneyed military look.

  ‘Good. My men are ready to receive you,’ Pearce said, rubbing his hands together. By which he meant take us into custody.

  Movement beside me made me glance Blue’s way again. His neck and jaw were rigid. For a horrible moment I suspected he was going to lash out, or make a dash for it, and in the next instant I feared I might do the latter myself. By detaining me this man could make my already untenable situation infinitely worse: I should therefore run. But the temptation was fleeting, a bird flashing close past a windowpane. If I ran and was caught, ‘infinitely worse’ wouldn’t be the start of it.

  One of the mounted men had a beard, thick as ivy covering a tree-stump. The two on foot both carried staves. Justice Pearce must have called for them on his way here, before he’d even met us. Perhaps they were just a precaution. Pearce himself was still feigning solicitousness, beckoning and inviting, the carrot to his sidekicks’ sticks. I walked towards him and Blue followed and somehow there was a horse either side of us, and a man front and back. Within this flesh-and-bone cordon we were led to the Justice’s offices, a grave, stone-built town house not ten minutes’ walk away.

  But once we were inside, Pearce’s pretence of civility evaporated. He instructed his men to lead us into what he called the trunk room. Its walls were of un-plastered brick; its single window was high in the wall and cut with bars. He was going to lock us in here! I turned in the doorway, panic rising, only to see the Justice’s scrawny back retreating down the hall.

  I called out to him. ‘You asked for our line of work. Well, I’m a lawyer. I’m investigating a matter connected …’

  He paused and looked over his shoulder at me. ‘In which case you’ll no doubt be willing to wait here while I set about ensuring due process is done.’

  Through teeth clamped tight in an attempt to compose myself, I said, ‘Quite so. But you must permit me to do more than just wait: let me send word back to Bristol. My associates may be able to help shed some light upon this horrific turn of events.’

  He knew what I was really after, I’m sure, but couldn’t refuse a request put in those terms. Muttering, ‘For what it’s worth, then,’ he instructed the bearded henchman to take up my offer as he departed.

  Fifty-three

  They left us a long time. The shadow cast by the window lengthened down the brickwork and drifted across the dusty floor. There being no furniture in the room, the dust is where we sat, me with my arms round my knees, Blue squatting, cradling the cannonball of his lowered head in starfish hands. I could not see his expression, and so did not speak to begin with, fearful that if I began to talk, I’d end up admitting to our powerlessness, and so worsen it. But, eventually, the silence became too much to bear and I found myself reassuring us emptily that I’d summoned help which would, in time, arrive.

  By help I meant Sebastian. In Carthy’s absence, he was the only person to whom I could turn, and the distinction between the two of them – Carthy with his clout, as against timid Sebastian – undermined me even as I voiced my faith in the latter. Blue cut me off.

  ‘Your kind,’ he said.

  ‘Kindness hasn’t much to do with it. We’re both stuck –’

  ‘No. Not you’re kind – your kind. “Your kind, forgive me.” That’s what Waring said as he was dying. That’s what the Captain’s death, and Waring’s, this whole godforsaken mess, is about.’

  To witness Blue trembling was like seeing a boulder shiver.

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘He meant my kind, my people. The Negro race.’

  ‘But … why would he ask forgiveness from them?’

  ‘The cargo you’ve been asking about was alive. It comprised extra passengers.’

  ‘Passengers?’

  ‘Yes. Live goods. Unwilling passengers.’

  The shape of it came clear.

  ‘Shipped from Africa to the West Indies, as before. We sailed the full triangle, middle passage included, not just out and back. Which explains the duration of our voyage. The extra months had nothing to do with any storm damage, as you were told, though it’s true the ship was refitted in Barbados, its extra decks – of slave quarters – stripped out. That’s what accounted for the green timbers in the hold which Captain Addison was so keen to explain.’

  I let this sink in, then said, ‘But still … she’s not the first ship to have worked the trade illegally, since its abolition, I’m sure. And in Waring’s case, well, as ship’s surgeon he must surely have concerned himself with the relief of suffering, during the voyage. I can see the man having guilty qualms about his involvement. It’s been outlawed for a reason, after all. But still, until two years ago there was no illegality to be ashamed of. Why would Waring, a doctor, seek forgiveness with his last breath?’

  Blue glanced up at me from beneath his lowered brow and breathed out heavily through both nostrils. ‘You have not sailed on a slaver,’ he said simply.

  ‘No.’

  ‘The relief of suffering is not a phrase bandied about on board.’

  ‘No. I didn’t mean to suggest that …’ I felt like a schoolboy, floundering to justify myself. ‘My family has … or had … connections to the trade. An historical involvement. I do know something of what it’s about.’

  ‘The city was built upon it. Everyone has some idea. I thought I had, make no mistake. My father made the journey himself after all. Between decks, at fourteen years of age. He spoke of the ordeal rarely, but I believed I understood …’

  Blue trailed off, rocked forward on to the balls of his feet, spread his fingers wide and planted them before him in the dirt. He looked suddenly animal, steadying himself like that on all fours.

  ‘I understood nothing. We were not told of the Belsize’s true intent until we’d already put to sea. When Addison first gathered us round, there was little surprise among the men, and no room to object. News of the extra wages helped. Anyone with any qualms was invited to leave the ship at Tangiers. Nobody did. We reinforced the crew as we took on the cargo, extra hands being a necessary deterrent to unrest, and trimmed our number back on reaching the Indies, where the slaves were sold. Abolition has worked wonders on the prices. Apparently they’re worth three times as much on the black market as they were five years ago.’

  I let him talk on, circling his subject, inspecting my fingers for fear of putting him off his stride with scrutiny. Finally he landed upon the Doctor again.

  ‘It was Waring’s job to protect the value of the investment. That’s the surgeo
n’s role on a slaver, to inspect the merchandise as it’s bought and keep it in good condition, as best as possible at least, for sale. In that way it does serve him to stave off sickness on the slaves’ behalf, you’re right. But his responsibility is to the cargo as a whole, not to individual souls. Waring’s genius … well … he had it that preventing the spread of sickness was preferable to administering cures. He’d been successful with this theory before, apparently, and he put it to work on the Belsize, to good effect. Most slavers lose a quarter, some over a half, of the souls they ship, but of the five hundred and twenty-two we carried, all made it to the Indies save seventy-nine.’

  ‘Seventy-nine died,’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ Blue drew his forefinger and thumb together across his brow and the bridge of his nose, digging them into his eyelids along the way. He went on.

  ‘Dysentery. Or rather the threat of it. To curtail the spread of the disease the good doctor had upwards of fifty slaves thrown overboard upon the first sign of their falling ill. He carried out inspections. To stem the tide of sickness, he had us understand, nip any epidemic in the bud. If a body appeared to be wasting, the legs befouled and so on, Waring would administer water and wait to see whether the subject kept it down. Those who didn’t he jettisoned, for the good of the flock. Many were children. Evidently they are most prone to the disease.’

  I said nothing. A panicky sensation, the canary’s wings beating inside its cage, rose within me.

  ‘The mothers’, said Blue, ‘go mad.’ He repeated the pinch and drag movement of his fingers, then planted his hand again, held himself steady on all fours. ‘One of them, I recall, upon seeing her sick child pitched over the rail, attempted to leap after it. When restrained, she took her own life. She bit through her wrists, spat out lumps of herself and bled to death in plain view, on deck.’

  The wings were flapping about my head now. I stood up and paced the length of the room, trying in vain to escape them. A church bell sounded in the distance, ripples of normality fading outside, high overhead. I approached the door and shouldered it hard, causing it to judder in its socket, which only served to demonstrate its solidity.

  ‘But … what does it matter? The ship was trading illegally. It carried a consignment of slaves to the Indies, with all the outlawed horror that entails. How does that account for what happened to Addison and Waring?’

  Blue looked at me balefully and said nothing.

  ‘Why raise it now, then? If it’s not relevant, why mention it? And for that matter, if the cargo does have to do with the murders, why did you not broach the subject with me before now? Why wait until this point in time, when we’re stuck here, powerless, to bring it up?’

  Blue shook his head, then answered.

  ‘I do not want to die, so until now I’ve held my tongue.’

  ‘But when we found Addison hanged? I still don’t see it. What could he do to you then?’

  ‘At sea, the Captain is God. His is the last word. But on land … there are owners above him.’

  ‘And Waring?’

  ‘The Doctor invested,’ said Blue simply.

  This didn’t add up. If there had been whisperings of a ship plying the old trade, Thunderbolts would have been full of it, never mind the Bristol papers, but I’d heard nothing. And although the seriousness of the crime went some way towards explaining the pressure put upon Carthy and me to desist from picking over the Belsize’s paperwork, I’d seen nothing in the file capable of evidencing such an accusation. Accounting discrepancies cover a multitude of sins – we had not come close to pinning them on one of this magnitude. I held my tongue. The light in our mean room, having taken on something of the quality of Avon silt, was thickening further as the afternoon lengthened into evening. It seemed I’d have more than enough time to think the thing through. Blue planted his back against the brickwork, drawing his jacket tight round his barrel chest. He had begun to shiver. I offered him my greatcoat but he refused to take it.

  Fifty-four

  I’m not sure what hour of the night it was when they returned, but it had long been dark, and the blackness and deathly quiet and fading shock had conspired to produce in me the stupor of a waking doze. I sprang up at the metal on metal grating of the lock, only to discover that my legs had cramped beneath me.

  Justice Pearce’s face, dark as offal, swam before me, and he was grinning and nodding, mock-jolly again.

  ‘Progress!’ he said. ‘A question here, a bit of chat there, the good luck of a witness or two, willing to talk.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t look so frightened. It’s not you the finger is pointing towards, for now.’ The Justice puffed out his cheeks, turned to Blue, and went on matter-of-factly, ‘Though I’m sorry to say things are looking less promising for you.’

  Blue glowered at him.

  ‘I’m afraid a man of your … countenance, well, he stands out. Makes it a sight harder to get away with things, I imagine.’

  ‘We discovered this crime together,’ I said as evenly as I could. ‘And then we reported it to you.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘What are you insinuating?’

  ‘How well do you know this Negro?’ Pearce asked equably.

  I looked at Blue. His eyes were cast low, his arms hung heavy at his sides. The flickering lamplight caught the backs of his hands as they curled and uncurled, raising veins. I looked back at Pearce and said, ‘Well enough.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ smiled Pearce. ‘But then, who is to say?’ He grew mock-thoughtful. ‘Even those closest to us are full of surprises. It’s impossible to know for sure what makes another man tick.’ He rounded on me, grin in place. ‘But in this particular case there’s no need to plumb the profundities. It’s enough to point out that you have no idea what this man here was doing between half past twelve and one o’clock today.’

  ‘We arrived at the Doctor’s house together.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘I say so because it is so. Do you doubt my word?’

  ‘I’ll be happy to doubt your word as and when I see fit, but for now there’s no need. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the word of one … Mrs Gregory, who says she saw a man fitting his description’ (he nodded at Blue) ‘outside the house in question long before the two of you turned up on your errand. Her word is important, as is that of Mr James Cowper, who says the same.’

  Blue’s eyes were still fixed on his boots. I took a deep breath to remonstrate further, but it was as if I had sucked in a lungful of water, not air. Who was to know that this accusation about the sailor’s whereabouts wasn’t true? Not me. I could come up with nothing sensible to say, just so much spluttering.

  ‘And then there’s the further complication’, Justice Pearce went on, ‘of the unfortunate episode back in Bristol. You failed to mention it, but … a night’s hard riding, the opportunity to catch up with my colleague and good friend, your own Justice Wheeler, and we turned that nasty business up, too. To be first on the scene of one violent death in a week is unfortunate, but two …’

  Pearce, his cheeks puffed taut, breathed out through tight lips in wonderment. There was something about the man, his taunting way. I’d never seen a face at once so benign and yet so inviting to punch.

  ‘And the connections, once probed, have just grown stronger!’ he marvelled. ‘I’ll be honest in admitting I don’t quite understand your own involvement in this matter, Mr Bright, yet, but your friend here has been cooped up in a leaky ship for nigh on two years with both victims! Taking orders from one, and at the other’s ministering mercy. If I can’t find a malicious motive, a reason to exact horrible revenge and so forth, in all of that time at sea, well I don’t deserve this rewarding job, do I?’

  The Justice cracked a knuckle, then another, complacent as a man popping drumsticks from a roasted chicken.

  ‘The long and the short of it is that we need to take this fellow’, he cocked his thumb at Blue, ‘for ques
tioning.’

  Behind him, the man with the beard yawned. Framed by the black mass of his bristles, the inside of his mouth appeared a shocking blood-red. He huffed hard enough to flex the thick stave he was leaning upon, grinding its end into the packed dust of the floor.

  ‘Inigo.’ Blue’s voice was low as a priest’s. ‘You need to –’

  ‘Mr Bright needs to wait here patiently until we find a reason to let him go,’ Pearce said gently, motioning at the beard to take hold of Blue.

  ‘The ship, Inigo,’ Blue continued in a murmur. ‘The cargo.’ The bearded guard, stave across his chest, had advanced towards the sailor, who showed his palms peaceably as, eyes on me, he allowed himself to be backed from the room. ‘The cargo,’ Blue repeated. ‘That’s the root of this.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘And not just on the outward leg. There was a grudge in the hold coming home, too.’

  Fifty-five

  Being incarcerated alone was much worse than my time locked up with Blue. The waking sleep I’d managed when he’d been alongside me did not return after Pearce took him away. Now the darkness was of such an intensity that it made my eyes ache, so I sat in the corner and kept them shut and listened for the church bells, hoping their occasional chiming would pull me through the night. But there was scant comfort to be had there: even straining, I could barely make out the bells’ distant clamour; some shift in the atmosphere outside had robbed them of their last resonance, so that their striking was that of a muffled pianoforte key tapped at a great distance.