Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (37 page)

Not very long.

She never worked up a sweat, though if she had, the remaining walk would nave cooled her down. Despite the curfew, we met no one along the way, not a single soldier until we reached Glenbriar and The Oak came into view. There I was challenged quickly enough, but after giving my name and a formal request for an audience with Lieutenant Nash, I was immediately escorted in to see him. Apparently the guards presently on duty hadn’t heard any rumors from their fellows about my blood-drinking.

“This makes a fine change from having to shout at you from the street,” I said after greetings had been exchanged.

“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 mending?”

“Middling fine, sir.”

Nash took note of the many 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 gaze hard upon him.

He blinked 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 long rifle 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 had 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 to keep from bumping my head.

“Over there,” said Nash, pointing to a far corner.

I took the candle 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 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 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 also gaped, albeit for a different reason. “Jonathan? 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 from a different cause. Beneath the sweat and grime and the heavy miasma of night soil, I could smell the thick 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 the soldiers should take ’em the way they did. I were only tryin’ to get ’em back for Da.”

“Yes, and you . . . killed a man doing it.”

“What? I didn’t kill nobody.”

His protest was so genuine that it set 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. “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 musket 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. But if I was wrong . . . then the young man who had . . .

Nathan
Finch?

I had not 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 an’ Nathan said as that fellow in the fancy red 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 ’im. Said ’e couldn’t hardly miss. Our Nate ain’t so clever on some things, but ’e’s the best shot in the family. We never want fer a bit of coney ’r squirrel when ’e’s on the hunt.”

Just as I’d mistaken him for another, Nathan had returned the favor, doing his patriotic duty by killing an enemy general. The fool. The bloody, bloody
stupid
fool. As if a general would be on a hunt for stolen commissary stock. I found I could not speak for a long time. It was absurd and awful and idiotic and unutterably sad.

And I didn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

The whole night might have slipped past with me staring at 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 tell on Nathan?” 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 grim fact. “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. Apparently he’d never before considered himself as ever becoming a target. “Did Nathan kill that Hessian boy as well?” Roddy’s gaze dropped in reply. “Then I suppose they’ll hang you for that, too.”

“But Ezra here said—”

“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 bosses we were takin’ back?”

Oh, but there was such a terrible difference between the law and justice in some circumstances. Father often discussed that conundrum of right and wrong with Rapelji. There was nothing right about this situation. Roddy should not suffer for a murder he did not commit or be hanged for taking his horses back from thieves operating within the law. He was guilty, but innocent . . . and thinking too much on that just made my head hurt.

What if Nathan had been here instead, and I’d learned the truth, learned from his own lips, that he had been the shooter? My murderer. He wasn’t as likeable as Roddy, and certainly guilty. But though he’d killed me,
I wasn’t dead
.

“Jonathan?” Roddy was giving me a strange look. “What are you laughin’ about? Nothin’ funny ’ere.”

Eventually I hiccupped my fit of misplaced mirth to a halt and took stock. Before me were two dead men. Neither of
them
would return from the grave. One innocent of murder at least, the other carrying out what he thought to be his duty. How could I leave them to be hanged?

That question spun through my mind, followed by the unavoidable answer that I couldn’t.

“There’s been enough death. . .” I began, wiping my eyes.

“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, home will be the first place 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 and row across to Connecticut to join up with his regiment. Nate was to do that if we got separated.”

“Where’s this boat?”

“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
.”

“
Ja,
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 managed to lay him out without making too much row. His long rifle and sword caused a little clatter, but there were stout doors between us 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 clawed 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 fool, 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 hang 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 hope to get Roddy and Andrews away . . . there were too many soldiers about.

Turn and turn again.

Roddy’s head appeared above the trap’s opening. He looked feverish with his sweat-smeared face and frightened, overly-bright eyes. He goggled at the sleeping soldier, but sensibly nodded when I put a finger to my lips. He crept 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.”