Mister Slaughter
PaRT TWO: The Valley of Destruction Chapter Six

"a pity about Matthew Corbett. Dead at such a young age," said Hudson Greathouse. He shrugged. "I really didn't know him very well. Had only worked with him since July. So what more can I say, other than that he poked his curiosity into one dark hole too many."
The wagon, pulled by two sway-backed horses that seemed to move only with the slow but dignified agony of age, had just left the stable in Westerwicke. The town stood along the Philadelphia Pike, some thirty miles from New York; it was a small but well-groomed place, with two churches, houses of wood and brick and beyond them farmfields and orchards carved from the New Jersey forests. a farmer selling pumpkins from a cart waved, and Greathouse waved back.
"Yes," Greathouse said, looking up at the clouds that sailed like huge white ships across the morning sky, "too bad about Matthew, that his life was cut so short due to the fact he had neither sense nor bodyguard to protect him." He cut his gaze sideways, at the driver. "Would that have been a good enough speech at your funerali"
"I have already admitted," Matthew spoke up, as he flicked the reins to urge a little more speed to horses that only hung their heads lower as if to beg for mercy, "that I should not have gone in that tunnel alone." He felt heat in his cheeks. "How long are you going to play this tunei"
"Until you realize you're not ready to go off risking your life foolishly. and for whati To prove a pointi That you're so much smarter than everyone elsei"
"It's awfully early for this." In fact, it was not much after six o'clock. Matthew was tired and cranky and wished he were anywhere on earth but sitting in this wagon beside Greathouse. By God, he'd even take the tunnel again. at least it had been quiet in there. He now knew the real meaning of torture; it was having to share a room with Greathouse at The Constant Friend tavern, as had been done last night in Westerwicke because the other two rooms were taken, and not being able to get to sleep before a snoring began that started like a cannon's boom and ended like a cat's squall. Long past midnight, when at last Matthew did slumber, Greathouse gave out a holler that almost made Matthew jump out of bed fearing for his life, but not even the subsequent angry knocking on the wall of the next room's occupant brought Greathouse up from his netherworld. More galling, the great one would not let this incident of the tunnel go. Danger this, and danger that, and what might have happened if it had not been a tunnel that led under the estate to the river, but instead to a cave where he could have gotten lost in the dark and been wandering until he had a beard down to his boots. What then, Mr. Corbetti Do speak a little louder, I can't hear you.
"You're right," said Greathouse after a brief reflection, which served only to make Matthew expect another volley was being loaded. "It is early. Have a drink." He passed over a leather flask of brandy, at which he'd already been nipping since the first threads of sunrise. Matthew took it and swallowed enough to make his eyes swim and his throat burn, and then he returned it to its owner. Greathouse corked it and slid it under the plank seat, next to the pistol. "Maybe I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. But I'm me, and I have experience at such things. Didn't you think to tie a rope to something to find your way back byi"
"It would have been a very long rope." Very long indeed. The tunnel, a natural feature of the Chapel estate, had been in Matthew's estimation almost a quarter-mile long. at one point it had descended at an alarming angle but by then Matthew could see light ahead. It had emerged from the riverside cliffs among boulders, and a path could be negotiated to the nearest woods. He surmised that not all the members of Chapel's little party had been privy to knowing about the escape route, but that was how those particular four had gotten out.
"I don't think I'm so much smarter than everyone else," Matthew answered, to one of Greathouse's more stinging barbs.
"Sure you do. It's part of your charm. Oh, my back aches! That bed should've been arrested for attempted murder."
"You seemed to be sleeping well enough, for the most part."
"an illusion. I had a particularly bad dream."
"Reallyi Did you happen to be dreaming about a war between cannons and catsi"
"Whati" Greathouse scowled. "No. It's this damned job. I don't like it."
"You were dreaming about the jobi"
"No. I had a dream about now, this sounds ridiculous, I know." Greathouse hesitated, reached for the flask again and held it at the ready. "I had a dream about that damned tooth."
"The tooth," Matthew repeated.
"You know. McCaggers' tooth. What he showed us. all that jabber about God and Job and monsters and " The cork was pulled out and another swig of brandy went down Greathouse's throat. "all that," he said, when he'd finished.
Matthew waited, certain there would be more. He flicked the reins again, but it didn't speed the old horses a single hoof. Still, their destination was not very far ahead. The doctors, Ramsendell and Hulzen, would be expecting them at the Publick Hospital.
"I dreamed," Greathouse said, after taking a long breath as if to get his brain started again, "that I saw the monster the tooth came from. It was as big as a house, Matthew. No, bigger. as big as Trinity Church, or City Hall. Bigger yet. Its skin looked to be like black iron, still smoking from the bellows furnace. Its head was as big as a coach, and it looked at me, Matthew. Right at me. It was hungry, and it was coming for me, and I started to run." a crazed grin erupted across his face. "Ridiculous, isn't iti"
Matthew made a noise, but kept his eyes on the road as long as Greathouse looked at him.
"It came for me," Greathouse went on. "Like a terrible wind. Or a force of nature. I was running across a field where there were dead men lying. Or pieces of men. There was nowhere to hide, and I knew the monster was going to get me. I knew it, and there was nothing I could do. It was going to get me, with those teeth. a mouthful of them, Matthew. By the hundreds. It was so huge, and so fast. It was coming up behind me, and I felt its breath on my neck and then "
Greathouse said nothing else. at last, Matthew asked, "You diedi"
"I must have woken up. I don't remember. Maybe I did die, in the dream. I don't know. But I'll tell you what I do know." He started to take another drink and then thought better of it, for there was the job to be done today. "I had almost forgotten what fear is. Not being frightened, that's one thing. I mean, fear. What you know you don't have a chance against. That's what I felt, in the dream. and all because of that damned tooth."
"Your eel pie last night might have something to do with it. I told you it didn't smell very fresh."
"Wasn't that. all right, maybe a little. My stomach did pitch and tumble a bit. But it's this job, too. If the money wasn't so good, I would've told Lillehorne to find someone else. Surely a couple of constables would have done just as well."
"The doctors asked for us specifically," Matthew reminded him. "and who else would've comei Dippen Nacki Giles Wintergarteni I don't think so."
"The doctors." Greathouse gave a fierce tug at his brown woolen cap. "You know what I think of them, and their asylum. I suppose you're still visiting the ladyi"
"I am. and she is getting better. at least she knows her own name now, and she's beginning to understand her circumstances."
"Good for her, but that doesn't change what I think of housing a bunch of lunatics out here in the woods." The wagon, as slow as it was, had left Westerwicke behind and was now moving along the forest road, which was still the Philadelphia Pike and would be called so all the forty-odd miles to that city. Up ahead, little more than a quarter mile on the right, would be the turnoff to the hospital. The sun was strengthening, casting yellow and red tendrils through the trees. Birds were singing and the air was crisp; it was a very lovely morning, save for some dark clouds to the west. "What a man must do for gold," Greathouse said, almost to himself.
Matthew didn't reply. What a man must do, indeed. He had already worked out a plan for his riches. Over the course of time he would take a few coins to Philadelphia by packet boat, and there buy some items so as to break the five-pound pieces into smaller change. He was even thinking of coming up with a new identity for himself, for his Philadelphia visits. It wouldn't do for anyone in New York to know of his sudden wealth; besides, it was no one's business but his own. He'd almost perished on that estate. Did he not deserve some reward for all he'd gone throughi For now, the money was hidden in his house-not that anyone was going to get through the lock on his door, but he felt easier knowing all those gold pieces were tucked into the straw of his mattress.
Today was Wednesday. Yesterday morning, a young messenger had arrived at Number Seven Stone Street with a summons for Matthew and Greathouse to make haste to Gardner Lillehorne's office at City Hall, for the high constable had urgent business. Greathouse's reply was that neither one of them could be called like cattle from a pasture, and that if Lillehorne wished to conduct business it would be at Number Seven.
"I think you're pushing your luck with Lillehorne," Matthew had said after the messenger was gone. He picked up a broom and began to sweep the floor, as it was his usual task and-newfound riches or not-he at least wished to keep clean the area around his own desk.
"Do youi and what is he going to do to me for standing up to himi"
"He has his methods. and his connections." Matthew swept the dust into a wooden tray, which he would later dump out the pair of windows that afforded a view of New York to the northwest, and beyond the wide river, brown cliffs and golden hills of New Jersey. "You were very cavalier to him that night at the Cock'a'tail. I'm still amazed we didn't end up in the gaol, because after all was said and done we were breaking the law."
"Course we were. But don't fret about it. Lillehorne's not going to do anything to either one of us. Certainly not put me where I can't be useful ."
"Can't be usefuli" Matthew stopped his sweeping and looked at Greathouse, who was leaning back in his chair with his big boots-dusty boots, too-propped up on his desk. "Meaning whati" He had a flash of insight when Greathouse just tapped his forefinger against his chin. I have an errand to run, Greathouse had said on Friday morning, there on Nassau Street. "You're working on something for him."
"I am."
"Something for him as high constablei Or something as an ordinary citizeni"
"a citizen, the same as any man off the street might have come up to me at Sally almond's a week ago Monday, offered to buy me breakfast, and then asked me to consider doing him a favor. I told him favors cost money, and the larger the favor the larger the sum. We made an agreement for a favor of moderate size, and there you have it."
"and what exactly was the favori"
"Is the favor," Greathouse corrected. "a work in progress, with no answer just yet." He frowned. "Why exactly should I be telling you, anywayi You didn't tell me you were riding up to the Chapel estate, did youi No, you didn't care to share with me what might have been your last trip on earth. Well, I'll tell you what! When Lillehorne gets here, you can tell him all about the tunnel. Or are you saving the story for Marmaduke and the next Earwigi"
"I didn't go for that reason."
Greathouse wore a steely glare. "are you absolutely sure of thati"
Matthew was about to reply in the positive, but the bottom fell out of his resolve. Was he absolutely surei Had he indeed been thinking of telling Marmaduke, so as to be the centerpiece of another storyi No, of course not! But maybe just a little biti He stood with motes of dust shimmering in the air around him. Was it true that maybe just a little bit he was no longer content to be only Matthew Corbett, magistrate's clerk become problem-solver, but wished the company of both wealth and attentioni It seemed to him that attention could become as potent a drink as Skelly's apple brandy, and make one just as insensible. It seemed to him that one could be overcome by it, and without it would become as weak-willed and desperate as any half-penny drunkard. Was that part of why he'd ridden to the estatei No. absolutely not.
But a few days ago he might have thought that if he'd ever found a bagful of gold coins, he would have first and foremost told whoi Berryi She had also shared the ordeal; should she not share the rewardi No, no; it was complicated. Very complicated, and he would have to consider this subject again when he had a clearer head, and anyway this dust in the air was about to make him sneeze.
"I regret telling you," he said to Greathouse, in a voice as steely as the other man's glare continued to be.
"Why did you, theni'
Matthew almost told him. That maybe he'd gone into the tunnel to prove his courage, once and for all; or that he'd simply thought Greathouse would approve of his decision to go forward, and trust in his instincts. But the moment came and went and Matthew did not say any of this; instead, he said, "Because I wanted you to know I don't need a bodyguard."
"Your opinion. all I know is, Zed could help us both, if he could be taught correctly. It's a damned waste for that man to be hauling ship timbers for the rest of his life." He waved a dismissive hand at Matthew. "Now don't get me started on that, I'll have to go out and get a drink."
Matthew returned to his sweeping, thinking that it was best to let some secrets lie undisturbed.
Less than a half-hour later, Gardner Lillehorne had arrived like a burst of sunlight in his yellow suit and stockings, his yellow tricorn adorned with a small blue feather. His disposition was rather more stormy, however, and as he marched up to Greathouse's desk his face bore the scowl of a particularly dark cloud. He placed a brown envelope sealed with gray wax before Greathouse. "You're required for an official task," he said, and cast a quick glance at Matthew. "The both of you."
"What official taski" Greathouse picked up the envelope, inspected the seal, and started to open it.
Lillehorne put his black-lacquered cane against Greathouse's hand. "The envelope is to remain sealed," he said, "until you pick up the prisoner. When you take possession of him, you are to read the contents to both him and the witnesses, as a formality of official " He cast about for a word. "Possession."
"You'd best rein in your runaways," Greathouse cautioned, and moved the cane aside. "What prisoneri and where is hei"
"The messenger from those two doctors said you would know. He came to my office yesterday afternoon. I have a wagon ready for you at Winekoop's stable. It's the best I can offer. The irons are ready, in the wagon. Here's the key." He reached into a pocket of that blazing and slightly-nauseating suit jacket and brought out the item, which he also placed on the desk in front of Greathouse.
"The two doctorsi" Greathouse looked at Matthew. "Do you have any idea what he's going on abouti"
Matthew did, but before he could say so Lillehorne went on, as if eager to be done with the responsibility. "Ramsendell and Hulzen, at the New Jersey Colony's Publick Hospital for the Mentally Infirm. Near Westerwicke. You know it, of course. The order for removal has come. a constable representing the Crown will be arriving on the Endurance at the end of this month to take him into custody. I want the prisoner's boots on the next ship leaving for England, and good riddance to him."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Greathouse stood up, the envelope in hand. "are you talking about that lunatic we saw in the window down therei That what was his name, Matthewi"
"His name is Tyranthus Slaughter," Lillehorne answered. "Wanted for murder, robbery and other crimes, all laid out in the article of possession. The messenger said the doctors had already mentioned to the both of you the fact that Slaughter would be transferred from the hospital to the New York gaol, to await the Crown's constable. Well, the time's come."
Matthew recalled the first occasion he and Greathouse had gone to the Westerwicke hospital, during the investigation of the Queen of Bedlam. The two doctors who ran the place had introduced them to an inmate behind one of the barred windows. Sent to us almost a year ago from the Quaker institution in Philadelphia. The Quakers have found out he was a barber in London and he may have been involved with a dozen murders. We're expecting a letter in the autumn instructing us to take him to the New York gaol to wait for ship transfer to England. You know, if this business goes well with the Queen, you gentlemen might consider our hiring you to escort Mr. Slaughter to New York.
Greathouse brought forth a fierce grin that Matthew thought was one of his more disturbing expressions, because it meant the man was considering violence. "are you out of your mindi You can't come in here and give orders!"
"You will see," said Lillehorne quietly, as he gazed about the office and his thin nostrils wrinkled with distaste, "that I'm not the person giving the orders. Don't you recognize Governor Lord Cornbury's seali"
Greathouse took another look at it and dropped the envelope onto his desk. "That doesn't mean anything to me."
"Your doctor friends received two letters, both from the Crown's constable. One told them to prepare the prisoner for removal. The other was to be presented to Lord Cornbury, directing him to have the man brought here and held in irons. Lord Cornbury has been told to use the best possible men at his disposal. That's at least what he informed me when he dumped the mess in my lap. You two were specifically requested by Ramsendell and Hulzen. So here you are."
"We're a private concern," Greathouse said, with a thrust of his chin. "We don't work for the city, or the New Jersey colony. Certainly not for Lord Cornbury!"
"ah, yes. The matter of who you do work for." Lillehorne reached into a pocket and brought out a small brown bag tied with a leather cord. He shook it, so that the coins might jingle. "Mister Three-Pounds. Have you made his acquaintance latelyi"
Matthew kept his mouth closed.
"There are official transfer papers in that envelope," Lillehorne went on. "They require the signatures of both yourselves and the two doctors. Upon your acceptance of the prisoner, the doctors have agreed to pay you an additional two pounds. Can you do the mathematics, siri"
Greathouse snorted. "They must want to get rid of him very badly." He paused, regarding the bag of coins with a hungry eye. "He must be dangerous. No, I'm not sure five pounds is enough." He shook his head. "Send some of your constables to get him. a half-dozen of them ought to do the job."
"My constables, as Mr. Corbett has pointed out before, are not fully suited to more demanding tasks. after all, are you not so proud to be the professionalsi" He let that comment float in the air before he continued. "and you're laboring under the mistaken presumption that this is a request from Lord Cornbury. You might realize by now that he wishes to shall we say show himself able before his cousin, the Queen. I wish to show myself able before Lord Cornbury. and so it goes. You seei"
"Five pounds is not enough," Greathouse repeated, with some force behind it.
"For two days' worki My God, what are they paying you people these daysi" Lillehorne took note of the broom that stood in the corner. "a poor little office like this could be swept away with the rubbish. Lord Cornbury can put a lock on any door he chooses, Greathouse. If I were you-which I know I am not-I would gladly take this very generous amount and consider that Lord Cornbury can be useful to you, if you get on his good side."
"He has a good sidei"
"He can be managed. and if you do a favor for him, I'm sure he might someday do a favor for you."
"a favor," Greathouse said, and Matthew saw his eyes narrow in thought.
"Two days' work. If you could leave within the hour, you might make Westerwicke by nightfall." Lillehorne inspected the silver lion's-head that topped his cane. "You won't be gone long enough to um miss any opportunities for further business." a reference, Matthew assumed, to the mysterious work that Greathouse was doing for his latest client.
It was another moment before Greathouse returned from his mental wanderings. He said, "I don't like the idea of going back there. To that hospital, with all those lunatics. What do you say, Matthewi" What could he sayi Therefore he kept silent and shrugged. "You could use the money, I know. Maybe I could use a little goodwill from Cornbury. Tell me, Lillehorne: have you ever seen him wearing a man's clothesi"
"I have. Unfortunately, in them he is equally as unfortunate."
Greathouse nodded, and then he said, "The irons."
"Pardoni"
"The irons had better not have any rusted links."
They didn't. The sturdy cuffs and chains were now in a burlap bag in the back of the wagon. Matthew turned the horses onto the branch road leading off the Philadelphia Pike and through a grove of trees. The three buildings of the Publick Hospital stood just ahead.
It was a quiet place, with birds singing in the trees and a soft wind whispering. Still, Greathouse shifted uneasily on the seat and kept his eyes averted from the buildings, as if not wishing to think about what went on behind the walls. The second and largest building, made of rough stones and resembling a grainhouse or meeting-hall, held all the inmates except for a few who resided in the third structure, which was a white-painted house that faced a garden. Some of the second building's windows were shuttered and some were open but barred, and a few faces peered out at the wagon's approach. The pastoral quiet was broken when someone in there started hollering and a second, more shrill voice, joined the commotion.
"We must be here," Greathouse said dryly, working his hands together. Matthew knew from past experience that this place-even though it was run efficiently and in a humane manner by the two doctors-made Greathouse as jumpy as a cat on a carpet of razors.
Matthew pulled the team up in front of the first building, which was painted white and appeared to be simply a normal house. as Matthew climbed down to let the horses drink from a nearby trough, the first building's door opened and a stocky man in a dark brown suit and waistcoat emerged. He lifted his hand in greeting, at the same time removing the clay pipe that was clenched between his teeth.
"Greetings, gentlemen," said Dr. Curtis Hulzen. He had gray hair and spectacles perched on a hooked nose. "It seems the day has arrived."
Greathouse muttered something, but Matthew couldn't hear what he said and wasn't sure he wanted to.
"Jacob!" Hulzen called into the house, and a man in gray clothes and a brown leather waistcoat came out. "Will you go fetch Dr. Ramsendell, pleasei and tell him the escorts are herei"
"Sir," answered Jacob, with a quick nod, and he strode along a well-worn pathway toward Matthew, who had met this particular patient on his first visit here. Jacob suddenly stopped right in front of the horse trough and said to Matthew in a mangled voice, "Have you come to take me homei" The left side of Jacob's temple was crushed inward, and an old jagged scar began at his right cheek and continued up across a concave patch on his scalp where the hair no longer grew. His eyes were bright and glassy, and fixed upon Matthew with pitiful hope. a sawmill accident had done this, Ramsendell had told Matthew, and Jacob could never again live "out there", as the doctor had put it, with his wife and two children.
When he realized Hulzen wasn't going to intercede for him, Matthew said as kindly as he could, "No, I'm afraid not."
Jacob shrugged, as if this news was expected, but perhaps there was a glint of pain in the eyes. "It's all right," he said, with a crooked grin. "I hear music in my head." Then he continued along the path toward the second building, brought a ring of keys from within his waistcoat, unlocked the big wooden slab of a door and disappeared inside.
"You're liberal with your keys around here," Greathouse remarked, as he stepped down from the wagon. "I wouldn't be surprised if all your lunatics got out into the woods someday, and then what would you doi"
"Bring them back." Hulzen had returned the pipe to his mouth and blew smoke in Greathouse's direction, as those two had had their verbal clashes before. "The ones that ran away, which would be few. You don't seem to realize that most of our patients are like children."
Greathouse produced the sealed envelope from within his tan-colored coat and held it aloft. "This tells me at least one of them isn't too child-like. We're supposed to have you sign some papers."
"Come in, then."
Matthew tied the horses to a hitching-post, put down the brake and followed Hulzen and Greathouse into the first building, which was the doctors' office and consultation area. Inside, there were two desks, a larger conference table with six chairs, a file cabinet, shelves full of books and on the floor a dark green woven rug. Hulzen closed the front door and motioned them to the table, where there was a quill pen and an inkpot. another door at the back led to what Matthew had noted on his initial visit was an examination room and a place where drugs or medical instruments were stored.
"The papers," Hulzen said, and Greathouse broke Lord Cornbury's seal. Within the envelope was a trio of official parchment documents like the ones Matthew had seen every day during his duties as clerk for Magistrate Nathaniel Powers. Greathouse found the document and its copy that each needed four signatures, Hulzen briefly looked them over and then signed and Matthew added his signatures. Greathouse dipped the quill and was delivering his name on the copy as the front door suddenly opened, and when Greathouse's hand involuntarily jumped his signature became a scrawl.
The patient-soon to be prisoner, with the adding of one more name-sauntered into the room, followed by Dr. David Ramsendell and, at a distance, Jacob.
Matthew thought the room had suddenly turned cold.
"Hm!" said the new arrival, with chilly disdain. He was staring at the transfer papers, and specifically at the three names written thereon. "Signing me over like a common criminal, are youi The shame of it!"
Greathouse looked up into the man's face, his own expression as solid as a gravestone. "You are a common criminal, Slaughter."
"Oh, no, sir," came the reply, with the hint of a smile and a slight, mocking bow. His hands were clasped before him, his wrists bound together with leather cuffs secured by a padlock. "There is nothing common about me, sir. and I would appreciate that you show me due respect, and from now on refer to me as a refined gentleman ought to: Mister Slaughter."
No one laughed. No one except Slaughter himself, who looked from Greathouse to Matthew with his pale blue eyes and began a slow, deep laughter in his throat that beat like a funeral bell.