Part 39 (1/2)

When Matthew reached the barn, he lifted the locking timber and pulled the door open just enough for him to squeeze through. The two horses within rumbled uneasily at his presence as he followed the glow of his lantern. He went directly to the area where he remembered finding the sack, put the lamp down on the ground, and then started searching through the straw. Nothing there but straw and more straw. Of course Hazelton had moved the sack, had dragged it to some other location either inside the barn or perhaps inside his house. Matthew stood up, went to another pile of straw on his right, and searched there, but again there was nothing. He continued his explorations to the very back of the barn, where the straw was piled up in copious mounds along with an ample supply of horse apples. Matthew thrust his hands into the malodorous piles, his fingers questing for the rough burlap without success.

At last he realized it was time to go, as he'd already been here longer than was sensible. The sack, if indeed it remained in the straw, was not to be found this night. So much for his opportunity of discovery!

He stood up from his knees, picked up the lantern, and started for the door. As he reached it, something-an instinct of caution perhaps, or a stirring of the hairs on the back of his neck-made him pause to blow down the lantern's chimney and extinguish the candle since he no longer needed the incriminating light.

Which turned out to be a blessing of fortune, because as Matthew prepared to leave the barn he saw a staggering figure approaching, so close he feared Hazelton would see him, roar with rage, and attack him with the jug. Matthew hung in the doorway, not knowing whether to run for it or retreat. He had only a few seconds to make his decision. Hazelton was coming right at him, the blacksmith's head lowered and his legs loose at the knees.

Matthew retreated. He went all the way to the rear of the barn, where he sprawled flat and frantically dug both himself and the lantern into a mound of straw. But before he could do half a good job, the door was pulled open wider and there entered Hazelton's hulking dark figure.

”Who's in here?” Hazelton growled drunkenly. ”d.a.m.n your eyes, I'll kill you!” Matthew stopped his digging and lay very still, the breath catching in his lungs. ”I know you're in here! I closed that d.a.m.n door!” Matthew dared not move, though a piece of straw was fiercely tickling his upper lip.

”I closed it!” Hazelton said. ”I know I did!” He lifted the jug and Matthew heard him gulp a swallow. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, ”I did close it, didn't I, Lucy?”

Matthew realized he was addressing one of the horses. ”I think I did. John s.h.i.+ta.s.s, I think I'm drunk too!” He gave a harsh laugh. ”Drunk as a d.a.m.ned lord, that's what I am! What d'ya think of that, Lucy?” He staggered toward one of the horses in the dark, and Matthew heard him patting the animal's hindquarters.

”My sweet girl. Love you, yes I do.”

The noise of Hazelton's hand on horseflesh ceased. The blacksmith was silent, possibly listening for any sound of an intruder hiding in the bam. ”Anybody in here?” he asked, but the tone of his voice was uncertain. ”If you're here, you'd best get out 'fore I take a f.u.c.kin' axe to you!” Hazelton staggered back into Matthew's field of vision and stood at the center of the barn, his head c.o.c.ked to one side and the jug hanging loosely. ”I'll let you go!” he announced. ”Go on, get out!”

Matthew was tempted, but he feared that even drunk and unsteady the blacksmith would seize him before he reached the door. Better to just lie right here and wait for the man to leave.

Hazelton said nothing and did not move for what seemed a full minute. Finally the blacksmith lifted the jug to his lips and drank, and then upon reaching the bottom he reared back and flung the jug against the wall nearly square above Matthew's head. The jug whacked into the boards and fell, broken into five or six pieces, and the startled horses whinnied and jumped in their stalls.

”The h.e.l.l with it!” Hazelton shouted. He turned around and made his way out of the barn, leaving the door open.

Now Matthew was faced with a dangerous choice: should he get out while he could, risking the fact that Hazelton might be waiting for him out there just beyond the doorway, or should he lie just as he was? He decided it was best to remain in his p.r.o.ne position for a while longer, and indeed he took the opportunity to bury himself more completely in the straw.

Within a minute or two, Hazelton returned carrying a lighted lantern, though the gla.s.s was so dirty it hardly counted as illumination. The lantern was not so fearsome to Matthew as the short-handled hatchet Hazelton gripped in his right hand.

Matthew took a deep breath and let it out, trying to flatten himself even further under his covering of straw and horse apples. Hazelton started staggering around the barn, probing with the dim light, the hatchet held ready for a brain-cleaving blow. He gave the nearest strawpile a kick that might have broken Matthew's ribs. Then, muttering and cursing, Hazelton stomped the straw for good measure. He paused and lifted the lantern. Through the mask of hay that covered his face, Matthew saw the blacksmith's eyes glitter in the foul light and knew Hazelton was looking directly at his hiding place.

Don't move! Matthew cautioned himself. For G.o.d's sake, be still!

And the sake of his own skull, he might have added.

Hazelton came toward Matthew's refuge, his heavy boots crus.h.i.+ng down. Matthew realized with a start of terror that the man was going to step on him momentarily, and he braced himself to burst out of the straw. If he came up hollering and shrieking, he reasoned he might scare Hazelton into a retreat or at least might cause him to miss with the first swing of the hatchet.

He was ready. Two more steps, and the blacksmith would be upon him.

Then: crack!

Hazelton stopped his advance, the straw up around his knees. He reached down with his free hand, searching. Matthew knew what the noise had been. The lantern's gla.s.s had broken, the lantern lying perhaps eight inches from the fingertips of Matthew's right hand. Reflexively, Matthew closed his hand into a fist.

The blacksmith discovered what he'd stepped on. He held the lamp by its handle, lifting it up for inspection. There was a long, dreadful silence. Matthew clenched his teeth and waited, his endurance stretched to its boundary.

At last Hazelton grunted. ”Lucy, I found that d.a.m.n lantern!” he said. ”Was a good one, too! h.e.l.l's sufferin' bells!” He tossed it aside with a contemptuous gesture, and Matthew realized the man thought in his tipsied state that it was a lamp he had previously misplaced. If he'd been coherent enough to touch the pieces of broken gla.s.s, Hazelton might have found they were still warm. But the blacksmith thereafter turned and crunched back through the straw to the barn's bare earth, leaving Matthew to contemplate how near he'd come to disaster.

But-as was said-a miss was as good as a mile. Matthew began breathing easier, though he would not take a full breath until Hazelton had gone. Then another thought struck him, and it might well have been a hatchet to the head: if Hazelton went out and locked the door, he'd be trapped in here. It might be sunrise or later before Hazelton came to the barn again, and then Matthew would be forced to face him anyway! Better run for it while he was able, Matthew decided. But there was the problem of the straw. That which protected him would also hinder his flight.

Now, however, his attention was drawn to the blacksmith once more. Hazelton had hung the lantern up on a wallpeg beside the far stall, and he was speaking to the horse he seemed to favor. ”My fine Lucy!” he said, his voice slurred. ”My fine, beautiful girl! You love me, don't you? Yes, I know you do!” The blacksmith began to murmur and whisper to his horse, and though Matthew couldn't hear the words he was beginning to think this affection was rather more than that of a man for his mount.

Hazelton came back into sight. He thunked the hatchet's blade into the wall next to the door, and then he pulled the door shut. When he turned again, moisture glistened on his face; and his eyes-directed toward Lucy-seemed to have sunken into dark purple hollows.

”My good lady, ” Hazelton said, with a smile that could only be described as lecherous. A cold chill crept up Matthew's spine. He had an inkling now of what the blacksmith intended to do.

Hazelton went into Lucy's stall. ”Good Lucy, ” he said. ”My good and lovely Lucy. Come on! Easy, easy!”

Carefully, Matthew lifted his head to follow the blacksmith's movements. The light was dim and his view was restricted, but he could make out Hazelton turning the horse around in her stall so her hindquarters faced the door. Then Hazelton, still speaking ” quietly though drunkenly to Lucy, eased her forward and guided her head and neck into a wooden collar-like apparatus that was meant to hold horses still as they were being shod. He latched the collar shut, and thus the horse was securely held. ”Good girl, ” he said. ”That's my lovely lady!” He went to a corner of the stall and began to dig into a pile of hay provided for Lucy to eat. Matthew saw him reach down for something and pull it out. Whether it was the grainsack or not, Matthew couldn't tell, but he presumed it was at least what might have been secreted inside the sack.

Hazelton came out of the stall carrying what appeared to be an elaborate harness made out of smoothed cow's hide. The blacksmith staggered and almost fell under its bulk, but it seemed that his fevered intent had given him strength. The harness had iron rings attached to both ends: the two circles Matthew had felt through the burlap. Hazelton fixed one of the rings around a peg on the wall, and the second ring was fixed to a peg on a nearby beam so that the harness was stretched to its full width at the entrance to Lucy's stall.

Matthew realized what Hazelton had devised. He recalled Gwinett Linch saying about the smithy: He's an inventor, once he puts his mind to a task. It was not Hazelton's mind, however, that was about to be put to work.

At the center of the harness-like creation was a seat formed of leather lattice. The pegs had been placed so the iron rings could stretch the harness and lift the seat up until whoever sat in it would be several feet off the ground and positioned just under Lucy's tail.

”Good Lucy, ” Hazelton crooned, as he dropped his breeches and pulled them off over his boots. ”My good and beautiful girl.” His b.u.m naked and his spike raised, Hazelton brought over a small barrel that appeared to be empty, from the ease with which he handled it. He stepped up onto the barrel, swung his behind into the leather seat and lifted the horse's tail, which had begun flopping back and forth in what might have been eager antic.i.p.ation.

”Ahhhhh!” Hazelton had eased his member into Lucy's channel. ”There's a sweet girl!” His fleshy hips began to buck back and forth, his eyes closed and his face florid.

Matthew remembered something Mrs. Nettles had said, concerning the blacksmith's deceased wife: I happ'n to know that he treated Sophie like a three-legged horse 'fore she died. It was very clear, from the noises of pa.s.sion he was making, that Hazelton much preferred horses of the four-legged variety.

Matthew also knew now why Hazelton had so desired this apparatus of strange pleasure not to be discovered. In most of the colonies the sodomizing of animals was punishable by hanging; in a few, it was punishable by being drawn and quartered. It was a rare crime, but quite morally heinous. In fact, two years ago Woodward had sentenced to hanging a laborer who had committed b.u.g.g.e.ry with a chicken, a pig, and a mare. By law, the animals were also put to death and buried in the same grave with their human offender.

Matthew ceased watching this loathsome spectacle and stared instead at the ground beneath him. He could not, however, voluntarily cease from hearing Hazelton's exhortations of pa.s.sion for his equine paramour.

At last-an interminable time-the barnyard lothario groaned and shuddered, indicating the climax of his copulation. Lucy, too, gave a snort but hers seemed to be more relief that her stud was done. Hazelton lay forward against the horse's hind and began to speak to Lucy with such lover's familiarity that Matthew blushed to the roots of his hair. Such speech would be indecent between a man and his maid, but was absolutely shameless between a man and his mare. Obviously, the blacksmith had banged one too many horseshoes over a red-hot forge.

Hazelton didn't try to remove himself from the harness. His voice was becoming quieter and more slurred. Shortly thereafter, he stopped speaking entirely and began to offer a snore and whistle to his object of affection.

Just as Matthew had recognized an opportunity to enter the barn, now he recognized an opportunity to depart it. He began to slowly push himself out of the straw, mindful that he not suffer a cut from the lantern's broken gla.s.s. Hazelton's snoring continued at its regularity and volume, and Lucy seemed content to stand there with her master in repose against her hindquarters. Matthew eased up to a crouch, and then to a standing position. It occurred to him that even if Hazelton awakened and saw him, he couldn't free himself at once from the harness and would be quite reluctant to give chase. But Matthew wasn't above giving Hazelton something to think about, so he picked up the man's dirty breeches and took them with him when he walked unhurriedly to the door, pushed it open, and left the site of such immoral crime. In this case, he pitied not Hazelton but poor Lucy.

Matthew saw that the flames over on Truth Street had died down. He reckoned he'd entered the barn an hour or so ago, and thus most of the schoolhouse had by now been consumed. There would be much conjecture tomorrow about Satan's fiery hand. Matthew didn't doubt that daylight would see another wagon or two leaving Fount Royal.

He laid Hazelton's breeches out in the middle of Industry Street, after which he was glad to rinse his hands in a nearby horse trough. Then he set off on the walk to Bidwell's mansion, his curiosity concerning the hidden grainsack well and truly quenched.

As the hour was so late and the excitement of the fire worn off, the streets were deserted. Matthew saw a couple of houses where the lanterns were still lit-probably illuminating talk between husband and wife of when to quit the Satan-burnt town- but otherwise Fount Royal had settled again to sleep. He saw one elderly man sitting on a doorstep smoking a long clay pipe, a white dog sprawled beside him, and as Matthew neared him the old man said simply, ”Weather's breakin'.”

”Yes, sir, ” Matthew answered, keeping his stride. He looked up at the vast expanse of sky and saw now that the clouds had further dwindled, exposing a mult.i.tude of sparkling stars. The scythe of a pumpkin-colored moon had appeared. The air was still damp and cool, but the soft breeze carried the odor of pinewoods rather than stagnant swamp. Matthew thought that if the weather broke and held, the magistrate's health would surely benefit.

He'd decided not to inform Woodward of the blacksmith's activities. It might be his duty to report such a crime-which would surely lead to Hazelton's dance on the gallows-but the magistrate didn't need any further complications. Besides, the loss of a blacksmith would be a hard blow to Fount Royal. Matthew thought that sooner or later someone might discover Hazelton's bizarre interest and make an issue of it, but for his part he would keep his mouth shut.

Before he proceeded to the mansion and therefore to bed, Matthew approached the spring and stood beside an oak tree on its gra.s.sy bank. A chorus of frogs thrummed in the darkness, and a number of somethings-turtles, he presumed-plopped into the water off to his right. He saw the reflection of stars and moon on the surface, over which spread slow ripples.

How was it that turtles had Spanish gold and silver coins-as well as silverware and pottery shards-in their bellies? Matthew sat down on his haunches, plucked up some gra.s.s, and stared out across the ebon pond.

I have a gift for thee, Satan had said in his dream. have a gift for thee, Satan had said in his dream.