Part 57 (1/2)

Matthew thought Green might go down, for he staggered as if from a mighty blow. When he turned his head to look at Matthew, his eyes seemed to have shrunken and retreated in his face. He spoke in a very small voice, ”I shall... I shall guard the door from the outside.” So saying, he was gone like a shot.

Smythe had also seen the b.l.o.o.d.y writing. His mouth opened, but he made not a sound. Then he lowered his head and followed Green out the door with similar haste.

Now the die was well and truly cast. Alone in the house with the deadly departed, Matthew knew this was the funeral bell for Fount Royal. Once word got out about that declaration on the door-and it was probably beginning its circuit of tongues right now, starting with Green-the town wouldn't be worth a cup of cold drool.

He avoided looking at Lancaster's face, which had not only been severely clawed but had become misshapen from such injury. He knelt down and continued his search for the brooch and book, this time using a cloth to move aside blood-spattered wreckage. Presently a wooden box caught his attention, and he lifted its lid to find within the tools of the ratcatcher's trade: the odious long brown seedbag that had served to hold rodent carca.s.ses, the stained deerskin gloves, the cowhide bag, and various wooden jars and vials of-presumably-rat bait. Also in the box was the single blade-wiped clean and s.h.i.+ning-that had been secured to the end of the ratcatcher's sticker.

Matthew lifted his gaze from the box and looked around the room. Where was the sticker itself? And-most importantly- where was that fearsome appliance with the five curved blades that Hazelton had fas.h.i.+oned?

Nowhere to be seen.

Matthew opened the cowhide bag, and in doing so noted two drops and a smear of dried blood near its already-loosened drawstring. The bag was empty.

To be such a cleanliness fanatic, why would Lancaster have not wiped the rodent blood from the side of this bag before putting it back into the wooden box? And why was the five-bladed appliance-that ”useful device” as Lancaster had called it-not here with the other utensils?

Now Matthew did force himself to look at Lancaster's face, and the claw marks upon it. With a mind detached from his revulsion he studied the vicious slas.h.i.+ngs on the corpse's shoulders, arms, and chest.

He knew.

In perhaps another fifteen minutes, during which Matthew searched without success for the appliance, the door opened again-tentatively, this time-and the master of Fount Royal peered in with eyes the size of teacup saucers. ”What... what has happened here?” he gasped.

”Mr. Smythe and I found this scene. Lancaster has left us, ” Matthew said.

”You mean... Linch.”

”No. He was never truly Gwinett Linch. His name is- was-Jonathan Lancaster. Please come in.”

”Must I?”

”I think you should. And please close the door.”

Bidwell entered, wearing his bright blue suit. The look of sickness contorted his face. He did close the door, but he remained pressed firmly against it.

”You ought to see what you're pressing against, ” Matthew said.

Bidwell looked at the door, and like Green he staggered and almost fell. His jerking away from it made him step into the b.l.o.o.d.y mess on the floor and for a dangerous instant he balanced on the precipice of falling alongside the corpse. His fight against gravity was amazing for a man of his size, and with sheer power of determination-and more than a little abject, breeches-wetting terror-he righted himself.

”Oh my Jesus, ” he said, and he took off both his bright blue tricorn and his gray curled wig and mopped his sandy pate with a handkerchief. ”Oh dear G.o.d... we're doomed now, aren't we?”

”Steady yourself, ” Matthew instructed. ”This was done by a human hand, not a spectral one.”

”A human hand? Are you out of your mind? Only Satan himself could have done this!” He pushed the handkerchief to his nose to filter the blood smell. ”It's the same as was done to the reverend and Daniel Howarth! Exactly the same!”

”Which should tell you the same man committed all three murders. In this case, though, I think there was a falling out of compatriots.”

”What are you running off at the lips about now?” Bidwell's sickness had receded and anger was beginning to flood into its mold. ”Look at that on the door! That's a message from the d.a.m.ned Devil! Good Christ, my town will be dust and maggots before sunset! Oh!” It was a wounded, terrible cry, and his eyes appeared near bursting out. ”If the witch is not alone... then who might the other witches and warlocks be?”

”Shut up that yammering and listen to me!” Matthew advanced upon Bidwell until they stood face to sweating face. ”You'll do yourself and Fount Royal no good to fall to pieces! If your town needs anything now, it's a true leader, not a bullier or a weeper!”

”How... how dare you...”

”Put aside your bruised dignity, sir. Just stand there and listen. I am as confounded about this as you, because I thought Linch-Lancaster-was alone in his crimes. Obviously-and stupidly-I was wrong. Lancaster and his killer were working together to paint Rachel as a witch and destroy your town.”

”Boy, your love for that witch will put you burning at her side!” Bidwell shouted, his face bright red and the veins pulsing at his temples. He looked to be courting an explosion that would blow off the top of his head. ”If you wish to go to h.e.l.l with her, I can arrange it!”

”This was written on the door, ” Matthew said coldly, ”by a human hand determined to finish Fount Royal at one fell swoop. The same hand that cut Lancaster's throat and-when he was dead or dying-used the ratcatcher's own five-bladed device to strike him repeatedly, thereby giving the impression of a beast's claws. That device was also used to inflict similar wounds on Reverend Grove and Daniel Howarth.”

”Yes, yes, yes! It's all as you say, isn't it? Everything is as you say!”

”Most everything, ” Matthew answered.

”Well, you didn't even see those other bodies, so how can you know? And what nonsense is this about some kind of five-bladed device?”

”You've never seen it? Then again, I doubt you would have. Seth Hazelton forged it for the use-he thought-of killing rats. Actually, it was probably planned for its current use all along.”

”You're mad! Absolutely roaring mad!”

”I am neither mad, ” Matthew said, ”nor roaring, as you are. To prove my sanity, I will ask Mr. Smythe to go to your house and explain to you Lancaster's true ident.i.ty as he explained it to me. I think you'll find it worth your while.”

”Really?” Bidwell sneered. ”If that's the case, you'd best go find him! When my carriage pa.s.sed their camp, the actors were packing their wagons!”

Now a true spear of terror pierced Matthew's heart. ”What?”

”That's right! They were in a fever to do it, too, and now I know why! I'm sure there's nothing like finding a Satan-mauled corpse and a b.l.o.o.d.y message from h.e.l.l to put one in mind for a merry play!”

”No! They can't leave yet!” Matthew was out the door faster even than Green's pistol-ball exit. Straightaway his progress was blocked by the seven or eight persons who stood just outside, including Green himself. Then he had to negotiate a half-dozen more citizens who dawdled between the house and Industry Street. He saw Goode sitting in the driver's seat of Bidwell's carriage, but the horses faced west and getting them turned east would take too long. He set off toward the maskers' camp, running so fast he lost his left shoe and had to forfeit precious time putting it back on.

Matthew let loose a breath of relief when he reached the campsite and saw that, though the actors were indeed packing their trunks, costumes, featherboxes, and all the rest of their theatrical belongings, none of the horses had yet been hitched to a wagon. There was activity aplenty, however, and it was obvious to Matthew that Smythe's tale of what was discovered had put the fear of h.e.l.l's wrath into these people.

”Mr. Brightman!” Matthew called, seeing the man helping another thespian lift a trunk onto a wagon. He rushed over. ”It's urgent I speak with Mt. Smythe!”

”I'm sorry, Mr. Corbett. David is not to be spoken with.” Brightman looked past Matthew. ”Franklin! Help Charles fold up that tent!”

”I must, ” Matthew insisted.

”That's impossible, sir.” Brightman stalked off toward another area of the camp, and Matthew walked at his side. ”If you'll pardon me, I have much work to do. We plan on leaving as soon as we're packed.”

”You needn't leave. None of your troupe is in danger.”

”Mr. Corbett, when we discovered your... um... situation with the witch from a source in Charles Town, I myself was reluctant-extremely reluctant-to come here. But to be perfectly honest we had nowhere else to go. Mr. Bidwell is a very generous friend, therefore I was talked into making the trip.” Brightman stopped walking and turned to face Matthew. ”I regret my decision, young man. When David told me what had happened... and what he saw in that house... I immediately gave the order to break camp. I am not going to risk the lives of my troupe for any amount that Mr. Bidwell might put on our table. End of p.r.o.nouncement.” He began walking once more and boomed, ”Thomas! Make sure all the boots are in that box!”

”Mr. Brightman, please!” Matthew caught up with him again. ”I understand your decision to leave, but... please... it is absolutely urgent that I speak to Mr. Smythe. I need for him to tell Mr. Bidwell about-”

”Young man, ” Brightman said with an exasperated air as he halted abruptly. ”I am trying to be as pleasant as possible under the circ.u.mstances. We must-I repeat must-get on the road within the hour. We'll not reach Charles Town before dark, but I wish to get there before midnight.”

”Would it not be better to stay the night here, and leave in the morning?” Matthew asked. ”I can a.s.sure you that-”

”I think neither you nor Mr. Bidwell can a.s.sure us of anything. Including the a.s.surance that we'll all be alive in the morning. No. I thought you had only one witch here, and that was bad enough; but to have an unknown number, and the rest of them lurking about ready and eager to commit murder for their master... no, I can't risk such a thing.”

”All right, then, ” Matthew said. ”But can't I request that Mr. Smythe speak to Mr. Bidwell? It would only take a few minutes and it would-”