Part 67 (1/2)
”Ah, proof.” Now Matthew smiled slightly. ”Yes, doctor, proof is at the crux of things, is it not?”
”It certainly is! And what you've proven to me is that you're not only bewitched, but a bewitched fool! And for the sake of G.o.d, what's happened to you? Did you fight with a demon to gain the witch's favors?”
”Yes, doctor, and I slayed it. Now: if it is proof you require, I shall be glad to satisfy your thirst.” Matthew, for the fourth or fifth time, found himself absentmindedly scratching at the clay plaster that covered his broken ribs beneath the s.h.i.+rt. He had a small touch of fever and was sweating, but the Indian physician-through Nawpawpay-had this morning announced him fit to travel. Demon Slayer hadn't had to walk the distance, however; except for the last two miles, he'd been carried by his and Rachel's Indian guides on a ladder-like conveyance with a dais at its center. It had been quite the way to travel.
”It seems to me, ” Matthew said, ”that we have all-being learned and G.o.d-fearing men-come to the conclusion that a witch cannot speak the Lord's Prayer. I would venture that a warlock could neither speak it. Therefore: Mr. Winston, would you please speak the Lord's Prayer?”
Winston drew a long breath. He said, ”Of course. Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done...”
Matthew waited, staring into Winston's face, as the man perfectly recited the prayer. At the ”Amen, ” Matthew said, ”Thank you, ” and turned his attention to Bidwell.
”Sir, would you also please speak the Lord's Prayer?”
”Me?” Instantly some of the old accustomed indignation flared in Bidwell's eyes. ”Why should I I have to speak it?” have to speak it?”
”Because, ” Matthew said, ”I'm telling you to.”
”Telling me?” Bidwell made a flatulent noise with his lips. ”I won't speak such a personal thing just because someone orders me to!”
”Mr. Bidwell?” Matthew had clenched his teeth. This man, even as an ally, was insufferable! ”It is necessary.”
”I agreed to this meeting, but I didn't agree to recite such a powerful prayer to my G.o.d on demand, as if it were lines from a maskers' play! No, I shall not speak it! And I'm not a warlock for it, either!”
”Well, it appears you and Rachel Howarth share stubborn natures, does it not?” Matthew raised his eyebrows, but Bidwell didn't respond further. ”We shall return to you, then.”
”You may return to me a hundred times, and it won't matter!”
”Dr. s.h.i.+elds?” Matthew said. ”Would you please cooperate with me in this matter, as one of us refuses to do, and speak the Lord's Prayer?”
”Well... yes... I don't understand the point, but... all all right.” s.h.i.+elds ran the back of his hand across his mouth. During Winston's recitation he'd finished the rest of his drink, and now he looked into the empty gla.s.s and said, ”I have no more wine. Might I get a fresh gla.s.s?” right.” s.h.i.+elds ran the back of his hand across his mouth. During Winston's recitation he'd finished the rest of his drink, and now he looked into the empty gla.s.s and said, ”I have no more wine. Might I get a fresh gla.s.s?”
”After the prayer is spoken. Would you proceed?”
”Yes. All right.” The doctor blinked, his eyes appearing somewhat glazed in the ruddy candlelight. ”All right, ” he said again. Then: ”Our Father... who art in heaven... hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy... will be done... on earth as it is... is in heaven.” He stopped, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his sand-colored jacket and blotted moisture from his face. ”I'm sorry. It is warm in here. My wine... I do need a cooling drink.”
”Dr. s.h.i.+elds?” Matthew said quietly. ”Please continue.”
”I've spoken enough of it, haven't I? What madness is this?”
”Why can you not finish the prayer, doctor?”
”I can finish it! By Christ, I can!” s.h.i.+elds lifted his chin defiantly, but Matthew saw that his eyes were terrified. ”Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our... forgive us our trespa.s.ses... as we forgive those who... who trespa.s.s... trespa.s.s...” He pressed his hand to his lips and now he appeared to be distraught, even near weeping. He made a m.u.f.fled sound that might have been a moan.
”What is it, Ben?” Bidwell asked in alarm. ”For G.o.d's sake, tell us!” Dr. s.h.i.+elds lowered his head, removed his gla.s.ses, and wiped his damp forehead with the handkerchief. ”Yes, ” he answered in a frail voice. ”Yes. I should tell it... for the sake of G.o.d.”
”Shall I fetch you some water?” Winston offered, standing up. ”No.” s.h.i.+elds waved him down again. ”I... should... tell it, while I am able.”
”Tell what, Ben?” Bidwell glanced up at Matthew, who had an idea what was about to be revealed. ”Ben?” Bidwell prompted. ”Tell what?”
”That... it was I... who murdered Nicholas Paine.” Silence fell. Bidwell's jaw might have been as heavy as an anvil.
”I murdered him, ” the doctor went on, his head lowered. He dabbed at his forehead, cheeks, and eyes with small, birdlike movements. ”Executed him, I should say.” He shook his head slowly back and forth. ”No. That is a pallid excuse. I murdered him, and I deserve to answer to the law for it... because I can no longer answer to myself or G.o.d. And He asks me about it. Every day and night, He does. He whispers... Ben... now that it's done... at long last, now that it's done... and you have committed with your own hands the act that you most detest in this world... the act that makes men into beasts... how shall you go on living as a healer?”
”Have you... lost your mind?” Bidwell thought his friend was suffering a mental breakdown right before his eyes. ”What are you saying?”
s.h.i.+elds lifted his face. His eyes were swollen and red, his mouth slack. Saliva had gathered in the corners. ”Nicholas Paine was the highwayman who killed my elder son. Shot him... during a robbery on the Philadelphia Post Road, just outside Boston eight years ago. My boy lived long enough to describe the man... and also to say that he'd drawn a pistol and shot the highwayman through the calf of his leg.” s.h.i.+elds gave a bitter, ghastly smile. ”It was I who told him never to travel that road without a prepared pistol near at hand. In fact... it was my birthday gift to him. My boy was shot in the stomach, and... there was nothing to be done. But I... I went mad, I think. For a very long time.” He picked up the winegla.s.s, forgetting it was empty, and started to tip it to his mouth before he realized the futility of it.
s.h.i.+elds drew a long, shuddering breath and released it. All eyes were on him. ”Robert... you know what the officers in these colonies are like. Slow. Untrained. Stupid. I knew the man might lose himself, and I would never have the satisfaction... of doing to his father what he had done to me. So I set out. First... to find a doctor who might have treated him. It took a search through every rumhole and wh.o.r.ehouse in Boston... but I eventually found the doctor. The so-called doctor, a drunken slug who tended to the wh.o.r.es. He knew the man, and where he lived. He had also... recently buried the man's wife and baby daughter, the first who'd died of fits, and the second who'd perished soon after.”
s.h.i.+elds again wiped his face with the handkerchief, his hand trembling. ”I had no pity for Nicholas Paine. None. I simply... wanted to extinguish him, as he had extinguished something in my soul. So I began to track him. From place to place. Village to town to city, and back again. Always close, but never finding. Until I learned he had traded horses in Charles Town and had told the stable master his destination. And it took me eight years.” He looked into Bidwell's eyes. ”Do you know what I realized, the very hour after I killed him?”
Bidwell didn't reply. He couldn't speak.
”I realized... I had also killed myself, eight years ago. I had given up my practise, I had turned my back on my wife and my other son... who both needed me, then more than ever. I had forsaken them, to kill a man who in many ways was also already dead. And now that it was done... I felt no pride in it. No pride in anything anymore. But he was dead. He was bled like my heart had bled. And the most terrible thing... the most terrible, Robert... was that I think... Nicholas was not the same man who had pulled that trigger. I wanted him to be a coldhearted killer... but he was not that man at all. But me... I was the same man I had always been. Only much, much worse.”
The doctor closed his eyes and let his head roll back. ”I am prepared to pay my debt, ” he said softly. ”Whatever it may be. I am used up, Robert. All used up.”
”I disagree, sir, ” Matthew said. ”Your use is clear: to comfort Magistrate Woodward in these final hours.” It hurt him like a dagger to the throat to speak such, but it was true. The magistrate's health had collapsed the very morning of Matthew's departure, and it was terribly clear that the end would be soon. ”I'm sure we all appreciate your candor, and your feelings, but your duty as a doctor stands first before your obligation to the law, whatever Mr. Bidwell-as the mayor of this town-decides it to be.”
”What?” Bidwell, who had paled during this confession, now appeared shocked. ”You're leaving it up to me?”
”I'm not a judge, sir. I am-as you have reminded me so often and with such hot pepper-only a clerk.”
”Well, ” Bidwell breathed, ”I'll be d.a.m.ned.”
”d.a.m.nation and salvation are brothers separated only by direction of travel, ” Matthew said. ”When the time is right, I'm sure you'll know the proper road upon which to progress. Now: if we may continue?” He directed his attention to the schoolmaster. ”Mr. Johnstone, would you please speak the Lord's Prayer?”
Johnstone stared intently at him. ”May I ask what the purpose of this is, Matthew? Is it to suggest that one of us is a warlock, and that by failing to utter the prayer he is exposed as such?”
”You are on the right track, yes, sir.”
”That is absolutely ridiculous! Well, if you go by that faulty reasoning, Robert has already exposed himself!”
”I said I would go back to Mr. Bidwell, and offer him a chance at redemption. I am currently asking you to speak the prayer.”
Johnstone gave a harsh, scoffing laugh. ”Matthew, you know better than this! What kind of game are you playing?”
”I a.s.sure you, it's no game. Are you refusing to speak the prayer?”
”Would that then expose me as a warlock? Then you'd have two warlocks in a single room?” He shook his head, as if in pity for Matthew's mental slippage. ”Well, I shall relieve your burdensome worry, then.” He looked into Matthew's eyes. ”Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in-”
”Oh, one moment!” Matthew held up a finger and tapped his lower lip. ”In your case, Mr. Johnstone-your being an educated man of Oxford, I mean to say-you should speak the Lord's Prayer in the language of education, which would be Latin. Would you start again from the beginning, please?”
Silence.
They stared at each other, the clerk and the fox.
Matthew said, ”Oh, I understand. Perhaps you've forgotten your Latin training. But surely it should be easily refreshed, since Latin was such a vital part of your studies at Oxford. You must have been well versed in Latin, as the magistrate was, if only to obtain entrance to that hallowed university. So allow me to help: Pater noster: qui es in caelis; Sanctificetur nomen tuum; Adventiat reg-num tuum-well, you may finish what I've begun.”
Silence. Utter, deadly silence.