Part 68 (2/2)
”I ought to kill you!” Bidwell shouted, the veins standing out in his neck. ”Tear you to pieces myself, for what you've done!”
”The law will take care of him, sir, ” Matthew said. ”Now please... sit down and keep your dignity.”
Reluctantly, Bidwell returned to his chair and thumped down into it. He glowered straight ahead, ideas of vengeance still crackling like flames in his mind.
”Well, you should feel very pleased with yourself, ” Johnstone said to Matthew. He leaned his head back and sniffled. ”The hero of the day, and all that. Am I your stepping-stone to the judicial robes?”
Matthew realized Johnstone the manipulator was yet at work, trying to move him into a defensive position. ”The treasure, ” he said, ignoring the man's remark. ”How come you to know about it?”
”I believe my nose is broken.”
”The treasure, ” Matthew insisted. ”Now is not the time to play games.”
”Ah, the treasure! Yes, that.” He closed his eyes and sniffled blood again. ”Tell me, Matthew, have you ever set foot inside Newgate prison?”
”No.”
”Pray to G.o.d you never do.” Johnstone's eyes opened. ”I was there for one year, three months, and twenty-eight days, serving rest.i.tution for my debts. The prisoners have the run of the place. There are guards, yes, but they withdraw for their own throats. Everyone-debtors, thieves, drunks and lunatics, murderers, child f.u.c.kers and mother rapers... they're all thrown together, like animals in a pit, and... believe me... you do what you must to survive. You know why?”
He brought his head forward and grinned at Matthew, and when he did fresh crimson oozed from both nostrils. ”Because no one... no one... cares whether you live or die but yourself. Yourself, ” he hissed, and again that vulpine, cruel shadow pa.s.sed quickly across his face. He nodded, his tongue flicking out and tasting the blood that glistened in the candlelight. ”When they come at you-three or four at a time-and hold you down, it is not because they wish you well. I have seen men killed in such a fas.h.i.+on, battered until they are mortally torn inside. And still they go on, as the corpse is not yet cold. Still they go on. And you must-you must-sink to their level and join them if you wish to live another day. You must shout and shriek and howl like a beast, and strike and thrust... and want to kill... for if you show any weakness at all, they will turn upon you and it will be your broken corpse being thrown upon the garbage pile at first light.”
The fox leaned toward his captor, heedless now of his bleeding nose. ”Sewage runs right along the floor there. We knew it had rained outside, and how hard, when the sewage rose to our ankles. I saw two men fight to the death over a pack of playing cards. The fight ended when one drowned the other in that indescribable filth. Wouldn't that be a lovely way to end your life, Matthew? Drowned in human s.h.i.+t?”
”Is there a point to this recitation, sir?”
”Oh, indeed there is!” Johnstone grinned broadly, blood on his lips and the s.h.i.+ne of his eyes verging on madness. ”No words are vile enough, nor do they carry enough weight of b.e.s.t.i.a.lity, to describe Newgate prison, but I wished you to know the circ.u.mstances in which I found myself. The days were sufficiently horrible... but then came the nights! Oh, the joyous bliss of the darkness! I can feel it even now! Listen!” he whispered. ”Hear them? Starting to stir? Starting to crawl from their mattresses and stalk the night fantastic? Hear them? The creak of a bed-frame here-and one over there, as well! Oh, listen... someone weeps! Someone calls out for G.o.d... but it is always the Devil who answers.” Johnstone's savage grin faltered and slipped away.
”Even if it was so terrible a place, ” Matthew said, ”you still survived it.”
”Did I?” Johnstone asked, and let the question hang. He stood up, wincing as he put weight on his unbraced knee. He supported himself with his cane. ”I pay for wearing that d.a.m.n brace, you may be sure. Yes, I did live through Newgate prison, as I realized I might offer the a.s.sembled animals something to entertain them besides carnage. I might offer them plays. Or, rather, scenes from plays. I did all the parts, in different voices and dialects. What I didn't know I made up. They never knew the difference, nor did they care. They were particularly pleased at any scene that involved the disgrace or degradation of court officials, and as there are a pittance of those in our catalogue, I found myself concocting the scenes as I played them out. Suddenly I was a very popular man. A celebrity, among the rabble.”
Johnstone stood with the cane on the floor and both hands on the cane, and Matthew realized he had-as was his nature- again taken center stage before his audience. ”I came into the favor of a very large and very mean individual we called the Meatgrinder, as he... um... had used such a device to dispose of his wife's body. But-lo and behold!-he was a fan of the stagelamps! I was elevated to the prospect of command performances, and also found myself protected from the threat of harm.”
As Matthew had known he sooner or later would, Johnstone now swiveled his body so as to have a view of the other men in the room. Or rather, so they would have a full view of the thespian's expressions. ”Near the end of my term, ” Johnstone went on, ”I came into the acquaintance of a certain man. He was my age or therebouts, but looked very much older. He was sick, too. Coughing up blood. Well, needless to say a sick man in Newgate prison is like a warm piece of liver to wolves. It's an interesting thing to behold, actually. They beat him because he was an easy target, and also because they wanted him to go ahead and die lest they fall sick themselves. I tell you, you can learn quite a lot about the human condition at Newgate; you ought to put yourself there for a night and make a study of it.”
”I'm sure there are less dangerous universities, ” Matthew said.
”Yes, but none teaches as quickly as Newgate.” Johnstone flashed a sharp smile. ”And the lessons are very well learned. But: this man I was telling you about. He realized the Meatgrinder's power in our little community, yet the Meatgrinder was... well, he'd rather kill a man than smell his breath, shall we say. Therefore this sick and beaten individual asked me to intercede on his behalf, as a gentleman. He actually was quite educated himself. Had once been a dealer in antiques, in London. He asked me to intercede to save him further beatings or other indignities... in exchange for some very interesting information concerning a waterhole across the Atlantic.”
”Ah, ” Matthew said. ”He knew of the treasure.”
”Not only knew, he helped place the fortune there. He was a member of the crew. Oh, he told me all about it, in fascinating detail. Told me he'd never revealed it to a soul, because he was going to go back for it someday. Someday, he said. And I might be his partner and share it with him, if I would protect his life. Told me that the spring was forty feet deep, told me that the treasure had been lowered in wicker baskets and burlap bags... told enough to put a sea voyage in the mind of a poor starving ex-thespian who had no prospects, no family, and absolutely no belief in that straw poppet you call G.o.d.” Again, Johnstone displayed a knife-edged smile. ”This man... this crewman... said there'd been a storm at sea. The s.h.i.+p had been wrecked. He and five or six others survived, and reached an island. Pirates being as they are, I suppose stones and coconuts did the job of knives and pistols. At last, one man survived to light a fire for a pa.s.sing English frigate.” Johnstone shrugged. ”What did I have to lose to at least come look for myself? Oh... he had an inscribed gold pocket watch hidden in his mattress that he also gave to me. You see, that man's name was Alan Johnstone.”
”What's your name, then?” Bidwell asked.
”Julius Caesar. William Shakespeare. Lord Bott f.u.c.king Tott. Take your pick, what does it matter?”
”And what happened to the real Alan Johnstone?” Matthew inquired, though he already had an idea. It had dawned on him, as well, that the turtles-reed-eaters by nature-had probably loved feasting on all those baskets and bags.
”The beatings ceased. I had to prove my worth to him. He survived for a time. Then he grew very, very ill. Sick unto death, really. I was able to get the coordinates of the waterhole's lat.i.tude and longitude from him... something I'd been trying to do for a month or more without seeming overly demanding. Then someone told the Meatgrinder that very night... someone... a little shadow of a someone... that the sick man coughing up all that blood over there in the corner... well, it was dangerous to everyone. Such disease might wipe out our little community, and we were so fond of it. By morning, alas, my partner had set off on his final voyage, alone and unlamented.”
”By Christ, ” Matthew said softly, his guts twisting. ”Little wonder you decided to invent the witchcraft scheme. You're on regular speaking terms with Satan, aren't you?”
Johnstone-for want of a better name-laughed quietly. He threw his head back, his eyes gleaming, and laughed louder.
There was a faintly audible click.
And suddenly, moving with a speed that belied his stiff leg, Johnstone lunged forward. He pressed against Matthew's throat the pointed edge of a five-inch blade that had been concealed within the cane's shaft.
”Be still!” Johnstone hissed, his eyes boring into Matthew's. Bidwell had stood up, and now Winston and Dr. s.h.i.+elds rose to their feet. ”Everyone, be still!”
Green crossed the threshold, pistol in hand. Johnstone reached out, grasped Matthew's s.h.i.+rt, and turned him so the thespian's back was to the wall and Matthew's back was in danger of a pistol ball should Green lose his head. ”No, no!” Johnstone said, as if scolding a wayward pupil. ”Green, stand where you are.”
The red-bearded giant halted. The blade pressed perilously near entering the flesh. Though he was quaking inside, Matthew was able to keep a calm mask. ”This will do you no good.”
”It will do me less good to be sent to prison and have my neck stretched!” Johnstone's face was damp, a pulse beating rapidly at his temple. Blood still stained his nostrils and upper lip. ”No, I can't bear that. Not prison.” He shook his head with finality. ”One season in h.e.l.l is enough for any man.”
”You have no choice, sir. As I said, this will do you no-”
”Bidwell!” Johnstone snapped. ”Get a wagon ready! Now! Green, take the pistol by the barrel. Come over here... slowly... and give it to me.”
”Gentlemen, ” Matthew said, ”I would suggest doing neither.”
”I have a knife at your throat. Do you feel it?” He gave a little jab. ”There? Would you like a sharper taste?”
”Mr. Green, ” Matthew said, staring into the wild eyes of the fox. ”Take a position, please, and aim your pistol at Mr. Johnstone's head.”
”Christ, boy!” Bidwell shouted. ”No! Green, he's crazy!”
”No further play at heroics, ” Johnstone said tightly. ”You've strutted your feathers, you've shown your c.o.c.k, and you have blasted me with a cannon. So spare yourself, because I'm going out that door! No power on earth will ever send me back to a G.o.dd.a.m.ned prison!”
”I understand your rush to avoid judgment, sir. But there are the two men with axes waiting just outside the front door.”
”What two men? You're lying!”
'You see the lantern on the windowsill? Mr. Bidwell placed it there as a signal to tell the two men to take their positions.”
”Name them!”
”Hiram Abercrombie is one, ” Bidwell answered. ”Malcolm Jennings is the other.”
”Well, neither of those fools could hit a horse in the head with an axe! Green, I said give me the pistol!”
”Stay where you are, Mr. Green, ” Matthew said.
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