He went to the front window and saw a sign there, written in Wyles’ neat hand.
“Closed until further notice.”
A powerful growl rippled through his belly, and he realized there was no chance of finding food unless he left the store. He laced up his boots, pulled on his work jacket and slouch hat and went out the back door to steal some dinner.
TWENTY-SIX
SHORT PINKY DIDN’T SHOW UP at the crossroads where they’d agreed to meet the next morning. Nyx waited for a minute or two, then set off for the company store to retrieve her Gezähe. But the front door was locked, and no lanterns burned inside. She saw that a note had been affixed to a post.
In pencil scrawl it read, “Courthouse.”
Since Nyx functioned outside the patterns and rhythms of day-to-day society, she couldn’t know what story might have caught the interest of the general public, what constituted “news.” But as she headed for the Carbon County courthouse in the town of Mauch Chunk, it became clear that the entire region was caught in the thrall of an unfolding drama.
The carriages streaming into town reminded Nyx of sleighs she’d seen pulling up in front of her home on the morning her parents had been found hacked to death in their bed. On the faces of people passing her on the road, Nyx saw that same heightened sense, fear mixed with arousal.
By the time she reached the front steps of the courthouse, a crowd of hundreds already swarmed there, shoving and jostling to get in the door, miners mostly. But there were plenty of visitors from farther away, judging by the quality of the carriages and clothes. Nyx spotted Short Pinky at the bottom of the jailhouse steps.
When he saw her headed in his direction, he looked at the ground and said, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Was ist?”
“Shtore was closed. They told me to come here. I know I should’ve—”
“What’s going on?”
“Your man Blackall is going in front of the judge.”
“That so.”
“Yah, and there’s a rumor a bloodthirsty fugitive is prowling the local environs.”
“What?”
He looked up at her. “Nyx Bauer. They say she’s around her somewhere. Boy, I’d like a crack at that bounty myself. Thousand bucks. Just imagine.”
He stared into the sky and pictured fortune and glory. By the time he looked back down, Nyx had already disappeared into the mob.
She elbowed her way forward, making a direct line up the courthouse steps until she reached the doors and a bailiff put his large palm square in her solar plexus.
“No admittance.”
“I need to get in.”
Nyx leaned harder into his hand, the crowd pressing in behind her. She had a fleeting worry that he’d feel her breasts, but she dismissed it and pushed even harder.
“I demand you let me in.”
“Yah, well, who are you?”
She pulled her hat off and looked him in the eye.
“Family of the accused.”
The bailiff didn’t allow her to pass, as such, but he bent his arm just enough to let her slip by. As soon as she was in the door, the bailiff locked the doors to a shower of curses.
Nyx took a seat at the back of the courtroom and surveyed the spectators. A few of the miners she recognized. Most, she didn’t. There were also men in bespoke wool suits and women in fine silk dresses and furs.
One wealthy-looking man sat apart from the rest. He had hair the color of flax, lightly oiled and combed straight back. As soon as her gaze lit on him, he turned to face her. In spite of having been caught, she held his gaze.
Nyx recognized him as the man in charge of the mine, the man who’d openly challenged Dis Padgett. Her heart started thudding in her chest, but she didn’t turn away.
Thaler looked at her for a long moment, as one might regard a bird wheeling across the sky. Then he shifted his attention to door at the side of the courtroom.
Two men in blue wool uniforms entered first and took up positions on either side of the bench. Two more bailiffs entered, leading Aodh, who wore the drab uniform of a prisoner.
As soon as he appeared, loud cheering erupted from the gallery, accompanied by just as many boos. Another prisoner was led in behind him, and then another. The three of them sat in wooden chairs behind a table.
The prosecutor, a tall, dour sort, entered next and took his seat. With each arrival, the raucous crowd voiced its opinion. Finally, the judge entered.
The bailiff said, “All rise. The Honorable J. Blasius Grimp presiding.”
Nyx noticed that this judge had none of the style or bearing of the Big Judge Tate Cain. He was short and hunched over with a few strands of greasy hair dragged over a bald head. His walk was a kind of slow, teetering shuffle, and he ascended to his platform with the grace of a porcupine climbing a tree.
But then he settled into his high-backed wooden chair, raised an oversized gavel and slammed it hard enough to rattle the windows.
In a deep baritone he said, “Order.”
The room fell silent as the judge looked over three sheets of paper in front of him.
“Defendants, rise.” All three stood up. “In the matter of Carbon County versus misters Reginald Bream and Maurice O’Shea, the charges are criminal mischief, mayhem and disturbing the peace.”
Loud booing erupted from the gallery, and each bailiff’s hand went to the pistol on his hip.
The Honorable J. Blasius Grimp waited for the clamor to die down, then said, “There will be silence in the gallery, or you will leave. Gentlemen, you may be seated.”
Bream and O’Shea sat down.
“In the matter of the people of Carbon County versus Aodh Blackall, the charges are the creation of a subversive and illegal society, inciting a riot, and murder of a sworn officer in the first degree.”
Aodh said, “Sworn officer?”
“A certain Robert Mettis was a detective in the employ of Black Feather Extraction.”
“Who?”
“Robert Mettis.”
“Butcher?”
Irritation flashed across the judge’s face. “Indeed.”
“I never touched Butcher. Not once. You boys should really—”
The prosecutor, who’d been silent until now, cleared his throat.
“Your honor, as part of his investigation into illegal activities in the mine, Mr. Mettis played the role of fire boss and then company clerk. In the course of performing those duties, he completed his investigation.”
Nyx’s heart slapped against her ribs. What did they know about her, and what would they be willing to fabricate?
The judge said, “We honor and esteem the efforts of Mr. Mettis, who made the ultimate sacrifice on behalf of the people of Carbon County. I’ve read the investigation in its entirety, and it’s a sad tale. We live in a fallen world. That is certain.”
PERSISTENT KNOCKING ROUSED B.H. GRIGG from a dreamless sleep. His wrists and ankles ached, as did the hip on which he’d landed when he launched himself through the broken window and onto the hospital grounds. He didn’t feel sick or hungry or crazy, though. A vast improvement.
Grigg remembered he’d been taken to a private room on the second floor of the almshouse. Again, he caught the waft of baking bread, and he allowed himself a moment to savor the smell and feel the comfort of a warm bed.
But the knocking downstairs continued, and he felt compelled to find its source. He forced himself out of bed, then limped to the window overlooking the street. On the sidewalk a man in a police uniform stood beside a woman wearing a hooded cape.
Adams.
He scrambled out of his room, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where a woman was preparing the morning meal.
She noticed his appearance and his distress and said, “Is everything all right?”
Grigg heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by loud footfalls going up the stairs.
He paused long enough at the back door of the almshouse to notice a loaf of sourdough
on the counter. He also saw a small office just off the kitchen. Grigg ducked into the office and found a metal box, locked, on the shelf. When he shook it, he heard coins clinking.
The woman in the kitchen said, “What in the name of Jesus!”
But he’d already hit the back door running with the bread under one arm and the cash box under the other.
THE HONORABLE J. BLASIUS GRIMP sat in silence in his high-backed wooden chair and peered down at the three men before him.
“Mr. Bream, Mr. O’Shea.”
The men pushed back their chairs and stood.
“I’ve considered the facts of your case, and I’ve reached my conclusion. You are foul, dim-witted men, hardly more than common beasts of the field, incapable of charting your own moral course. Yours is a low and petty existence. You know that.”
Bream scratched his left ear, and O’Shea stared at the floor.
“Regardless, I believe the lord in his grace, and the commonwealth in its mercy can put you back on the right path. For that reason, I sentence you to a period of imprisonment of no fewer than two and no more than three years in the Eastern State Penitentiary, where, under the ever-watchful eye of god, you will be corrected.”
A miner at the back of the courtroom blurted, “Jaysus, what bullshite,” before an officer clubbed him with a baton and dragged him out the back.
At the same time, bailiffs guided Bream and O’Shea through the side door. While J. Blasius Grimp waited for calm to settle, he packed the bowl of his pipe with blended tobacco and lit up.
When silence returned, he set down the pipe, sniffed once, and cast a baleful eye on Aodh.
“Rise.”
ANYONE WHO SAW GRIGG SPRINTING down the street would have pegged him for a fugitive from justice. He heard gasps and shouts, as many stepped aside to let him whoosh by. He heard police whistles, too.
The cashbox dug into his ribs, and his legs burned, but Grigg put his head down and picked up speed. He ducked down an alley, crossed a main street, then ran into the next alley, and so on, until he’d traveled a mile to another part of the city.
The commotion gradually diminished, and the houses grew. He peeked around a corner and saw no one on the street, save a man or woman here and there, outfitted in servants’ clothes. He searched for a house with no smoke from the chimney and no one visible inside.
Grigg knew as soon as one of the neighbors spotted him, the police would come running, so he went for the stone patio of a stately brick home built in the Georgian style.
He peered through the windows of the French doors and saw no one inside. He looked back over his shoulder and then tried the brass handle. It turned, and he crept in and set his bread and cash box on the mahogany dining table.
He tiptoed for the main staircase and listened. There was no sound except the steps of the family cat, who padded toward him on the gleaming wood floor, brushed his leg with its whiskers, then turned and sashayed away.
Grigg ascended the main staircase in silence, intending to move past the second floor and up to the third, where he knew he’d find the master bedroom and in it, the wardrobe. As he crossed the second floor landing, though, Grigg heard soft moans floating from the powder room.
He took three small steps and peered in the door to see someone who must have been the man of the house in a tender embrace with the maid.
When he stepped back toward the staircase, Grigg stepped on a floorboard that creaked.
The maid said, “Qu'est-ce que c'est?”
Grigg froze where he stood. He let a moment pass, then another, and soon the moaning started afresh. He moved to the next landing, slipped into the bedroom and found a rack of stylish wool suits. He dressed quickly and found that the shirt, the vest, and the pants all fit. He selected a pair of polished ankle boots in fine black leather.
Grigg put on the hat, carried the boots and tiptoed back down the way he’d come. The passion had intensified below, and he heard louder moaning and a steady rhythmic slapping.
He tried not to step on the same plaintive floorboard but hit it anyway, and it gave another loud crack.
The man of the house said, “Oh, that goddamned cat,” and he emerged from the powder room, cheeks flushed, sans pants.
He came face to face with Grigg and said, “By god, who are you?”
Grigg tipped his hat and strode down the stairs. When he reached the dining room table, he took all the money from the almshouse cashbox and stuffed it in his pockets. He left by the back door, closing it behind him.
AODH STOOD STRAIGHT, SHOULDERS BACK. Nyx had never seen his skin clean before, and when he turned to scan the gallery, she glimpsed his white face with red in his cheeks. His eye was still swollen shut, and his bottom lip had been split.
The judge said, “I’ve considered the facts of your case as well, Mr. Blackall, but before I render the verdict, I must make a further comment.” He set his pipe down and surveyed the gallery. “The work of a man’s hands is sacred in the eyes of god. Labor is verily a great blessing, and the coal mine is a divine engine that powers the coming of his kingdom.”
The judge let his gaze settle on Aodh. “But all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of god. And the machine needs a driver. It can’t function on its own. It can’t drive itself. When men disobey their masters, anarchy ensues, which is what we have here.”
Nyx turned in her seat to look at the exit and saw a dozen men in blue uniforms filing in and lining the back of the room. She craned her neck to see the balcony. Another dozen officers peered down from there.
The judge continued, “The court is equal parts justice and mercy. Judgment must be rendered and every effort made to correct and even to save the evildoer. I have considered the facts of this matter, and I find that god alone, in his infinite mercy, is fit to extend mercy to this scoundrel, this foul fiend.”
A wave of anger rippled through the gallery. Nyx scanned the crowd for Dis Padgett, thinking that perhaps he’d speak on Aodh’s behalf. He wasn’t there. But she did notice the boss, Thaler, leaving by the side door with an escort of three men in black uniforms.
The Honorable J. Blasius Grimp said, “In the matter of the people of Carbon County versus Aodh Blackall, I find the defendant guilty on all counts.”
Bailiffs stood on either side of Aodh, taking him roughly by each arm.
“I sentence the defendant to death by hanging.”
Before the gavel landed, the courtroom erupted. Miners set upon the bailiffs holding Aodh, knocking them down and kicking them in their faces.
A moment later shots rang out from the back of the courtroom, as a trio of miners hustled Aodh out the side door.
The melee spilled onto the street in front of the courthouse, where fifty blue and black uniforms waited. Nyx charged out, searching for Aodh and spotting him a block away. His would-be deliverers had thrown a cloak around his shoulders. She raced toward him, arriving moments before his pursuers.
When she caught up to him, Nyx grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He looked at her, and when recognition flashed across his face, she knew that he could see her for the first time.
He said, “Jaysus, Nef Bahr, I love you.”
Tears streamed down Nyx’s face. She gave Aodh a long kiss on the lips, then said, “I’ll figure out a way. I’ll get you out.”
“It must be so,” he said, a moment before a baton slammed the side of his head. Nyx caught the butt of a shotgun in her jaw, and she spun to the ground. By the time she raised herself to her knees, Aodh had already been hauled back to the jail.
TWENTY-SEVEN
KAMP LEARNED ABOUT STILLNESS DURING THE WAR. He learned by observation, and then he taught himself to master it. In the silence before the bullets flew and then in the shrieking of the first hot clash, when the cannonballs whizzed and bounced past him, he remained in the same place, silent until the shot presented itself.
He sat now in the woods fifty yards up the mountain behind his house under a clear, black sky dotted with
stars but no moon. He settled under a wool blanket covered with leaves and branches. Men, even trained soldiers, could pass within inches of him and never know he was there. He sat with the Sharps across his lap and waited for sunrise.
By following the ritual of taking a position, concealing himself and focusing on the target, Kamp was able to detach from the ruminations and regrets, the torments that otherwise assailed him. At sunup, no one stirred in his house. An hour later, nothing, and he started to think perhaps the house was empty and that he could go there.
He checked his watch. Ten-thirty. He began to tense his muscles and joints gently, imperceptibly, in preparation to move.
Now the man impersonating him stepped onto the back porch and looked up the mountain in his direction. He took a long swig from Kamp’s favorite coffee mug. Kamp stretched his fingers, then gripped the Sharps and raised it so that the tip of the barrel peeked from his makeshift blind.
A twig snapped behind him, and he heard the crunching of leaves. But no voices. His heart rate began to rise and with one long breath, Kamp brought it back down and listened. Two people coming toward him without talking. Hunters.
The footfalls grew louder. If he were to move now, even the slightest twitch, he’d have to come up firing. The two might be innocents, kids maybe. He remained still, and the movement behind him stopped. A minute passed, and Kamp’s left hand curled around the forestock. He let his index finger rest on the trigger.
The man on the back porch scanned the mountain behind the house and poured out the last of his coffee, a signal to the men in the woods, the all clear.
The hunters started walking, and when the two tromped past him, Kamp saw that each carried a shotgun.
The first man said to the second, “That goddamned guy’s not around here. I’m starting to think he ain’t nowhere.”
NYX STOOD IN THE STREET and watched the ebbing melee. Miners vanished, some running, some shambling in the direction of the mountain. They still had to earn their pay. Once the miners dispersed, the police followed. Half went back into the courthouse and the other half to the tavern. The mere spectators went to their carriages and rode away. They’d all gotten their money’s worth.
Kill the Raven: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 3) Page 14
