"I am pleased, " Matthew said. "Tell him I thank him very much for his kindness."
The breakfast done, Mrs. Nettles walked outside with Matthew. The sun was well up, the sky blue, and a few lacy clouds drifting like the sailing ships Bidwell hoped to launch from this future port. John Goode had brought an excellent-looking roan horse with a saddle that might not raise too many sores between here and Charles Town. Mrs. Nettles opened the saddlebags to show him the food she'd packed for him, as well as a leather waterflask. It occurred to Matthew that, now that his usefulness was done to the master of Fount Royal, it was up to the servants to send him off.
Matthew shook Goode's hand, and Goode thanked him for coming to take that "bumb" out of his house. Matthew returned the thanks, for giving him the opportunity to taste some absolutely wonderful turtle soup.
Mrs. Nettles only had to help him a little to climb up on the horse. Then Matthew situated himself and grasped the reins. He was ready.
"Young sir?" Mrs. Nettles said. "May I give ye a word of advice?"
"Of course."
"Find y'self a good, strong Scottish lass." He smiled. "I shall certainly take it under consideration."
"Good luck to ye, " she said. "And a good life." Matthew guided his horse toward the gate and began his journey. He passed the spring, where a woman in a green bonnet was already drawing water for the day. He saw in a field a farmer, breaking earth with a wooden hoe. Another farmer was walking amid fresh furrows, tossing seeds from one side to the other.
Good luck, Fount Roy all Matthew thought. And good life to all those who lived here, both on this day and on the day tomorrow.
At the gate, Mr. Green was waiting to lift the locking timber. "Goodbye, sir!" he called, and displayed a gap-toothed grin.
Matthew rode through. He was not very far along the sunlit road when he reined the horse in and paused to look back. The gate was closing. Slowly, slowly... then shut. Over the singing of birds in the forest, Matthew heard the sound of the locking timber slide back into place.
He had a sure destination.
New York. But not just because Magistrate Nathaniel Powers was there. It was also because the almshouse was there, and Headmaster Eben Ausley. Matthew recalled what that insidious, child-brutalizing villain had said to him, five years ago: Consider that your education concerning the real world has been furthered. Be of excellent service to the magistrate, be of good cheer and good will, and live a long and happy life. And never—never—plot a war you have no hope of winning.
Well, Matthew mused, perhaps the boy of five years ago could neither plot a war nor win it. But the man of today might find a method to end Ausley's reign of terror.
It was worth putting one's thoughts to, wasn't it?
Matthew stared for a moment at the closed gate, beyond which lay both an ending and a beginning. Then he turned his mount, his face, and his mind toward the century of wonders.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 727992d6-df13-4db3-a148-f69196707e77
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 12.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.50, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Robert R. McCammon
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Speaks the Nightbird mc-1 Page 80
