Trumpet of the Dead (Raven Trilogy Book 2)

by Kurt B. Dowdle

  “Your honor, and may it please the court, on behalf of the county, I request that you deny bail to the defendant, Nadine Bauer.”

  “On what grounds, Mr. Grigg?”

  “Your honor, on the seriousness of the offense, felonious assault of a sworn officer.”

  The Judge sniffed, “Are you suggesting, Mr. Grigg, that this girl is some sort of threat to the police?”

  “I am, your honor. I will add that when arrested, the defendant was in possession of a powerful narcotic.”

  “What narcotic?”

  “Laudanum,” Grigg said.

  As soon as he said it, E. Wyles shot up from her seat and said in a steely voice, “She’s done nothing wrong. This is ridiculous.”

  A collective gasp went through the courtroom. The Big Judge banged the gavel twice and said, “Madam, you’ll remain silent.”

  E. Wyles said, “These charges are utterly contrived in the first place. She’s a girl, for heaven’s sake.”

  The Judge raised one eyebrow. “You’re in contempt of court. Madam.”

  Wyles stood another moment and then sat back down. The Judge gestured to Grigg to continue.

  The prosecutor said, “Your honor, lastly the defendant is most assuredly a flight risk.”

  The attention of the room shifted back to Nyx, who sat still, facing straight ahead.

  The Big Judge Tate Cain leaned forward in his chair. “High Constable, remand the defendant. Bail denied.”

  Druckenmiller stood up and gestured for Nyx to stand. She glanced at the Big Judge, stood up and walked out with a uniformed officer in front of her and Druckenmiller behind. The only sound was the creaking of the floorboards under their feet.

  Once they’d departed the courtroom, the Judge banged the gavel one more time. “Adjourned.”

  The room erupted into excited conversation.

  “Ach, but she’s a wild one.”

  “Didja see how she don’t have no respect for nussing?”

  “And such hochmut!”

  “The hex is on her, say not?”

  “She’s a fiend.”

  “Yah, a drug fiend, sounds like.”

  Kamp hurried out of the courtroom before the kid could follow him and went straight back to the door of the Judge’s chambers. He tried the doorknob again, and this time it was unlocked. He walked in, closed the door behind him and saw the Judge on the far side of the room, removing his robes to reveal a white cotton shirt and black bowtie with black wool pants and brogans.

  Without turning to look at Kamp, the Judge said, “You’re wondering why I’m dressed ‘plain,’ as they say.”

  In fact, Kamp was wondering, as the Judge typically wore a silk dress under his robes, always in the Victorian style. Kamp scanned the floor of the room for the high women’s boots the Judge favored and didn’t see them, either.

  “Why the change?”

  The Judge turned to face Kamp. “Scotch, Wendell?” He produced a bottle and two tumblers and poured three fingers in each. He handed one glass to Kamp, raised his own and said, “To the law.” The Judge drained half of it and sat down heavily behind his desk.

  Kamp took a sip and set his glass down on a side table. “What’s going on, Judge?”

  The Judge pulled out his pipe, banged out the ashes on his desk, repacked the bowl and lit it. “What’s going on? Let’s see. There’s a war that just ended in Spain, and another one ended in New Zealand. And Ulysses S. Grant just said all the former Confederate soldiers have full rights again, to vote and so forth. All except five hundred officers. Grant said, in effect, fuck them. But it would appear that by and large the world is making peace.” The Judge leveled his gaze at Kamp. “Maybe you should, too.”

  “You know what I mean, Judge.”

  “Do I?”

  “What’s going on with Nyx Bauer? What just happened?”

  The Judge took a pull on his pipe and stared out the window. “In your studies at the college, did you ever come across the writings of an ancient Greek, a pre-Socratic, Empedocles?”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Yes or no.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, well, Empedocles wondered, as some do, about the origins of life and how and why it develops as it does.”

  “Judge, this isn’t—”

  “He said there are two main forces, love and strife, that mix the elements and pull them apart. Love and strife, in other words, account for cause and effect, account for what you saw in the courtroom today. That’s what’s going on.”

  Kamp looked at the floor and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay, Judge, let me try it this way.”

  The Judge turned back to face him and finished his Scotch. “Go ahead, Wendell.”

  “What’s your understanding of the crime Nyx Bauer committed and your rationale with respect to denying her bail?”

  The Judge winced. “Did Emma Wyles send you?”

  “No.”

  “Christ, she’s a pill. Insufferable. Don’t you think so? Be honest.”

  “I’m here because I care about what happens to Nyx Bauer.”

  “That’s love.”

  “What’s happening to her is unfair. You know it.”

  “And that’s strife. See, Wendell, our man Empedocles was right.”

  “So, you’re not going to help her?” He felt the fire starting at the base of his skull and realized he wouldn’t be able to continue the conversation much longer.

  The Judge unlaced his brogans, took them off and wiggled his toes. “So much better. It’s not my job to help anyone. You know that. And as for Nyx Bauer, my god, Wendell, she’s even more unstable than you are.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  The Judge shifted in his chair, indicating that he wanted the conversation to end but realizing how hard it was to get rid of Kamp.

  He said, “She committed a crime, a felonious crime, and in the eyes of the law, she’s an adult. She must stand trial, and until then, she needs to be in custody.”

  “Why?”

  The Judge stared at Kamp. “Wendell, has it occurred to you that Nyx Bauer is safer inside the jail at this point than outside?”

  KAMP LEFT THE COURTHOUSE and went straight for E. Wyles’ pharmacy. He found her back behind her counter, grinding ingredients with the mortar and pestle and with an intensity he’d never seen before.

  Without acknowledging his presence, without even looking at him, she said, “The nerve of that goddamned judge.” She jammed the pestle hard and twisted it.

  He said, “I talked to him.”

  “And?” She stopped working and looked at Kamp.

  “And he said he thinks Nyx is in danger.”

  “Let me guess, he made it sound as if she’s in jail for her own good. All safe and sound.”

  “Something like that.”

  She gritted her teeth and went back to grinding. “That son of a bitch.”

  “Emma, what did she do? You never told me what Nyx did that caused them to arrest her.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No, you said you told the police she hadn’t committed a crime, and then the police took her away.”

  Wyles looked up at Kamp and brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “The police officer put hands on her, for no reason.”

  “And?”

  “And she kicked him in the shins. She was only defending herself.”

  “What about the narcotic, Laudanum?”

  “What about it?”

  “Why did she have it?”

  Wyles said, “It’s not illegal to possess, or even take it.”

  “If you want me to help, you need to tell me all of the details.”

  She finished crushing the ingredients. “Nyx is a frightened girl. She’s alone and confused, and we both want what’s best for her. I thought perhaps if you talked to the Judge, it would help. I appreciate the fact that you tried.”
/>   “I love it,” Kamp said.

  “Love what?”

  “When you get all worked up like this.”

  “Stop. This is serious. You know it is.”

  “Just like when we were kids.”

  “Don’t goad me, Kamp. Don’t.”

  HE KNEW IT WAS SERIOUS, and he knew that a sense of humor wasn’t E. Wyles’ strong suit, so Kamp listened to the growling of his stomach and headed outside to find lunch. He spied a pushcart on the corner only a half a block away, and his nostrils filled with a beloved aroma. Pierogies.

  He made a beeline for the cart in spite of seeing the grey wool forager’s cap and underneath it the kid, standing next to the vendor.

  Kamp held up two fingers to the vendor.

  The kid said, “Think you can fix me up as well?”

  “I thought your parents were rich,” he said, and then caught himself. “Oh, right, right, they’re not your parents.”

  The kid said, “I’ll thank you to curtail that sarcasm posthaste, first off. And second, you’ll get paid back plenty, believe me.”

  Kamp held up four fingers to the vendor, then turned back to the kid and said, “If you’re eating, I guess at least you won’t be able to talk.”

  “Son, yer jus’ full o’ piss n’ vinegar today.”

  The vendor doled out the pierogies, and Kamp headed for the road out of town. The kid walked alongside.

  It felt good to get free of the town and to have a full stomach, and Kamp fell into a steady walking rhythm until he was lost to the outside world.

  The kid said, “That was some clown show in there.”

  “Huh?”

  “That business in the courthouse. You’da thought the circus came to town. An’ all them eejits sittin’ in there jus’ to gawk at that girl an’ watch her get squeezed through the wringer.”

  Kamp looked sideways at the kid. “What were you doing there?”

  “Looking for you, son. Shit.” He spat on the ground. “You know something, I love a smoke after a meal. You wouldn’t happen to have one, wouldja?”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Really? Not no more? You used to. You an’ yer brothers. Say how do you know that Nadine Bauer anyhow?”

  “I thought you knew everything about me.”

  “No, son. Nobody knows everything.”

  Since they had another forty-five minutes or so to walk, Kamp told him the story of how Nyx’s parents were murdered, how the accused murderer Daniel Knecht was executed the following day and how Kamp found himself at the center of the vortex.

  When he finished, the kid said, “Golly gosh damn, son, that’s a helluva yarn. Explains a lot about the state that girl’s in now.”

  “How so?”

  The kid took a deep breath. “I can see a dark cloud’s settled over her. Oh, but many’s the time I seen her on that mountainside, back when she was a little girl, all bows in her hair an’ flowers in her hand. Sweet, sweet girl.”

  “When was that?”

  “Ten years ago. I remember one time I seen her over there on the other side, down from that big oak. Little Nyxie gathered up a big ol’ bucket of raspberries, an’ her little sister asked, ‘Who’s that for?’ And that little girl gave her a big ol’ smile and said, ‘Daddy.’ She doted on her father, that Jonas Bauer.”

  “He was a good man,” Kamp said.

  “That he was. Makes me sad to hear how he met his end.”

  “A terrible shame.”

  The kid continued, “No, Nyx wasn’t born with no killer instinct. And she ain’t no stone killer, not sayin’ that. But she may be goin’ in that direction.”

  “Maybe.”

  “She needs to get outta that jail, first off, before she gets all turned around and twisted up in her own head.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Tell you what, though,” the kid said, “I admire her grit, an’ damned if she ain’t ferocious. I’d put her up against Margaret any day, ’specially in a knife fight.” He pushed his cap back on his head and let out a belly laugh. “And good lookin’, too, fine figure of a young woman. A little too young for me, though.”

  They pulled off the train tracks and crossed the iron truss bridge that put them on the road that brought Jonas Bauer’s former house into view.

  Kamp said, “It all happened right there.” Immediately, he found himself flooded by memories of the event: Knecht’s knock at the door in the middle of the night, the discovery of the bodies, and the capture of the fugitive and his execution, which he failed to stop. He recalled the moment he’d first met Nyx Bauer, the horror and the crushing grief he’d seen on her face.

  “SON, SON, WHERE’D YOU GO?” The kid snapped his fingers next to Kamp’s face.

  Kamp tried to switch back into the present. “Who-wha?”

  “I realize you got attention problems, but stay with me now, son.”

  “Right, right,” he said, fighting the noise and tumult gathering force in his psyche.

  They walked closer to the house so that Kamp could see inside the front window, which had been replaced since he’d last been there.

  The kid called after him, “Now listen, I ’preciate goin’ on nature walks with you, jerrycummumblin’ ’round the countryside an’ whatnot. An’ I’m happy to lend a hand around the farm, seein’ as how I’m better at real work than you. But we need to get down to brass tacks with this thing. I’m runnin’ out of time.”

  Kamp walked to the front steps of Jonas Bauer’s former house and sat down hard on the top step so that he was at eye level with the kid.

  “What thing?” he said.

  The kid stood directly in front of Kamp and took off his forager’s cap. “Son, I need you to help me find the son of a bitch who killed me.”

  Kamp looked at him with a flat expression. “You don’t appear to be dead.”

  The color rose in the kid’s face. “Ha, ha. Not funny. Yer not gonna get me worked up, son. Don’t bother. Fact is, it don’t matter whether you believe me or not.” The kid’s body language suggested it mattered a great deal.

  Kamp stretched out his legs and then rolled his head from one side to the other. “All right, I’m listening.”

  The kid sniffed hard, cleared his throat, spat on the ground and began.

  “Like I told you, I’m from West Virginia. Was born up in a holler to my mother an’ father. Father was a preacher. Had three brothers an’ a sister. I grew up there, worked for a living, breaker boy, and so on.”

  “When were you born?”

  The kid screwed up his face. “Don’t know, exactly. Wanna say, maybe, eighteen twenty-five, or thereabouts.”

  “You know what year it is now, right?”

  The kid gave a look of disgust. “Course.”

  “That would make you forty-seven years old right now. You’re not forty-seven. You’re nine.”

  The kid looked at the ground and shook his head back and forth slowly. “I just tol’ you, son, I got killed.”

  “When?”

  “Eleven years ago.”

  Kamp tried not to sound patronizing. “Why does everyone else think you’re a nine year-old boy from Pennsylvania?”

  The kid gave him a hard stare.

  “Sounds a little, you know, crazy.”

  The kid erupted, “Yer askin’ me how the universe works? Kee-rist, how the hell should I know?”

  “Settle down.”

  “Crazy? Me? Jesus, fella, I don’t know the last time you looked in a mirror but...crazy? Shit, son, some folks think you got that market cornered.”

  “Think about how it sounds.”

  “God damn, son, I know how it sounds. How do ya think it feels?”

  Kamp realized he’d made a mistake. “You told me before your name wasn’t Becket Hinsdale, and I didn’t believe you. But now I do. What’s your real name?”

  The kid was shaking, near tears. He resolutely put his forager’s cap back on and said, “I took the lord’s name in vain. I apologize for that.” Th
en he turned on his heel and marched out of the yard and down the road.

  5

  WHOEVER THE HELL HE IS, he believes what he’s saying.”

  Kamp curled his hand around his hot coffee mug and looked across the kitchen table at Shaw. The little girl was asleep upstairs, and calm had settled on the house.

  Shaw gave him a wry smile. “What makes you say that?”

  “At first I thought he was just making up stories about himself, and he probably is, but the way he talks—the conviction in his voice, the words he uses. He believes it.”

  Shaw leaned toward Kamp, closer to the flame of the candle in the center of the table. “Do you believe him?”

  “Do I believe he’s a thirty-six year old man from West Virginia? Not exactly.”

  “But you don’t think he’s lying.”

  “I don’t think he thinks he’s lying.” Kamp looked up at the ceiling, rubbed his chin and shook his head.

  “What is it?”

  He looked back at her. “If it were just about the story he’s telling about himself, I’d say it’s all made up.”

  “But?”

  “But he knows a lot of details about me. And other people, too, it seems.”

  Shaw fixed herself a cup of coffee and settled back into her chair. “It’s probably all things he heard from his parents. You said his mother knew who you were. He probably got it all from her.”

  “I told you about my red hat. He said he saw me get rid of it. I was alone that day. No one else was there. I’m certain.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “He said he saw me smoking cigarettes with my brothers.”

  “You never told me about that.”

  “Exactly. I never told anyone else, either.”

  “Okay, so he guessed right,” Shaw said.

  “Pretty specific guess.”

  “What do you think is really going on?”

  Kamp gulped down the last of coffee. “Either there was someone there who saw me do all that and told the kid. Or told someone who told the kid.”

  “Or he’s telling the truth.” Shaw’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  Kamp said, “What do you think?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think, whoever he is, he’s a lonely person. Sounds as if he doesn’t have friends. He probably just wants you to be his friend.”