Trumpet of the Dead (Raven Trilogy Book 2)

by Kurt B. Dowdle

  But MacBride still couldn’t help watching the driver clamber down and open the carriage door for the passenger inside. He saw one leg emerge, then the other, and then she appeared. She wore an exquisite silk dress the color of indigo with a low neckline and a hat of the same color, adorned with what MacBride recognized as two feathers from a night heron.

  He didn’t bother trying not to stare, knowing that the couple couldn’t see into his office through the wooden blinds. He watched her mount the stairs, wobbling slightly sideways before the man took her softly by the elbow. MacBride went to the front doors and out onto the portico.

  He called to them, “Good morning!”

  The couple reached the top of the stairs, and the man took off his top hat with his left hand and extended his right.

  “Augustus Kneff. And this is my wife, Nadja.”

  The doctor shook his hand. “I’m Dr. MacBride.” He turned his head to face the woman. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Enchanted.” She took off her hat, revealing platinum-colored hair.

  “Might I say that’s a lovely pendant.” He gestured to the locket hanging just above her breasts and leaned forward to get a closer look. It was solid gold with an engraving of a crane standing in water beside cat o’ nine tails. The bird held a coin in its beak.

  MacBride stood up to his full height and studied her face, her powdered white cheeks, blue eyes, red lips.

  Kneff said, “Doctor, may I speak with you in private?”

  MacBride snapped to attention. “Yes, yes, of course. Let’s go inside.”

  When they reached his office doors, Augustus Kneff turned to his wife and said, “Wait outside, dear.”

  MacBride showed her to an overstuffed chair in the lobby. He held her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as she sat down. She smiled at him and touched the back of her neck.

  The doctor turned on his heel and strode back to his office, where the man was already seated in a chair. MacBride closed the door and sat opposite Kneff.

  “Now, Mr. Kneff, how may I be of assistance?”

  The man removed his top hat and stared down at the floor. “Well, doctor, I’m afraid this is a bit, a bit difficult to discuss.” He turned the top hat nervously in his hands. “Well, not just difficult. It’s shameful.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Kneff. Each of us faces difficulties.”

  Kneff looked up at MacBride. “And I assure you, the difficulty is not financial. I have more than enough money to—”

  “I’m certain of that. Please, please, tell me the problem.”

  The man took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “It’s my wife.”

  “Yes, I thought so.”

  “She’s mad.”

  “In what way, Mr. Kneff?”

  Kneff looked up at MacBride and then back down at the floor. “I don’t want to…I can’t say it.”

  MacBride leaned forward and put his hand on the man’s knee. “Mr. Kneff. Augustus. You’re safe. There’s no shame here. You can tell me.”

  Augustus Kneff sat up straight, looked MacBride in the eye and said, “Her madness is…sexual excitement. Ungovernable, unrestrained and uncontrollable lust.”

  MacBride’s eyebrows popped up. “Really.”

  “I mean this woman’s hunger knows no bounds. Day and night. Men, women. Why, this very morning I found her—”

  MacBride held up his hands. “Mr. Kneff, it’s fine, it’s fine. Say no more. I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen this kind of insanity before. Nymphomania.”

  “Nymphomania?”

  “It’s real.”

  Kneff shook his head and said, “I guess I knew it all along, but I thought marriage would cure it.”

  “We can help.”

  “You can?”

  “Of course. I suggest we admit her right away. This instant.”

  Kneff stood up and smiled. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you. What a relief.”

  “Yes, well, why don’t I give you a tour whilst her room is being prepared?”

  “Much obliged, doctor. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to have Nadja’s things brought in as well.”

  MacBride stiffened. “What things?”

  “A trunk lashed to the back of the carriage. Clothing, a few personal items.”

  “We have all the clothing she’ll need. And I’m afraid we don’t allow personal items.”

  Kneff spoke quietly. “Doctor, she refused to stay here unless we brought her things. She was exceedingly concerned that—”

  “What is it?” The woman appeared next to MacBride, looking nervous and upset.

  “Nothing, sweetheart. It’s just that Dr. MacBride said you won’t be able to stay here after—”

  “Oh, I’ll allow it,” MacBride said, “considering the circumstances.” He motioned to two attendants and said, “See that this lady’s trunk is brought in immediately.” He turned back to the couple. “Now, if you’ll kindly follow me.”

  THE KID HEARD MURMURING inside the operating theater, and the door opened. Another patient was carried out and then the surgeon, Dr. Schultheis, emerged, hands and forearms splattered with blood.

  He stared down at the kid and without expression, said, “Nächste.”

  The kid strained against the straps at his wrists and ankles one more time, and none of them gave. He slumped forward and hung his head. He heard voices at the end of the hallway, one of them belonging to MacBride, who was leading a man and woman toward him.

  He looked up and focused on the woman and said, “Well, my angel of mercy has finally come to deliver me.”

  MacBride said, “Master Hinsdale, good to see you this fine morning.” He turned to the couple and said, “We offer the newest and most effective moral treatments here. As this boy is about to find out.”

  The kid looked hard at the woman and recognized her as Nyx Bauer. His eyebrows shot up, and he stifled a grin. Nyx put her first finger to her lips, then said, “What a lucky boy.”

  MacBride gently moved them along. “There’s much more to see.” As the trio departed, the two orderlies appeared, unbuckled the straps and carried the kid into the operating theater.

  26

  WHEN MARGARET HINSDALE SAID her house had been burgled, Kamp had guessed that Nyx and Angus had done it. And when she’d said the carriage and horses had been stolen as well, he knew why. As the hospital gates came into view, he figured he’d see the Hinsdales’ carriage parked at the front steps of the hospital. He’d deduced that Nyx intended to return the favor to the kid and that Angus would gladly help her. Now, peering through the iron bars, he saw the carriage and the horses standing in front of it. He also saw two men unloading a large steamer trunk from the back of the carriage.

  What Kamp didn’t know was how he’d get in. He approached the guard, who eyed him through the window of the small cottage next to the gates.

  Kamp approached the window and waved. “Good morning.”

  The guard opened the window. “Good morrow, sir.”

  “I’m here to see my cousin.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “The residents are not receiving visitors today.”

  He felt the fire starting at the base of his skull. “I just got to town.”

  “I’m afraid that doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s just that I know it would mean a great deal to him to see me. He hasn’t been feeling well. Obviously.”

  Kamp could see that the front gates were locked and that to get the key, he’d have to assault the guard. Breaking in that way would raise alarms throughout the hospital, putting Nyx and Angus in jeopardy. He also realized that since he was still covered head to toe in coal dust, he’d have no chance of blending in with the hospital staff.

  The guard sat up in his chair. “Come back tomorrow, sir.” And he slammed the window shut.

  DR. SCHULTHEIS CLOSED THE DOOR behind him as he strode back into
the operating theater. The kid couldn’t see him, or even turn his head, as the orderlies had secured it fast to the table.

  “Say, doc, is there any chance you could go ahead an’ knock me out for the next part?”

  Schultheis leaned over and stared straight down at the kid. “I’m afraid you must be fully awake.”

  “What for, if you’s just gonna put my lights out.”

  The doctor turned to the nurse and said, “Make him ready.”

  WHEN THEY RETURNED to the lobby, Dr. MacBride turned to face the couple and held out his arms expansively.

  He said to Angus, “I think you’ll agree, Mr. Kneff, that your wife will be exceedingly well taken care of during her stay here.”

  Angus said, “Why sure,” and pulled a revolver from a shoulder rig under his jacket and put it to MacBride’s forehead. Nyx went to the steamer trunk, unlocked it and removed the Henry rifle.

  “Take us back to the kid,” she said.

  “The who?”

  “The kid. Becket Hinsdale. Take us to him.”

  SCHULTHEIS HEARD NOTHING. He’d entered a state of consciousness in which nothing existed apart from the instrument in his hand and the precise location at which he would make the incision, just above the left eyeball. His existence narrowed to the point of the scalpel as it punctured the skin and then went deeper.

  The surgeon didn’t hear the commotion coming down the hallway, didn’t even hear the door fly open. He didn’t lose focus on the work at hand until Nyx Bauer caught him across the jaw with the butt of the rifle. He dropped straight to the floor, scalpel clattering to the concrete.

  Angus worked quickly to release the kid, who had blood pouring from the cut above his eye.

  He said, “Much obliged,” then jumped down from the table.

  MacBride, for his part, didn’t speak. He stood in the far corner of the operating theater, trying not to look directly at anyone but still unable to pull his eyes away. Nyx Bauer raised the rifle and pointed it at his face.

  The kid said, “Doc MacBride, I tol’ you my deliverance was comin’, and now it’s here. An’ I tol’ y’all you ought not have done what you did, ’specially to somebody who appears to be a child.”

  MacBride held his palms out. “Becket, please. Everything we did was for your own good.”

  “Like hell it was.”

  MacBride’s entire body began to shake, and he fell to his knees. “Please! Don’t!”

  The kid said, “You may recall that I don’t take no revenge. I been to another place, and I seen how things work there. Revenge ain’t no part of it.”

  “That’s right. You said that.”

  “So in return for us not killing you this fine morning, I expect you to extend mercy, real mercy, to all the lost souls that have the misfortune to pass through here. An’ not the bullshit you pass off as mercy, neither. Compassion, real an’ honest. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes, yes. I do.”

  Angus grabbed the kid by the collar and said, “Time to go.”

  Nyx lowered the rifle and went back out into the hallway, where she saw both orderlies running at them full tilt.

  She raised the rifle again and said, “Stop!” But they kept coming. Nyx aimed and squeezed the trigger, hitting the first orderly in the center of his chest. The second turned and ran.

  Nyx, Angus and the kid hustled back up the stairs, stopping at the kid’s room and gathering up his clothes. They ran to the main hallway and through the lobby. Angus grabbed the trunk and dragged it out with him, following Nyx and the kid. He lashed the trunk to the back of the carriage, then climbed up to the driver’s seat, where he was joined by Nyx, rifle still in hand. The kid got inside the carriage and closed the door. The morning routines of the patients were little, if at all, disturbed by the sight of a man, woman and child scrambling onto a carriage and bolting for the front gate. The staff, too, did less than one might have expected to catch them.

  No patient or staff member did anything to impede the progress of the carriage toward the gate, no one except the fastidious guard in his cottage. He saw the carriage coming and decided that it would not leave.

  Kamp, who still stood outside the grounds, saw the guard emerge from his building and stand directly in front of the gate. He also saw the carriage approaching and knew that they wouldn’t be able to crash through. And then he saw the guard remove a pistol of his own and hold it at his side.

  Kamp ran to the wall next to the gate and leapt for the vines that clung to it. Hand over hand, he hauled himself to the top of the wall and first swung one leg and then the other over the iron spikes that jutted from it. He landed hard on the ground on the other side and stood up to see the guard raising his pistol at the oncoming carriage. The guard fired one shot before Kamp slammed into him, knocking him flat. He gripped the guard’s throat with his left hand and removed the ring of keys from the man’s belt with his right.

  Kamp said, “Which one?”

  “What?”

  “The gate. Which key?”

  The man gestured to a large skeleton key. Kamp took the man’s gun and ran to the gate. He turned the key in the lock, and it didn’t open. He tried a different key. No luck. Kamp turned and looked at the guard who was running to safety.

  By this point the carriage had almost reached him, and he could also see a dozen men streaming from the front doors of the hospital and taking up positions within range of the front gate. Kamp tried another key on the ring, and then the next and the next. None worked. Finally, he took the man’s pistol and shot the iron padlock until it blew into three pieces and came free.

  Kamp swung open the gates just as the horses passed through. He ran alongside the carriage until Nyx and Angus recognized him and then he jumped for the step and the handle and held on tight to the side. The kid pushed the door open, smiled and said, “C’mon in, son.”

  AS SOON AS THEY’D MADE IT a mile or so from the hospital, it became clear that they weren’t being chased. Nyx Bauer set the rifle at her feet, put her hat back on and assumed the appearance of a woman simply enjoying the early spring weather.

  Inside the carriage Kamp sat facing the kid, looking at the wound above his eye, which had crusted over with dried blood. “You don’t look so good,” he said.

  The kid looked at the dirt and dust covering Kamp head to toe. He said, “You neither,” and then laughed. “You know, when me an’ Onesimus was breaker boys, we looked like that every day, sunrise to nightfall.”

  The kid fished a silver cigarette case from his pocket. He opened it, took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He took a box of matches from the other pocket, struck one, lit the cigarette and took a long pull. He tilted his head back, savoring it. He exhaled and looked at Kamp. “I know you don’t want me smoking, son, but damned if this don’t taste sweet right about now.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  The kid held the cigarette between his thumb and first finger and inspected it. “Doc MacBride. Stole it off him. From his desk. Want one?” Kamp shook his head. The kid took another puff and stared out the window. For a moment the carriage fell silent.

  The kid said, “I reckon Margaret tol’ you ’bout that time she took me to West Virginia, took me to the holler I come from.”

  Kamp nodded.

  “Tol’ you how when I seen my father’s house, how I jus’ went all to splinters.”

  “Yes, she told me.” Kamp saw the color rise in the kid’s face and saw his bottom lip begin to twitch.

  “I don’t mind tellin’ you, son, that house was the ramshacklest thing you ever seen, all caved in on itself. Enough to break any man’s heart.”

  “She told me.”

  The kid stared at his bare feet. “I’ll tell you somethin’ else, somethin’ I never told no one before. Remember how I said my father died from handlin’ on snakes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, on that day when I seen the spirit drain away outta him, an’ I seen him go cold and blue, I
just couldn’t take it. I knowed my own world ended right there, much as I loved him. An’ then I didn’t want to live myself, no how. So, I took up that same serpent that done it, and I made it bite me, again and again. I made certain I got all the killing power that serpent had left. Made certain it got in my veins. Look here.”

  The kid turned up his left wrist and held it out to Kamp. He saw what looked like a half dozen white spots, scars.

  The kid continued, “That’s right, them scars followed me from one cursed life t’ the next.”

  “But you didn’t die from it. The snakebite.”

  The kid shook his head. “That’s the real shit of it. I couldn’t, didn’t die, much as I wanted to, much as I prayed for it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not what?”

  “Why do you think you didn’t die?”

  “That ol’ snake was prob’ly low on the venom by the time he got me. Don’t matter though, warn’t no good reason to keep livin’ after that. ’Cept I did get to help free my friend Onesimus Tucks. That was a good thing.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “But, hell, then when I finally got killed, they went an’ sent me back anyhow. I know, I know, yer gonna say, why, why’d they do it? Don’t know, ’cept maybe for one thing.”

  “What?”

  The kid cleared his throat and spat out the window, then fell silent for a long time. He looked back at Kamp and said, “Glad as I was to see you folks, I apologize for putting you to the trouble. I didn’t want to be caught up in none o’ this. I don’t want to be here, understand? I just want to be rid of all this.”

  “Makes sense.”

  The kid tilted his head and studied Kamp. “Say, I come across a paper that says you were in there, in that nut bin. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Says that you was dead, too. That you perished in the war. What about that?”

  Kamp raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to speak, and then paused.

  The kid said, “It’s all right, son. There’s stories none of us should have to tell.” He took in a deep breath and looked out the window again. “There ain’t enough like us, son, living or dead. Not nearly enough like you an’ me an’ Nyx. An’ who’s that with Nyx?”