The Providence Rider

by Robert R. McCammon

  “Old habits die hard,” was the reply. Matthew still didn’t trust the drink, and set it aside.

  “A few questions for you.” Sirki’s mouth smiled, but the eyes were stern. “You found this message exactly where?”

  “In a folded-up stocking. Second drawer of the dresser in Wilson’s room.”

  “Do you have any idea whose handwriting it is?”

  “I can guess,” Matthew said. He imagined what Professor Fell’s thought was upon reading the two lines Minx had forged.

  We are being watched. Warn Nash.

  In addition to giving Fell a pair of traitors, Matthew had given him a third in the form of Frederick Nash, the corrupt and treasonous member of Parliament.

  “I presume that Professor Fell knows whose handwriting it is. I have no idea who ‘Nash’ might be, but I also presume that the professor knows.” Matthew frowned; now was the moment to voice his feigned concern. “What I can’t understand, is why the message was written down and not simply passed in speaking? It’s a simple enough message, after all. So why risk writing it down?”

  “The professor has also wondered this,” said Sirki, ominously.

  “Yes.” Matthew felt the sweat begin to erupt at his temples. But it was a warm day, after all. “The only conclusion I can come to—my educated guess—is that my interaction with Mr. Smythe has caused him to…shall we say…panic. Possibly Wilson intended to burn the message at a later date. Or possibly he intended to show it to this Nash person, as evidence of veracity. You know, it’s my experience that desperate men often make desperate mistakes.”

  “Hm,” said Sirki. He waited for more.

  “Of course,” Matthew continued warily, “there was no reason for Wilson to suspect I’d be entering his room today. But he did have common caution enough to hide the message, which speaks to me of certain guilt.”

  Sirki said nothing for a while, which did not help Matthew’s nerves.

  At last the giant spoke. “The professor,” he said, “has also come to these conclusions.”

  Matthew nodded. He was aware how heavy his head felt on the stalk of his neck. “Can I also assume, then, that our business is done?”

  “It is done, and successfully so, but there is a complication.”

  “Oh?” Matthew’s stomach had twisted into a knot. “What complication?”

  “Your friend Miss Grigsby cannot be found. The search continues, but some of the searchers are beginning to believe she may have stepped off a cliff in the dark and fallen to her death either on the rocks below or in the sea.”

  “Oh my God!” said Matthew, with an effort.

  “If she had stayed where she was placed, she would have been fine. In a few days, you’ll be leaving here aboard the Nightflyer. The searching will go on, but I fear Miss Grigsby will not be returning with you.” Sirki stared solemnly into Matthew’s eyes. “To that regard, I am instructed to tell you that another five hundred pounds will be added to your three thousand pound fee. Is that agreeable?”

  “For me, yes,” Matthew answered with grim determination. “For her grandfather, I’m not so sure.”

  “The professor regrets your loss. I’m sure you will convey that thought to her grandfather? As for the Ga, he is caged in the lower quarters of this castle. He will be returned to you on the morning of your departure, but not before.”

  “All right.” Matthew was starting to breathe easier again. The forgery had passed its test, and Professor Fell had supplied his own story concerning the message: the frightened scribbling of one traitor to another, implicating a third. “Let me ask…what will be done with Wilson and Smythe?”

  “They’ve already been taken to their own cages. They will be dealt with in a short while. Would you like to serve as a witness?”

  “Me? No. I don’t care to hear their whimpering lies and denials.” Nathan Spade could not have spoken it better, Matthew thought. In truth, he feared that his heart was becoming harder by the moment. “But tell me…what will be done?”

  “I will take care of them,” said Sirki. “As the professor watches, they will be chained naked to two chairs. Their tongues will be removed first.”

  “Ah,” Matthew said, and then thought he might have sounded too relieved.

  “One eye will be scooped from each face and crushed beneath the professor’s shoe. Next their sexual organs will be removed and placed into their mouths. Following that, their hands and feet will be sawed off. A slow and delicate operation.”

  “Tiring for you, I’m sure.”

  “Very much so,” Sirki agreed, without a flicker of expression. “Before they can bleed to death, their arms will be sawed off at the shoulders. Again, it’s quite an effort on my part, but the professor appreciates my vigor. If they live very much longer, their legs will be sawed off at the knees.”

  “By that time,” Matthew said, “you should be ready for a long nap.”

  Sirki allowed himself an evil half-smile. “My blade does most of the work, young sir. I just guide it along. But there will be much blood, which makes the grip more challenging. Where was I? Oh…at the end, they will lose their heads and everything will be put into burlap bags and carried down to Agonistes. His pet, I think you’ve seen. So Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson will be consigned to the sea in the form of octopus turds. Are you absolutely certain you don’t wish to witness the process?”

  “Tempting,” said Matthew, “but yes, I am certain.”

  “Understandable. I am empowered by Professor Fell to tell you that he feels this is a job well-done, and if he is in need of your future problem-solving abilities might he count on you?”

  “You mean to find Valeriani for him?”

  “The professor made no mention of that,” said the giant.

  Matthew pondered the moment. He hoped to destroy the gunpowder factory and to be on his way with Berry, Zed, Minx and Fancy to the harbor within twelve hours. He doubted if the professor would feel so grateful to him when all that powder went up. “My place is in New York,” Matthew said. “I’d like to be left alone.”

  Sirki seemed to be deliberating this statement. He went to the door and then paused. “You are aware,” he said, “that the professor never takes ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “I’m aware. But…no.”

  Sirki bowed his head slightly. “I shall pass that response along. Your payment will be delivered on the morning of your departure, along with the Ga.” He offered the faintest of smiles. “I regret not being able to kill him, but sometimes one does not always get what one wishes.” With that remark, Sirki opened the door, left the room, and closed the door at his back.

  Matthew always felt relief when that huge killer departed his presence, and so he did now. He gave Sirki a few minutes to make some distance, and then he took a cautious sip of the lemon water. Yes…it just seemed to be lemons, after all. He drank the rest of the glass. But now he was in need of food, having missed the mid-day meal, and he went along the corridor and down the stairs in search of a fruitbowl or a basket of muffins and corncakes that were sometimes afforded on the dining room table.

  As he was going down the steps to the dining room, he heard a muffled scream from somewhere below.

  It went on for a few seconds and then stopped on a strangled note.

  Matthew saw that indeed there was a basket of muffins on the table. He was reaching for one when the hollow echo of a second scream rose up seemingly from the floor. It sounded to be from a different throat than the first, but also ended brokenly.

  He thought that Nathan Spade had had his revenge, and wherever Spade was he considered Matthew Corbett to be a kindred spirit.

  Matthew wasn’t certain to be happy or sad about that. But it seemed that in the professor’s world one dismembered corpse in a bag begat at least one or two others, and so with the deaths of Smythe and Wilson Fate—and Fell—had been satisfied.

  Another scream came up, agonized and pitiful. It died down again, and might have broken the heart of anyone who did n
ot know the history of the screamer.

  Matthew decided on the biggest muffin in the basket. He took it and, gratified to find it was studded with chocolate chunks, chewed a big bite from it and then returned to his room to wait for the fall of night. Only behind the locked door did he break out in a cold sweat and suddenly have to lose his few bites of muffin and drink of lemon water in a rush of liquid over the balcony’s railing.

  Twenty-Nine

  AFTER midnight, when the castle had become tomb-quiet and even the Thackers’ bellows silenced, Matthew began to stir.

  He left his room with a single stubby taper, walked quietly along the corridor and used the skeleton key to open Smythe’s room. Alas, the munitions master was not sleeping in this bed, but rather in the embrace of an octopus’s digestive system. He and Adam Wilson now shared the lowest of dwellings. Matthew continued out to the balcony, where he considered the drop of over twenty feet to manicured hedges in the garden. Were there fissures in the stone wall he might get his fingertips into? He shone his light downward. Yes, there appeared to be a few worthy grips, courtesy of years of earth tremors. It was this way or no way because for certain he could not risk the stairs and the front door.

  He blew out the candle and put it into his coat pocket along with the tinderbox from his room. Then he eased over the balcony, and with the supple strength of youth and damned determination he began his careful descent along the cracked wall of Fell’s castle.

  The night’s banquet had been another affair of seafood, salacious behavior from the two brothers toward the diminished-looking Fancy, drunken laughter from Sabroso at jokes no one had made, Aria Chillany’s body pressing toward Matthew and her breath reeking of fish and wine thanks to his returned ability to smell, Toy feeding Augustus Pons and their whispers and giggles like two schoolgirls sharing secrets, Minx silently eating her food without a glance at anyone in particular, and Mother Deare talking about how good it would be to get started back to England in the next few days. Evidently the group would be travelling on the ship Fortuna, another of Fell’s fleet of transports. Matthew thought that being cooped up with that bunch for nearly two months would be enough to make him dance down a pirate’s plank in a fashion that would win appreciative applause from Gilliam Vincent.

  Two chairs had remained vacant at the table. “Where are those fuckers?” Jack Thacker had asked, his eyes bloodshot and whitefish foaming at the corners of his mouth. “Playing with—”

  “Their sausages?” Mack finished, after which he tossed back a half-glass of wine so deeply-red it was almost black. Between the brothers, Fancy stared at Matthew for a few seconds, her eyes dark-hollowed and weary, before she looked away. She was like a fine animal that had nearly been broken, Matthew thought. Much more time with the brothers, and she would be used up and withered within. Still he had yet to see her smile or even attempt such. But what was there for her to smile about? If he could only get her alone for a few seconds, to tell her what he was planning…

  Mother Deare said, “Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson are no longer with us.”

  “What?” Pons pushed Toy’s fork away. “Where are they?”

  “The two gentlemen,” said Mother Deare, with a passing glance at Matthew, “have been identified as traitors to the professor.”

  “Them too?” Jack’s mouth was a ghastly mess. “How many fucking traitors have there been at this party?”

  “Too many,” Mother Deare replied, with a faint motherly smile. “The situation is now stable.”

  “I think you should take a look at this one’s pockets.” Mack jabbed his knife in the direction of Matthew. “Turn ’im upside down and give him a fuckin’ good shake.”

  “Not necessary.” Mother Deare took a dainty sip of wine, her red-gloved hand huge upon the stem. “Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson have served their purpose, have been found lacking in loyalty and too prideful in their own powers. They were executed this afternoon. Didn’t anyone hear them screaming?”

  “I thought it was Pons gettin’ his ass jabbed,” said Jack, and Mack laughed so hard the wine burst from his nostrils.

  “Crude vulgarians,” Pons replied, with as much dignity as a fat man with three chins might summon. His eyes were heavy-lidded with disdain. He turned his attention to Mother Deare. “The…removal of Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson…quite sudden, it seems. I am to believe that they were both important assets—”

  “He said, ‘assets,’” Jack chortled, and again his brother guffawed in appreciation of the most simple-minded tavern humor.

  “Important elements,” Pons went on, “to the professor’s operations. For them both to be removed…doesn’t that bode ill for future plans?”

  “‘Bode ill,’ he says,” was Mack’s comment. “Buck can’t speak a man’s English.”

  Matthew had reached his fill of this particular meal. “Why don’t you two shut up? You look dumber than hell. Quit proving it by speaking.”

  The expressions on the faces of the Thackers froze. Mack’s chin trembled a little bit, as the rage worked on him. Jack sopped a piece of bread in fish sauce and chewed it as if tearing out Matthew’s throat with his teeth.

  “To answer,” said Mother Deare. “Yes, those two men were important. You hear me say ‘were.’ But there are always other talents in the organization to take their places. You can be sure the professor has planned for that beforehand. I am empowered to be the professor’s eyes, voice and hands in London, and to adjust persons into their proper places. To promote, so to speak. And I will perform that task to the best of my ability and for the best of the organization. Thank you for asking.”

  “Pleasure,” said Pons, returning his mouth to Toy’s waiting fork.

  Matthew continued his crawl down the wall of Fell’s castle. His right foot slipped in its search for a crevice, he knew he was in for a tumble so he flung himself off into space and headed for the hedges. They were fortunately not laden with anything sharp or stickery, and therefore he landed amid them with the most minor of scrapes. Then it was a matter of getting himself unentangled from them, putting his feet on firm ground and heading toward the road. There was a yellow moon just past full, the night held a slight breeze, and Matthew was in his element of silence and stealth.

  He was only on his way across the gardens a moment or two when he knew someone was coming toward him from the left: a dark shape though moon-painted, a lithe figure converging upon him with little or no hesitation and a confident stride.

  “Are you planning on walking the distance?” Minx asked quietly when she got close enough. She was wearing a hooded cape over her clothes, and again Matthew had to wonder if she had been last night’s visitor to his room.

  “I suppose that was my plan, yes.”

  “You need,” she said, “a new plan. Starting with a horse. Come with me.”

  “Going where?”

  “Going,” she answered, “to break into the stable, saddle our two horses and go do your task of exploding some gunpowder. That is the task, correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Then come on, we’re wasting time.”

  “Minx,” Matthew said, “you don’t have to go with me. I can do this by myself.”

  “Can you?” Though he couldn’t make out her face, he knew her expression would be wry, her blonde brows upraised. “I don’t think so. Come along, and you should be grateful I’ve arrived to save your legs and possibly your neck.”

  “Two necks can be stretched by a noose the same as one. In fact, I’d imagine we’d lose our heads if we’re caught.”

  “I agree. That’s why we shouldn’t be caught.” Dummy, was her unspoken comment. “Stop wrangling and come along. Now.”

  On the way to the stable, Matthew asked Minx how she’d gotten out of the castle unnoticed, and the reply was: “I walked out the front door and spoke kindly to the servant standing there. I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone for a solitary stroll. Being unnoticed was not my goal…getting out was. Didn’t you leave by the front door?”


  “No, I chose a more scenic way.”

  “Whatever it takes, I suppose. There’s the stable ahead. Keep your voice low, we don’t want to spook the horses and have them announcing us.”

  Breaking into the stable was as simple as Minx inserting the business end of a blade into a lock that secured a chain across the doors. The lock was broken, the chain removed, and though the horses within grumbled and stomped their hooves none let out any tell-tale whinnies. Minx and Matthew went to work saddling their mounts of choice, Esmerelda and Athena, and within a few minutes were out of the stable and following their moon-shadows along the road.

  “I’m presuming you were smart enough to bring something to light a flame,” Minx said.

  “A tinderbox and candle, yes.”

  “I brought the same,” she revealed. “Just in case.”

  “Very kind of you.”

  Minx was silent for a while, as their horses trotted the road side by side. Then she said, “Perhaps you are a bit like Nathan.”

  “How so?”

  “Foolish. Headstrong. A man who dares the Devil, if you want the truth. And who makes others think they can dare the Devil, too.” She cast a quick glance at him from under her hood. “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

  “You can always decline the dare,” Matthew told her, “and turn back.”

  “Oh no, there’s no turning back. But before I set foot on that ship, I am going to kill Aria Chillany. You can count on that, my friend.”

  Matthew had no doubt she would at least try. Just as he must try to get Fancy out of the grip of the Thackers, in honor of Walker In Two Worlds. It seemed both he and Minx were daring their own devils today, and what devils they were.

  The moon had sunk lower by the time they reached the skull-guarded road. “Not here,” said Minx when Matthew started to rein Athena in. He followed Minx perhaps another hundred yards, and then dismounted when she did so. Minx tied Esmerelda’s reins to a low shrub and Matthew did the same with Athena’s.