Hudson's Kill

by Paddy Hirsch

  “The boy will still have to see a judge for what he did,” he said.

  Corrigan nodded, but the relief had flushed his face red.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too far, Cooper,” Justy said. “There’s nothing to say that it wasn’t the wound that he inflicted that killed her. Sister Claire will have to give evidence.”

  “My boy’s not a killer.”

  “That’s for the beak to decide.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sahar and Kerry sat in the quiet, the thin cloud of charas smoke hanging above them. They held hands, and Kerry talked about Daniel, how small he had been when he was born, and yet how loud. A scream that could crack a window. She told how the child had been taken from her, and given to a wet nurse, and how her own milk had dried up, so that when she got him back again, she could not feed him. She told how the boy had grown quickly, but got sick easily, and when the yellow fever had struck the city, she had taken him to a sanatorium near Turtle Bay for safety, but the building had burned to the ground. And she had never seen him again.

  The two women cried and held each other, and used the edges of their dresses to dry their tears. And then they sat quietly, the silence singing in their ears.

  “The man who took your child from you. Where is he now?” Sahar asked.

  “He’s dead.” Kerry looked into her eyes. “I killed him.”

  It was a moment before Sahar spoke again. “I want to kill the man who took Rumi from me. But I do not know who he is.”

  “Umar knows.”

  “He will not tell me. He wants nothing but loyalty and obedience from me. From all of us. If I tried to find out who killed Rumi, he would kill me. And he would do it easily. He kills, and does not give it another thought.”

  “Who has he killed?”

  She smiled sadly. “He killed the man who owned us, on the island. He killed a man when he stole the boat that brought us here.”

  “He was escaping. You all were. Sometimes you have to do what you have to, to survive.”

  “And the women? The girls? What about them?”

  Something fluttered in Kerry’s chest. “What girls?”

  “The girls he brought here, the ones that fell ill, or were barren.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sahar smoothed her hand over the blanket. “You think this is a house of prostitution.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Do brothel owners keep their women drugged and shut in dark rooms?”

  Kerry shook her head. “I suppose not.”

  “No. They do not. But Absalom does, because these women are not here to provide pleasure to men. To some men, of course, but that is not the reason the women are here. They are here because they are white, and their children will be white also.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sahar grasped her hand. “He is breeding them. Babies. Little white babies, like precious birds, or rare horses.”

  “For sale?”

  Sahar nodded.

  It was a moment before Kerry realized that she was holding her breath. She exhaled, a long sigh. It made sense now. Why Umar was stealing white girls, why Tanny and the other streetwalkers had heard nothing about a rival brothel. Because there was no brothel. Why Umar had called it a stable. Because it was full of brood mares. Which meant the stallions were white men.

  “You said some girls fell ill, or were barren. What happened to them?”

  Sahar nodded. “They disappeared. One day they were here, the next they were gone. We never heard anything about them.”

  “How many?”

  Sahar shrugged. “Ten? A dozen? Perhaps more.”

  “What about the white women in gray robes? What do they do?”

  “They are his recruiters. He calls them his angels, but they are whores, addicted to charas. They live here, in a room beside the refectory. He gives them charas, food, shelter, protection. In return, they bring him girls.”

  Kerry leaned back against the wall. Perhaps it was the drug, but she felt somehow insulated from the horror of what Sahar was telling her, as though it was too much for her mind to cope with. But she could see the scheme laid out in front of her, as plain as a map.

  “We have to get out of here, Sahar.”

  “We cannot. He will hurt your friend. If he catches you, he will do it in front of you. If you get away, he will cut her to pieces and deliver her to you.”

  Kerry’s stomach flipped at the thought of the breast-ripper. Acid on her tongue.

  “We can’t sit and do nothing.” She walked to the door. And then she turned and faced Sahar.

  “Do you really want to find the man who killed Rumi?”

  Sahar’s eyes were as dark as a thundercloud. “I do.”

  Kerry nodded. “Then I have an idea.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Justy and Lars sat at a table in Hughson’s Tavern, staring into the space in front of them as Seamus Tully filled their tankards from a jug of ale.

  “Everything all right, gents?” he asked. “Only you look like a pair of buggered heifers.”

  Justy looked at the tankard. His mouth tasted sour, but he knew the ale wouldn’t flush it clean. “It’s Kerry. She’s gone and put herself in a hole.”

  “What kind of a hole might that be?”

  “One full of Mussulmen, with a bloody great wall built around it.”

  “Ah, shite.” Tully reached for Justy’s glass and drank a slug out of it. “I had a feeling.”

  “And you didn’t stop her?”

  “Easy now. It’s not like she told me what she was up to. She just had that look about her. You know, the one where her jaw goes square and her eyes go narrow and she’d as soon drive a coach and four right over you, rather than ask you nicely to step out of the way.”

  Justy smiled despite himself. “Aye, well, it sounds like that bloody cousin of hers convinced her to dress up like a doxy and sneak inside, to find out the lay of the land for him.”

  “Owens? The shag. What’s he planning, to blow down the wall of Jericho, then steam in and gut every man, mott, and kinchin inside?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. The thing is, she was supposed to leave him a sign that she was safe inside, and there’s been nothing. I’m worried for her, and I want to get her out.”

  “Only there’s no way in.” Tully took another drink. His eyes appraised Justy over the rim of the tankard. “Or is there?”

  “I think there might be. Do you know a candle-maker up by the compound there? Hard by the wall?”

  Tully thought for a moment. “There’s a few taper-fencers in Canvas Town. But I don’t know of one up by the wall. What’s the play?”

  Justy sat back. “Umar took me and one of my men into Jericho a few days back, through a secret entrance, not through the front. Five gets you ten that’s not the only secret entrance to the place. I need to find a way in. Will you ask about for me?”

  “If you think it’ll help Kerry, I will, of course.” Tully emptied the glass and wiped the counter. “We might have more luck up that way if it’s someone with a darker skin doing the asking. Why don’t you lend me your man Hardluck for the job?”

  Justy winced. “I like your thinking, Seamus, but I don’t think we’ll ever see Hardluck again.”

  “Certainly not if I see the black joke first,” Lars said.

  Tully looked back and forth between the two of them. “Have yiz fallen out, then?”

  “You might say,” Lars said. “He’s only been working for his old master the whole time, spying on Justy, no doubt.”

  “Hardluck?” Tully frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure as you’re standing in front of me,” Justy said. “I saw him driving out of that bloody compound this morning.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “He went right past me, Seamus.”

  “Well, he must be a bloody magician, then, for he’s been back in the galley the whole day.”

  Justy flushed. “Impossible. I s
aw him with my own eyes.”

  “And I saw him with mine, a mhac. Go in the back and see for yourself. Ask Kathleen, she’ll tell you. He’s been in there peeling tatties all morning, waiting on you to send for him.”

  Justy strode into the back of the tavern, ignoring the twinge in his knee, and pushed open the kitchen door. Hardluck was sitting on a barrel, his coat off, his sleeves rolled up, a potato in one hand, and a knife in the other. There were peelings on the floor and a bowl full of yellow potatoes on the table beside him. He had the dull-eyed look of a man who’d been doing scut work for hours at a time.

  “How long have you been here?” Justy snapped.

  Hardluck’s mouth dropped open. He swallowed. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean no harm by it. Kath just said she needed some help.”

  His eyes flicked across the room. Justy followed the look to see a girl in her midtwenties with her hands plunged elbow-deep in a sink full of linens. “You’re Kathleen?”

  The girl stood up straight and tucked a loose hank of red hair under her white cap. “Yes, sir.”

  “When did he come back here?”

  “Come back, sir?” She glanced at Hardluck, a puzzled look on her face.

  “How long ago? An hour?”

  The girl’s face reddened. “I’ll thank you not to speak so sharp to me, sir. I’m not your maid.”

  Hardluck stood up slowly. “Forgive me, sir. I thought I was meant to wait for word from you. Was I supposed to meet you back at the Hall?”

  The driver’s eyes were on the floor. His arms were loose by his sides and his head was down. He looked like a dog about to receive a beating, the kind that was doled out so regularly and frequently that it was just a matter of course.

  Justy felt his anger evaporate. He saw how unjust it was for him to be enraged at Hardluck. The man was a slave. He felt a strange sense of relief. There was a chair beside the door. He lowered himself carefully into it, nursing his knee. “Go back to your master, Hardluck.”

  The driver looked startled. “Sir?”

  “Let’s not pretend anymore. I saw you today. Up at the compound. But before you leave, I would like to know what Piers Riker was doing up there. Perhaps you would tell me that?”

  Hardluck’s forehead was as furrowed as a plowed field. “But I’ve been here all day, sir.”

  Justy felt irritation pluck at him. “I saw you, Hardluck. Perched on top of your carriage. Riker’s carriage, I should say. You drove right past me. I called out to you, actually, but you didn’t hear. Or perhaps you merely ignored me. Not that it matters.”

  “Not me, sir, I swear.”

  “I know that rig, Hardluck!” The heat was back in his voice. “That paintwork, those ridiculous pennants. There aren’t two cabs like it in the city of New York.”

  Hardluck’s eyes were wide. “But there are, sir.”

  “What?”

  “Two cabs, sir, the same. Yours is one of a pair.”

  “A pair?” Part of Justy knew he sounded like a parrot, but his mind was having trouble grasping what Hardluck was saying.

  “One made for Mister Piers, sir, the other for Mister Tobias. Mister Tobias usually keeps his on the estate, as it’s too small to carry much more than himself and his papers, but Meriday—that’s the driver, sir—he drove the big carriage into a slough a few weeks back, near New Hope, and he twisted the axle, so Mister Tobias had to switch to the smaller rig.”

  “Two cabs. A pair.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’ve been here all day?” He looked at Kathleen, who nodded emphatically.

  He thought back, remembering the coach driving out of the gates. The same coach, identical in every way, but the driver? He thought about the figure on the top of the cab, hunched over, lashing out with his whip, wrapped in a coachman’s robe, with a hood that hid his face.

  Not Hardluck at all.

  A wave of emotion broke over him. Relief at the fact that he hadn’t been duped by Riker, or betrayed by Hardluck. Shame that he had thought the worst of the driver. Anger at himself for lashing out at Kathleen and Hardluck both. And then, a surge of excitement.

  “What would Tobias Riker be doing up at a Mohammedan compound in Canvas Town?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir. But it might not have been Mister Tobias at all. He often has Meriday running up to Jericho for one thing or another.”

  “Wait a moment. You know about Jericho?”

  Hardluck nodded. “Never been there, sir, but I know of it, certainly.”

  “And Tobias Riker does business there?”

  The puzzled look was back on Hardluck’s face. “Of some kind, sir, but I don’t know what.”

  “Well, god damn it, Hardluck! Why the good holy hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what, sir?”

  “That you know about this goddamned compound! That your old master has been doing business up there! For Christ’s sake, I have been racking my brains to find a way into that place, to find out what this man Umar is up to, and to dig the only woman I’ve ever loved out of the pit that she has fallen into, and you might have had the answers the whole goddamned time!”

  The kitchen was silent, except for the drips of water that fell from Kathleen’s hands. Hardluck was staring at the floor. “I didn’t know any of that, sir. You didn’t tell me any of that.”

  The door creaked open. Lars looked in. “Everything square in here?”

  Justy gestured. “Turns out Hardluck here knows all about Jericho. Riker does business up there, he says. His driver … what’s his name?”

  “Meriday,” Hardluck said.

  “Meriday is up and down from there all the time. All the time!” Justy sat down slowly. He felt as though his head was about to split. Everything he’d said and not seen, known and assumed, spinning in his mind.

  Lars patted him on the shoulder. “Well, let’s start from the beginning. Who does your man Meriday take up to Jericho, Hardluck?”

  The coachman made a hopeless gesture. “I don’t really know, sir. Mister Tobias goes up there, and sometimes has friends with him. And then there’s the lawyer Meriday brings back and forth. Several times a week, sometimes.”

  Justy looked up. “Lawyer?”

  “A man named Shard.”

  “Shard?” Lars and Justy spoke at the same time. Hardluck’s eyes widened.

  “There was a Shard taken to the Almshouse after the fire the other night,” Justy said.

  Lars nodded. “I know it. I know him.”

  “You know him?” Justly felt the swelling sensation in his skull increase.

  “Easy now. I don’t know him. But I’ve met him once or twice. At the Bun. And I saw him after he was brought in to the Almshouse the other night. Your lads made a right mess of him. Scrambled his brains, for sure. He was babbling away about the Devil tempting him and the fires of hell. All the usual stuff the plain folk come out with.”

  Justy held up his hand. “Hold on. He’s a Puritan?”

  “Ties his hair with a yellow ribbon like a lot of them do.”

  “What in God’s name is one of the plain folk doing in a place like the Buttered Bun?”

  Lars shrugged. “He’s a human being, ain’t he? We all lapse from time to time. Except you, maybe.” He winked at Kathleen, who hid a smile behind her hand.

  Justy leaned back in the chair, his mind racing. What was Riker doing up at Jericho? What business did he have with Umar? And the lawyer: Why did Riker need to send a lawyer up to Jericho several times a week? And who was the lawyer? Shard was an unusual name. Was it the same Shard who was in the Almshouse? Again, he felt as though he was looking at a puzzle, except that now he was beginning to see the edges and patches of color that made up the image. The skin pricked on his arms and the back of his neck. It was the feeling that something in the sequence of events was beginning to run in his favor, like a tide turning.

  He sat up. “Hardluck, I apologize for my outburst. Will you forgive me?”

  The driver�
�s smile lit up his face. “Nothing to it, sir.”

  “Thank you. Now, can you find this man Meriday for me? Ask him about this lawyer?”

  The jarvie nodded. “I’ll go to Mister Tobias’ house directly, sir. I’ll say I’m come to pick up some trifles I’ve left behind.”

  “Lars, I need you at the Almshouse. Can you persuade them to keep you another night?”

  The big sailor lifted his arm. “I won’t be lying if I say I need the dressing changed. Then maybe I can keel over or something.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be very convincing.”

  He pushed himself to his feet. He bowed to Kathleen. “You’ll forgive me too, mistress, for speaking to you so.”

  She colored, and bobbed a curtsey.

  Lars squinted at him. “Well, we’ve got our marching orders. What are you going to do?”

  Justy grinned. “Something I usually hate doing.”

  “What’s that, then?”

  “Paperwork.”

  THIRTY

  “Long day, Marshal?”

  Justy jumped. The nib of his pen jammed and a large blot of ink spread slowly over the paper. “Damn it, Gorton!”

  “Sorry.” The watchman leaned on the door of Justy’s office.

  “You look pleased with yourself. Did you get some sleep?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t suppose you had any luck getting Umar to take you on as a spy as well.”

  “I put the hook in the water, but nothing nibbled.”

  The Trinity bell began to sound five. One more day before the girl’s body was taken out of the Almshouse and dumped in a common grave.

  “I need you to make some inquiries for me.”

  “I’m at your service, Marshal. But you only paid me for two days, and you’re already a day in arrears.”

  Justy grimaced. He tugged his purse out of his pocket and counted out five dollars. Gorton’s hand whipped out, and the coins disappeared.

  “You and Playfair picked up a man after that fracas last night,” Justy said. “Name of Shard.”