Berry left him to return to her own hammock and a few more hours of much-needed sleep. Matthew was on his way to the poop deck when a shadow moved at the mainmast. A tinderbox sparked, a flame stirred, and a clay pipe was lighted.
“Matthew,” said the captain, “do you not know that I am always aware what time it is, whether the crewman on watch rings the bell or not?”
“I’m sorry. I was—”
“Talking with your friend, yes. I wandered over that way, and heard a bit. I hope you don’t mind. After all, this is my ship.”
“I don’t mind,” Matthew said.
“Nice night for a talk, isn’t it? All those stars. All those mysteries. Yes?”
“Yes,” was Matthew’s reply.
“You’re a terrible watchman and a worse time-keeper,” said Falco. “Those errors should get you whipped.”
I’ve been whipped before, Matthew thought, but he said nothing.
“Getting me off my floor where my bed used to be.” A spout of smoke drifted up and was blown away by the breeze. “I should whip you myself.”
“It is your ship,” Matthew said.
“For certain, she is.” Falco leaned against the mainmast, a slim shadow in the dark. “As I say, I heard a bit. A little bit, but enough. I will say this, and mark it: every captain must realize, sooner or later, that to progress his ship sometimes means casting things overboard that are no longer needed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, sir,” replied Matthew.
“Now you’re mocking me. But I will give you that, Matthew. I will also give you one minute to get to that bell, ring it twice for five o’clock—though you will be nearly twenty minutes late—and turn the glass. Then you will continue your rounds and you will pay attention to your duties. Clear again?”
“Clear,” was the only possible answer.
“Go,” said the captain. As Matthew started to hurry away, Falco gave out a voluminous puff of smoke and said, “And thank you for ruining my taste for sausages for the rest of my life.”
Matthew couldn’t help but smile.
It was a very good feeling.
Thirty-Three
ON the warm and sunny afternoon of the seventeenth day of April, a trumpet sounded from the crow’s-nest of the Nightflyer.
Matthew Corbett, bearded and sun-darkened, stood up from his task of swabbing the never-ending deck. He peered forward, one hand visoring his eyes.
“We’re home,” said Berry, who had come to his side from her own job of stowing away ropes into neat coils. She was wearing a blue floral-print dress from Saffron’s wardrobe. She had learned she was a natural at nautical crafts, and had become proficient at such things as reading a sextant, tying knots of twenty different kinds for different tasks, and actually keeping wind in the sails on the few times Captain Falco had allowed her to take the wheel. In fact, the captain had told her she had an easy touch with the Nightflyer, and he wished some of the men aboard could read the wind as well as she.
“Home,” she repeated, and she felt the leaping of joy within her heart but also a little sinking of sadness, for her adventure—a dirty and dispiriting spell in the brig, fearsome men with torches and swords, crabs in the dark under a wooden floor, violent earthquake and all—was almost ended. And almost ended were the days—the little more than three weeks—she had spent with Matthew, for aboard this ship he seemed to have all the time in the world and never shunned her…whereas, in the town that lay on the island before them…
Ever the same.
Matthew saw Oyster Island ahead on the port side of the ship. And beyond it, New York. The forest of masts at the Great Dock, and beyond them the buildings. The shops and homes, the taverns and the warehouses. The lives of people he cared about. His own life, renewed. He was the captain of his own ship now, and he had done as Falco directed. Over the course of this voyage he had made a great effort to throw overboard from the ship of his soul those things that caused him pain, grief and regret, and that he could not change no matter what. Revealing those personal agonies to Berry on deck, in the quiet under the moon and stars, had been a revelation to himself. How much he trusted her, and how much he also cared about her. Yet…
The shark was still in the water, out there somewhere.
The shark would not rest. It never rested. It would think, and plan, and wait…and then, sooner or later, it would stop its circling and attack. Would it come after Berry? Would it come after anyone to whom Matthew held an attachment?
He didn’t know. But he did know that Professor Fell never forgot, and so he was not done with the professor and he was certain that the professor was not done with him.
A small fleet of longboats was rowing out to meet the new arrival. The harbormaster or one of his representatives would be aboard one of them, to find out where the ship was coming from and what it was carrying. In just a little while, then, the word would begin to spread that Matthew Corbett and Berry Grigsby had returned from their nearly two months absence. Lillehorne and Lord Cornbury would want to know the whole story. And Hudson Greathouse also. Matthew decided it was time to be honest with everyone and get things out in the open. But to go so far as to allow Marmaduke to write a story for The Earwig? Matthew wasn’t so sure about that.
Minx Cutter joined Matthew and Berry at the railing. She was in good health and had scrubbed herself from a washbasin this morning. Aria Chillany’s knife would leave only a thin scar across Minx’s forehead, but it was hardly anything. She had come into her own on the voyage also, and had been quite admired by the crew when she showed them her knife-throwing abilities. Particularly when Captain Falco had volunteered to stand on deck and have Minx outline him against a bulkhead with blades. That had gone over greatly with everyone except Saffron, who didn’t intend to raise their child alone.
The three hundred pounds in gold coins had been paid to the captain and the account settled. In fact, Falco had told them that as members of the crew Matthew, Minx, Berry and Zed were entitled to a share, to be divided up when they reached New York. And so they were almost there, as the longboats came alongside to get their towropes tied up. Then there would be a short while for the rowers to guide them to a harbor berth. A rope ladder was lowered, and who should come aboard but the new assistant to the harbormaster, a man who knew ships and their cargoes and who prided himself on being watchful that no enemy of New York was trying to slip past his guard.
“Lord God! Am I lookin’ at a phantom, what’cha might say?” asked old wild-haired Hooper Gillespie, made more presentable in a new suit. He took in Berry and his eyes got wider. “Two phantoms, then? Am I dreamin’ in daylight?”
“Not dreaming,” Matthew replied. It occurred to him that the phantom of Oyster Island was standing only a few feet away. Zed had shaved for the occasion of returning to New York, and since he’d done the work of three men and on this voyage eaten the meals that three men might have consumed he was as big and formidable as ever before. “Miss Grigsby and I are glad to be home,” said Matthew.
“Where ya been, then? Everybody’s gone near crazy tryin’ to figger it out!”
“Yes.” Matthew smiled at him, and squinted in the sun. He scratched his beard, which would soon be coming off with the strokes of a new razor. “Let’s just say for now that we were in someone’s idea of paradise.”
“Huh? That don’t make a hog’s lick a’ sense! Think you’re tryin’ to rib old Hooper, is what I think! Yessir! Rib ’im!”
“Is this a typical New Yorker?” Falco asked with his pipe in his mouth, drawing nearer to Matthew.
“No,” Matthew confided. “He makes more sense than most.”
The Nightflyer, a sturdy gal, was towed into harbor. Matthew smelled the earthy aroma of springtime. The air was warm and fresh, and the hills of New Jersey and north of the town were painted in the white, violet, pink and green of new buds and new foliage. By the time the Nightflyer had been guided in, docked and tied up, Hooper Gillespie had seemingly told everyone in New York
that Matthew and Berry were arrived, for a sizeable crowd had gathered and still more people were converging upon the wharf. Of course anytime a ship of large size drew in to port a throng of merrymakers, musicians and food peddlers appeared to hawk their talents and wares, but it was as clear as the weather that today the names of Corbett and Grigsby had true worth.
The gangplank was lowered. Matthew decided he would take his ease going down it, as he only had the one much-worn outfit left.
“Oh my Jesus!” shouted someone from the crowd. A familiar voice, usually directed toward Matthew in the form of irritating questions concerning the activities of a problem-solver. “Berry! My girl! Berry! Let me through, please!”
Thus the moon-faced, rotund, squat and bespectacled figure of Marmaduke Grigsby either shoved his way forward or was allowed to pass, and seeing his granddaughter navigate the gangplank broke him to tears that streamed down his cheeks and caused him to look the most miserable man on earth on perhaps the most joyous day of his life.
When Marmaduke flung himself at her in a bone-crushing embrace the energy of his delight staggered Berry and nearly took them both swimming, but for Matthew’s catching them from careening across the wharf.
“Oh dear God!” said Marmaduke, his eyes still flooding. He had to take off his spectacles to see. “Where were you? Both you and Matthew gone…no word for days and then weeks…I’m a puddle, just look at me!” He crushed Berry close again, and Matthew saw Berry’s eyes widen from the pressure. Then Marmaduke looked at Matthew and the round face with its massive red-veined nose and slab of a forehead that walnuts could be cracked upon flamed like a warlock’s rum toddy. “You!” The blue eyes nearly burst from their sockets and the heavy white eyebrows danced their jigs. “What did you drag this poor child into?”
“I didn’t exactly—”
“I should make you pay for this! I should throw you out of that abode of yours and see you in court, sir, for—”
A finger was pressed firmly against Marmy’s lips. “Hush that nonsense,” said Berry. “He didn’t drag me into anything. I went where we were taken. Neither of us wanted to go. I’ll tell you all about that later, but right now all I want to do is get home.”
“Oh, my bones are shaking.” Marmy put a hand to his forehead. He looked near passing out. “I’ve been chewed to pieces over this. Dear Lord, I’ve prayed and prayed for your return.” He fired a quick glance at Matthew. “The return of both of you, I’m saying. Granddaughter…will you help me walk?”
“I will,” she said, and took his arm.
“Please,” said Matthew before Marmaduke could be helped away in his state of disrepair, “don’t walk straight to a pen when you reach home, and begin to pepper your girl with ink and questions. Berry? Would you please allow a few days to pass before you give any information to anyone?”
“I want to sleep for a few days, is what I want,” she replied, and though Marmaduke scowled at the thought of a broadsheet to be filled with a delicious story that he was yet unable to bite into, he allowed himself to be guided through the crowd.
Others came up to greet Matthew. There was Felix Sudbury and Robert Deverick, John Five and his wife Constance, the widow Sherwyn she of the all-seeing eye and sometimes flowing fountain of a mouth, Phillip Covey, Ashton McCaggers, the Munthunk brothers, Dr. Polliver, Hiram and Patience Stokely, Israel Brandier, Tobias Winekoop, Sally Almond, Peter Conradt and…
…the owner of a black cane topped with the silver head of a lion, which now was placed underneath Matthew’s nose so as to steer his attention to the waspy wisp of a man dressed in pale yellow from breeches to tricorn, topped with a white feather plucked from the dove of peace.
“Mr. Corbett,” said Gardner Lillehorne, making it sound like the nastiest curse ever to leave a man’s lips. “Where the devil have you been?”
Matthew regarded the long, pallid face with the small black eyes that seemed to be either perpetually angry or eternally arrogant. The precisely-trimmed black goatee and mustache might have been painted on by a nerveless artist. “Yes,” he answered. “That’s where.”
“Where what?”
“Where I’ve been.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“That’s right,” said Matthew, with a slight smile.
“My God,” Lillehorne said to his cur Dippen Nack, who stood glowering beside his master. “The man’s lost his bird.”
“I’ve been with the devil,” Matthew clarified. “And I’ll be glad to tell you about him. You and Lord Cornbury, whenever you please. Just not this afternoon. Oh.” He remembered his promise to himself, the one he’d made when he’d fully realized the enormity of his dangerous situation on Pendulum Island. He stepped forward and kissed Dippen Nack on the forehead, proving to himself that a promise made was a promise kept.
Nack in stupefied horror fell back. Nack nearly fell over a wharfboard crack.
And then through the crowd came a man who, it appeared, no longer needed a cane. He walked tall and steady, he looked strong and wolfish and ready for any battle ahead. Perhaps it was also due to the very comely—strapping, it might be said—blonde widow Donovan holding his hand and all but cleaved to his side.
“The wanderer has returned,” said Hudson Greathouse. “I believe you have some tales to tell.”
“I do. And as I have said to the High Constable, I am more than willing to tell everything to him, to Lord Cornbury, and to you. And you, first.”
“Over a bottle of wine at the Trot, I presume?”
“Two at least.”
“You are buying?”
“I am currently without funds, though tomorrow I will be paid for being part of the crew of that fine—”
He was unable to finish, because Hudson had picked him up and hugged him, and when Hudson put his strength into it the back was pressed to the test. Fortunately, Matthew’s back passed that test, and he was returned to the ground unbroken.
“Seven o’clock tonight, then,” said Hudson, who suddenly had something in his eye and was trying to get it clear with a finger. “Don’t be a minute late or I’ll hunt you down.” His eyes examined Matthew’s face. “You look older.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s the beard.”
“I love the beard!” said the beauteous widow. Her hands roamed Hudson’s chest and shoulders. “Something about that…makes me tingly.”
“Really?” Hudson’s brows went up. “I shall lose my razor this evening,” he decided.
Others came up and either shook Matthew’s hand or whacked him so hard on the back he thought he might yet be crippled. Hudson and his lovely departed, and so did Lillehorne and his ugly. Matthew had caught sight of Minx Cutter moving through the throng, speaking to no one, putting distance between herself and him. And also, possibly, distance between herself and the memory of Nathan Spade. He would find her later. Right now he looked around for someone in particular, a person who would be easy to spot if indeed he had left the ship.
It seemed, however, that Zed had never come down the gangplank.
Matthew went back up, to where Falco was still giving some orders to tidy the deck before any of the others might leave. “Where’s Zed?” Matthew asked.
“Forward,” Falco answered, and indeed there stood Zed at the bow, staring out across the town that had known him as a slave and then never known him as the phantom of Oyster Island.
“Isn’t he departing?”
“Oh yes, he’s departing. As soon as I find a full complement of crew, and I am able to restock my ship, we’ll be departing. That would be a week or so, I’m thinking. Until then, Zed is a guest on my ship and he prefers to remain here until we leave.”
“Until you leave? Going where?”
Falco relit his pipe with a small taper, and blew smoke into the world. “I am taking Zed home to Africa. Back to his tribe’s land, where he has asked me to take him by drawing me a very persuasive picture. And paid me, also.”
“Paid
you? With what?”
Falco reached into a pocket. He opened his hand. “These. They’re very fine diamonds.”
Matthew realized what Zed had picked up from the dungeon floor as the castle was crashing down. Not a single object, but two. Sirki’s front teeth were larger in Falco’s palm than they’d appeared in the giant’s mouth, and so too were the sparkling diamonds larger.
“I’ll be damned,” Matthew had to say.
“Damned by one, at least,” Falco corrected. He returned the teeth to his pocket and clenched his own teeth around the pipe’s stem. “You’ll be foremost in his mind. Mark that.”
“I do mark it.”
“I intend to find a house and leave Saffron and Isaac here. I hope you’ll look in on them from time to time.”
Matthew nodded. He’d only learned that Isaac was the child’s name when they were several days at sea. “I don’t believe I told you, but I knew a great man named Isaac,” he said.
“Let us hope my Isaac grows up to be great. Well…I trust you will make good on your promise to held me find a position carrying cargo when I return?”
“I’ll make good.”
“I somehow knew you would say that.” Falco reached his hand out, and Matthew took it. “I also know, Matthew, that you and I are tied together by the bonds of Fate. Don’t ask me how I know this. Call it…knowing which way the wind blows.” And so saying, he blew a small white spout of Virginia’s finest that was caught by the soft April breeze and carried out over the sea.
Matthew walked forward to where Zed was standing motionless, as he must have sometimes stood watching the life of New York pass by from the rooftop of City Hall. When Zed realized Matthew was there, he instantly turned himself toward his visitor. Matthew thought that, whether at war or at peace, the Ga was a fearsome sight. But there was nothing to fear now. At least for a while, the war was over. And…perhaps…Zed’s long life of peace was soon to begin.