Mister Slaughter (Matthew Corbett #3)

Mister Slaughter (Matthew Corbett #3) Page 34

"Drink this."

Matthew recoiled; he couldn't recoil very far, however, for he was swaddled in damp beddings with his arms down by his sides. a cup of steaming liquid was tilted to his lips, which Matthew even in his humid haze kept tightly pressed together.

"It's just tea. English tea, that is. With honey and a dash of rum. Go ahead, drink it."

Matthew accepted it, and Jason Mallory held the cup to his mouth until the tea was gone.

"There," said Dr. Mallory. "Wasn't so bad, was iti"

Matthew's swollen eyes took in the doctor sitting in a chair beside his bed. On an octagonal table next to the chair was a single candle with a polished tin reflector behind it, and by that light Matthew made out Mallory's face. The rest of the room was shrouded by darkness.

Matthew felt as if his mind had been shattered like a mirror and pieced together again by a stranger who was not quite sure how the memories fit. Had Rachel Howarth ever stood beautiful and defiant before a mocking throng of Indians in a Seneca longhousei Had Magistrate Woodward ever nocked an arrow and fired it into the night-black foresti Or Berry ever leaned her head against his shoulder under the stars and wept heartbroken tearsi He was all messed up.

More than that, his bones ached, his very teeth ached, he couldn't have gotten up from this bed or in reality lifted his arms from his sides for eight times eighty pounds, and he had the awful impression of a woman sliding a chamberpot under him and saying, "There you are, now do your business like a good boy."

He remembered sweating. But he remembered freezing, as well. Then burning up. at some point, had cold water been poured repeatedly over his backi He remembered someone pushing down on his chest, again and again, hard enough to had he wept, like Berry hadi and someone saying close to his ear, "Breathe, Matthew! Breathe!"

ah, yes. He remembered drinking the tea. Not English tea, certainly. This had been thick, sharp-tasting, and

again, Matthew. Drink it, now. You can do it. all down.

His heart. He remembered how his heart was pounding, as if about to tear itself from his chest and tumble across the floor spewing blood. He was sweating, he was lying in a sodden mass of linens, and

One more cup, Matthew. Come on, Greathouse, get his mouth open.

"How are you feelingi" Mallory asked.

Matthew made a noise between a fart and a whistle.

"Do you know where you arei"

Matthew could see nothing but the doctor's face, illuminated by the reflected candle. Mallory was a lean, handsome man who appeared to possess features part angel, in his long, graceful Roman nose and luminous sea-green eyes, and part devil, in his arched, thick dark brown eyebrows and a wide mouth that seemed to be on the constant verge of a cruel burst of laughter. He had a weathered face that spoke of the harsh fire of tropic suns. His hair was dark brown, pulled back and tied into a queue. His chin was square and noble, his demeanor calm, his teeth all in their places. His voice was low and smoky, like the rumble of distant guns.

"The treatment room in my house," he said, when Matthew didn't respond. "Do you know how long you've been herei"

"No." Matthew was shocked at the weakness of his own voice. How time flew: one day a young man, the next ready for Paradise.

"This is your third morning."

"It's day, theni" But where was the sunlighti Surely there were windows in here.

"When I last checked the clock, it was just after two. In the morning."

"a night owl," Matthew rasped.

"You might give praise for night owls. Owing to a particular night owl named ashton McCaggers, you were brought promptly to me."

"I remember " Whati a one-eyed ghost, sliding out of the walli a sting in the side of his necki Oh, yes. That. His heart was beating hard again, and suddenly he was wet with perspiration. The bed already felt like a sinking boat. "Ripley," Matthew said. "What happened to himi"

"He is in need of a new face, and currently resides in the prisoners' ward of the King Street hospital. It's unlikely he shall be speaking anytime soon. You might thank McCaggers' slave for that."

"How did Zed get therei"

"Well, he knocked the door down, is the short answer. as I understand, the slave was up on the roof of City Hall and saw your light. He relayed this-as he does in some way, I suppose-to his master, who wished to take you a bottle of brandy to toast your return. There was something about hearing glass break. So again, you might give thanks for night owls, both the white and black variety."

"Whyi" Matthew asked.

"Why whati"

"a moment." Matthew had to compose the question again, for it had slipped away between thought and lip. "Why was I brought to youi There are other doctors nearer Stone Street."

"There are," Mallory agreed, "but none of them have travelled as extensively as I have around the world. and none of them know anything about the frog venom on the dart that struck you, or of course how to alleviate its unfortunate effects."

"Howi" Matthew asked.

"Is this a guessing gamei"

"How did you alleviatei"

"First of all, I knew what it was-what it must be-due to the blowpipe that ashton found in your office, and of course from your condition. I spent half a year on an expedition into the jungles of South america, where I witnessed natives regularly hunt with the pipe and dart, and more than once I saw them put even jaguars on the ground. Of course there are many different species of what they call 'poison-dart frogs', some more potent than others. The venom is actually sweat from the skin. a sort of sticky yellowish-white paste. as in the small clay vial that young wretch was carrying in his pocket."

Matthew thought of the empty space where the blowpipe had been, in Mrs. Sutch's cupboard. His own name had been in the ledger book of victims, but it would not have been crossed out until Ripley had done the deed and reported back.

"The venom doesn't travel well," Mallory went on, his face daubed yellow by the light. "after a year or so, it loses its full lethal potency. Though it can still seize a man up, so to speak, or at least give him a good scare. The trick is to keep the victim breathing and give him a shock to the heart. Which I did with my tea."

"Your teai"

"Not the English variety. My own recipe, which I hoped would work if indeed the venom was not at its full potency. a tea boiled from feverwort, yarrow, cayenne pepper, coca leaves, hawthorn and skullcap. You received a very, very strong dosage. Several, in fact. Boiled down to a thickening, I suppose you might call it. The result is that your heart pounds, your lungs pump, and you sweat rivers, but you do banish the impurities, if you live."

"ah," Matthew said. "I expect my face got very red, as welli"

"Beet-red."

"May I ask you a questioni" Matthew slowly eased himself up to a sitting position. His head swam and the room spun, but he made it. "Have you ever given that tea to Princess Lillehornei"

"In a much more moderate portion, yes. a very expensive health treatment. Firms the fibers, aligns the humors and is quite beneficial to women's parts. She told me she was having some trouble in that regard. I asked her to keep the treatment to herself, because my supply of coca leaves was limited, but she deemed it wise to tell a friend, who told a "

"Friend, who told a friend, until there were five women paying for health treatments three times a weeki"

"Yes. and I allowed it because every time I raised my fee, they paid. Only now you've used up the last of my supply."

"I don't think I want anymore," Matthew said. "But tell me how did ashton McCaggers know you knew anything about the frog venomi"

"ashton and I," said the doctor, "have been meeting regularly on Crown Street for coffee. He's a very interesting and knowledgable young man. Very curious about the world. I've told him about my travels: Italy, Prussia, Hungary, China, Japan and many other places, I'm proud to say. One day I mentioned my exploits in South america, and I told him about the natives and the blowpipes. He'd already read Sir Walter Raleigh's account of his travels on the Orinoco River, and of how the pipes were used, so ashton recognized what it was when he saw it."

Matthew nodded, but he was watching the doctor very carefully. Some little thing, just a pittance of a thing, had begun to bother him. "I wonder," Matthew said, "how that young wretch, as you put it, got hold of a blowpipe, a dart and that vial of frog venom. Don't youi"

"I have wondered about that, yes."

"You know, that seems a bit strange to me."

"Yes," the doctor agreed. "To me, as well."

"I mean, it's not every day that a killer tries to murder someone with frog venom from South america, and there in the same town is a doctor who is well almost an expert on frog venom from South america."

"Not an expert." Mallory gave a passing smile. "There are so many more varieties of poisonous frogs yet to be discovered, I'm sure."

Matthew sat up a little straighter. He had a bitter taste in his mouth. "I would think McCaggers might wonder about that coincidence too, when he stops to consider it."

"He already has. as I said to him, it's one of those strange improbabilities that make up the chaos of life. I also told him, Greathouse and Lillehorne that the blowpipe could have been fashioned right here in New York, but that the venom would have been obtained only after much time and expense. Someone had to bring it back from the jungle. a very exotic way to kill a victim, really. But perhaps it was an experimenti"

Matthew felt a new chill pass through him. It's being experimented with, Mrs. Sutch had told Slaughter. "How do you meani" Matthew asked.

"I mean perhaps the young wretch was testing the method. For someone else. To see how well the venom travelled, or " He stopped abruptly. "Your point being, did I supply iti" His arched brows lifted. "Don't you think that's being ingraciousi after all, I gave you a very expensive amount of my tea."

"But I wasn't going to die, was Ii Because the venom wasn't potent enoughi"

"It was a close call," Mallory said. "But I can tell you that without my treatment you'd have been lying on your back in a hell of delirium for at least a week, and after that your ability to walk would be impaired for who knows how longi With my treatment, you'll be able to stagger out of here tomorrow or the next day."

Matthew couldn't help it. Even as weak as he was, he had to probe. "Did you say you and your wife came from Bostoni Toward mid-Septemberi"

"Boston, yes. and the middle of September, the same."

"I wonder, Dr. Mallory I know this seems a very odd question, but " Matthew forced himself to lock eyes with the other man. "Would you call Manhattan an islandi"

"It is an island." Mallory paused for a few seconds. His mouth squirmed, looking very near to giving out the burst of laughter. "Oh! You're referring to this!"

From within his white shirt he produced a piece of light brown paper, twice folded. It was not as thick as parchment. as Mallory unfolded it before the candle, Matthew could see the pencil's impression of the octopus symbol on the back.

"That's private," Matthew said. Did his voice quaveri

"and so it should remain. I sent Rebecca to your office after they brought you here. I wanted to know if there were any more of those nasty little darts on the floor, like this one ashton found." Mallory reached over to the table, beside the candle, and picked up the dart that lay there to show his patient. "It appeared you'd only been struck with the one, but I wasn't sure and you couldn't tell me nor could that young toothless wretch, though it was later discovered he had three more in a leather pouch in his pocket. I thought it was also a good idea for Rebecca to take a quick look around before Lillehorne got there. So on the floor behind your desk was this letter."

Matthew was silent. He cursed himself for stupidity, for he had wandered again into rattlesnake country where it was least expected.

Mallory looked long and hard at the octopus symbol. "I understand," he said, his guns rumbling, "that you killed the man you were sent to bring back. Tyranthus Slaughter. Yesi"

Matthew didn't answer.

"Relax. We're only talking, Matthew. Two people in a room, at half-past two in the morning. Just us night owls." He gave a quick, cold-eyed smile. "all right, I presume you killed Slaughter. That's what Lillehorne says. Now, about Mrs. Sutch: is she in custody, or is she deadi"

"Who are youi" Matthew managed to ask. His throat was cold again.

"I," said the doctor, "am your friend. and I am going to assume as well that Mrs. Sutch is deceased, because she would have killed herself before she let anyone cage her." He folded the letter again and slid it into his shirt. "a pity," he said. "I liked her sausages."

Matthew decided he had to make a move. He had to get up and get out of here, no matter what. But when he tried-and he really, really did try-he had no strength, and now his arms and legs were losing sensation and the candlelight was spinning out long yellow spikes.

"Tell me, Matthew." Mallory leaned closer to him, his eyes shining. "When you killed Slaughter and Mrs. Sutch, what did you feeli"

"Whati"

"Feel," Mallory repeated. "What did you feeli"

"I felt sick."

Mallory smiled again. "There's a medicine for that, too."

again Matthew tried to get out of bed; again he failed, and this time his head fell back upon his pillow because the muscles of his neck had given out. He thought of shouting for help; the thought shattered like glass, and blew away like smoke.

"You'll be peacefully asleep in a minute," said Mallory. "I want you to know the blade scrape across your chest is healing well, but the smaller cut on your side is infected. I have a poultice on it that should help, but we'll watch it carefully."

Matthew was fighting the oncoming dark. The light was fading, and so was the doctor's face. "are you " He couldn't speak. Mallory was fragmenting into pieces, like Matthew's mind. "are you going to kill mei" and he added: "Professori"

The good doctor drummed his fingers on his armrest. "To your question, I answer: absolutely not. To your supposition, I say even night owls must rest." He reached out and with two fingers shut Matthew's eyelids. Matthew heard the chair creak as the man stood up, heard a breath extinguish the candle, and then all was silent.