Joe looked at Portia. “Do you believe in this?”
“One time I asked my grandfather if ghosts were real.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Don’t pretend that such things can’t be.’”
Portia took a handful of grave dust and wiped it on her feet and legs. She smiled at Joe, who was not sure whether she was doing this for their benefit or Jeremiah’s. The boy certainly seemed to view the grave dust with great seriousness. He had saved it for last-after leading them to the hideout, after giving them food. It was his parting gift. Joe thought that perhaps he should take some just as a courtesy.
Suddenly in the distance, the three slaves heard a sound that made them shiver: barking.
“Well, I’m ready to become a believer,” said Joe, reaching for the bag of grave dust. “We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
When Rook wanted to concentrate on a difficult problem, he liked to go for a stroll-not to a quiet place, but a noisy one. For whatever reason, the commotion of a crowd encouraged fresh thinking. And so he found himself at Center Market, the busiest commercial hub in the city. It was a sprawling structure that took up two entire blocks on the south side of Pennsylvania Avenue between Seventh and Ninth streets. Farmers and fishermen from across the region descended on it every morning before sunrise to sell their wares. Rook walked beside dozens of wagon stands outside the building, only half aware of the salesmen shouting their prices and the customers who haggled with them.
It did not hurt that Center Market was near Brown’s Hotel-the site of the puzzle that had vexed him since the previous afternoon, and where Springfield and Clark were monitoring Davis and Stephens. Not by rail, river, or road. What could it possibly mean?
Rook wandered down the market’s crowded aisles, trying to ignore the overpowering stench of fish that came from the stalls piled high with bass and shad from the Potomac. Sellers stocked all kinds of food-venison, ducks, turkeys, oysters, and lots of vegetables-but the smell of fish drifted through the whole building.
He wondered whether he was right to defy Scott’s orders. In a strict military sense, of course, he was in the wrong-it was always wrong to disobey a direct order from a superior officer. Yet Rook was convinced that Scott’s judgment was mistaken. It bordered on dereliction of duty. The old general simply did not take the president’s protection as seriously as he should. Rook was certain Davis and Stephens were up to something. He could not prove it in a court of law or to the satisfaction of Scott, but he had no doubt.
Reaching the end of a row of wagon stands, Rook found himself at Seventh Street-and with a clear view of Brown’s Hotel. A horse-drawn omnibus waited outside the hotel as it took on several passengers. This was a popular form of transportation up and down the Avenue, between Capitol Hill and Georgetown. When the horse started pulling, Rook made a sharp right-hand turn into Center Market itself, where nobody on the street would be able to spot him.
Not by rail, river, or road. Didn’t Davis mention a “shipment”? He might have used a different word, such as “load” or “delivery” or “consignment.” But he said shipment. That would suggest a cargo arriving on a ship, which meant over water, which meant by river. Yet Davis seemed to rule out that possibility. Rook told himself not to get snared in semantic games. Shipments might mean anything, even goods transported by train. He started to wonder. Maybe Davis and Stephens were playing games with him. Perhaps Scott was right, and it was all just a waste of time.
At the rear of the market, where a number of the seafood sellers kept their stalls, Rook found himself watching an old man train a boy in the art of fish cleaning-chopping off the head and fins, removing the guts, scraping the scales. It reminded him of a similar lesson his grandfather had taught him many years earlier. He watched with amusement as the boy struggled to perform the sloppy chore his employer could complete in a matter of seconds.
Not by rail, river, or road. The riddle forced its way back into his thoughts. Was there a way the shipment could arrive by land but not by road? Suddenly, a shout caught his attention.
“Colonel!”
Rook saw Springfield trotting toward him from the front of the building.
“What’s the news, Sergeant?”
“Davis and Stephens boarded an omnibus a few minutes ago. Corporal Clark got on with them.”
“Do we know where they’re going?”
“They were headed toward Georgetown.”
“I don’t suppose you were able to communicate with Clark.”
“Actually, I was. He nodded to me, very faintly-and he did not give the signal that he needed anybody to trail behind. I assume he’s just going to follow them around. We’ll get a report when he returns.”
“If we had more men assigned to this operation, we would be able to send a whole team after them.”
“At least one man is better than none.”
“True. Perhaps Clark will come back with more information. I just can’t get Davis and Stephens out of my mind. They are an enigma.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“This business about rails, rivers, and roads confounds me. How can something possibly arrive here if it doesn’t come by rail, river, or road?”
“It’s quite a riddle, sir. In a lot of other cities, it wouldn’t be much of a problem. But here it’s a stumper.”
Rook arched his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I was thinking about this. Most of the cities on the East Coast aren’t on rivers, or at least not ones that link them to the rest of the world. They’re beside harbors or bays or other bodies of water. Boats come and go without ever touching rivers. Give me that same riddle in New York or Baltimore and the answer is easy-so easy it isn’t even a riddle.”
“That had not occurred to me,” said Rook. “Of course, it’s academic.”
“Right. In this city, a boat must come up the river to get here.”
Something in that sentence caught Rook’s ear. He repeated it in his mind: A boat has to come up the river to get here. “The same thing is not true in some other cities,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Take a place like New York City,” offered Rook. “You’re right that most of its water traffic comes from the harbor. Not all of it, though. Some actually comes down the Hudson River. So lots of boats must reach that city by river-they come not from the ocean, but the interior of the country.”
“I suppose that’s correct.”
“But it’s academic too. The Potomac is not navigable much past Georgetown. Even if it were, it would still be a river-and we would be no nearer to solving this riddle.”
Their conversation sputtered to a halt. They looked at the two fish cleaners, the old teacher and his young student. They had just created a stack of filets. A mound of leftover fish parts sat in front of them.
“Customers don’t want to see that,” said the man, pointing to the heap of heads and guts. “We need to get it out of sight.” He pushed the mess into a bucket with his knife. “This is full,” he said, grabbing the bucket’s handle and giving it to the boy.
“Carry it around back.”
The youngster took the bucket and left the stall. He passed in front of Rook and Springfield and walked through an open door. Sunlight fell on his head. He stopped in plain sight of the two soldiers, lifted the bucket, and dumped its contents, which splashed beneath his feet. Then the boy turned around and came back in, swinging his empty bucket.
“Do you have the same thought as me?” asked Rook.
Now it was Springfield who arched his eyebrows.