But no, he was somebody now. Someone special in this world.
And for that, he must pay the price.
“Those suits,” he managed to say, “better fit me perfectly. If I’m to play the part, I will look the part.”
“Naturally,” Sirki agreed. “And well spoken, sir.” He spoke then to his companions in crime: “We should leave Mr. Spade to his deliberations, and his rest.”
Aria Chillany left the cabin first, seemingly still in a trance of her own making, followed by the cat’s-cradle devotee. Sirki paused at the door.
“It occurs to me that Captain Falco smokes,” he said.
“Does he?” Matthew offered not a hint of reaction. “I’d say there are at least twenty others aboard who also smoke.”
“True, but the fragrant Virginia weed is more expensive than most, and I think beyond the means of ordinary swabbies. Be careful whose smoke you collect, young sir. It can get in the eyes and make one blind as to their purpose here.” He let that linger in the air, like its own stinging fumes. Then: “Goodnight.” Matthew didn’t return the comment. Sirki left the cabin, and instantly Matthew threw the latch on the door. The horses had already left the barn, yes, but he didn’t want any more manure on his floor. As he readied himself for what he presumed would be a troubled night’s sleep, he could almost sense the Nightflyer approaching Pendulum Island. The brigantine with full sails stretched wide, a few lamps burning on deck, the wake bluish-white under the silver moon and lacy clouds moving slowly across the dark. And the lair of Professor Fell, becoming closer with each wave crossed and each slow roll of the ship. He wondered if Sirki knew Captain Falco was starting to question his lot in life. If maybe Falco had expressed some misgiving to someone who told someone else, who told an ear that led to a voice cautioning the East Indian giant: Falco knows too much, and he thinks too much.
It occurred to Matthew that the captain’s days might be numbered. This might be Falco’s final voyage. Payment in full, when they made landfall.
What would Nathan Spade do?
Laugh and say Good riddance?
Yes. But what was Matthew Corbett to do?
He had a head full of problems, but—sadly—no solutions.
Yet, he thought.
And then he extinguished his lanterns except for one candle left burning, and he took to bed in the Nightflyer’s creaking belly.
Fifteen
MATTHEW had expected to hear a shouted “Land ho,” but instead the note of a trumpet signalled the sighting of Pendulum Island.
There was a rushing forward of sailors eager to set foot onto solid earth. Matthew stood among them in the bright warm morning sun and watched the island take shape.
Possibly by the eye of a gull it had the shape of a pendulum, but from this vantage point it was a mass of jagged black rocks and broken gray cliffs with a sparse covering of moss and brown lichens. Inland there looked to be a verdant wilderness, which did not soothe Matthew’s soul. He yet saw no sign of manmade structures, and had to wonder if Professor Fell’s domain lay somewhere within the very rock itself.
He was dressed for Nathan Spade’s success. His charcoal-gray suit with thin stripes in a hue of lighter gray fit him like a prison cell. His pale blue shirt was adorned with ruffles at collar and cuffs, which seemed to Matthew to be a little precious for an ex-jayhawk, but then again it was likely perfect for a genteel whoremaster-around-town. His stockings were chalky-white and his black boots buffed to an admirable shine; they gleamed with every step. He was clean-shaven and ruddy-cheeked, his hair was brushed back and—by Aria Chillany’s insistence this morning—put under strict control with two fingers of pomade that smelled of sandalwood and another sweetly pungent scent that made him think of the incense curling from a Turkish lamp in Polly Blossom’s parlor. Call it, he decided, the smell of ‘vice.’
It made sense to him that such an aroma would be leaking from Nathan Spade’s pores.
“It doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Matthew was aware that Berry—freed from the confines of her cabin during the daylight hours—had come up beside him. The sailors gathered around were also aware of her presence, and seemed to bend toward her like saplings in a strong wind to get the womanly perfume of her hair and flesh. But one glance from the false Nathan Spade and they straightened their backs and went about their business, for they knew the young man had favor of the master of Pendulum.
Matthew saw Captain Falco at the wheel, turning the Nightflyer a few degrees to port. He took stock of the sun and reasoned they were making a course to the southeast. “Not much,” he said to Berry, continuing her statement, “but obviously it’s an important destination.” He examined Berry’s face, and found her eager-eyed and nearly as sun-ruddy as himself. Her freckles had emerged by the dozens across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and her curly hair flowed free in the breeze and seemed the color of some kind of tawny-red candy sold by the handful to sweet-toothed children. She is on a grand adventure, he thought. She is all kite and no string.
For all his masquerade of courage and fortitude in the faces of Madam Chillany and the giant Sirki, he had not been able to bring himself to tell Berry that she and Zed were destined for lock-and-key upon landfall. He trusted Sirki, that they would be well-cared for. He really had no choice but to trust Sirki. But as he stood beside Berry her hand suddenly came out and searched for his. He took it firmly, and she looked him in the face and asked, “Are we going to be all right?”
“Yes, we are,” he answered without hesitation.
The island grew nearer. Waves crashed against the rocks and white foam spewed up. A whirring of gulls thrashed the air.
“Are you afraid?” Berry asked, in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” Matthew said, “I am.” But he recovered from this spillage of truth long enough to give her a sturdy smile with no lack of false bravado at its center, and he added, “But before this is done, they’re going to fear me.”
And though he only half-believed it, he fully meant it.
The Nightflyer was going to pass this northernmost point of Pendulum Island on its starboard side. Matthew and Berry still held hands as the first sign of human life came into view, and mayhaps they clasped hands harder at the sight. Two masted ships of dark design were moored to a wharf. Dark design, due to the gunports along the hulls. Matthew thought that here were two of Fell’s plunderers used to raid the sugar merchants. One look at the snouts of cannons protruding from those ports, and any issue of resistance was ended. Just beyond the wharf was a low-slung wooden building that likely was a warehouse for nautical goods storage. A dirt road curved away from the wharf and entered the forest, where it disappeared among green fronds and the thick walls of trees. And up above, perched atop a gray cliff but partly hidden by vegetation, was the stone wall of a fort also guarded by cannons on its parapets. The professor’s estate? Matthew wondered.
Onward the Nightflyer sailed, sliding over blue sea and white swirling foam. Captain Falco had a sure touch on the wheel. At his urging the ship moved between fangs of black rock. To starboard Matthew and Berry saw another pier come into view, this one tucked into a small cove where the waves were more gracious and the rocks less fangly. More cliffs of some thirty or forty feet faced the sea, and along them was a road that followed their ascent. Before the road disappeared around a bend, Matthew figured it was nearly a hundred feet above the water. A pair of coaches, each with four horses, waited alongside the pier. Evidently someone had come to witness the arrival of that notable black-hearted scoundrel Nathan Spade.