Matthew walked over to look into the bucket. In it were twenty or so green stones of various sizes, the smallest a mere sliver and the largest maybe the size of Matthew’s thumbnail.
“Dug those out of a hollow not too far from here. They cleaned up nice and bright,” Magnus said, with a shrug. “No gold up there, though. Poor Pap, diggin’ and diggin’ as he did. And all for nothin’.”
“May I ask a question?” Matthew bent down to have a closer look at the bucket’s contents. He picked up the largest stone and turned it into the light that streamed through the nearest window. A streak of vivid green lay across the floor.
“Go on.”
“Have you ever heard of something called an emerald?”
“A what?”
“Oh, mercy,” said Matthew, who had to stifle a laugh. He had no idea of the quality of these gemstones, for some had black spots embedded in them and so were less than ideal, but it seemed to him that Magnus Muldoon’s own shop on Front Street might already be paid for. Possibly a nice house in Charles Town lay in this bucket, as well. “These are valuable. How much they could be worth, I don’t know…but you need to take these to town and show a jeweller. I think at least two or three of these are high quality stones.”
“Valuable? Those little green rocks?”
“Raw emeralds,” Matthew corrected. He put the gemstone back among its fellows, and he thought that if Pandora Prisskitt could see what lay inside this bucket she would be insisting she comb Magnus’ hair and brush his beard herself. He stood up. “Yes, valuable. Maybe a hundred pounds’ worth.”
Magnus’ eyes widened just for a second or two, and he frowned and scratched his beard as if it truly itched. “Have to think on that one. Never found any more, but figure if those are valuable as you say, and I take ’em to town to show somebody, then he’s gonna want to know where I found ’em, and even if I tell him there likely ain’t no more he’ll tell somebody else and pretty soon I got strangers out here all over the place. Not sure I want that, now that I’m settled in my bottle-makin’.”
“If you wish to be a hermit and continue the life you lead, then go right ahead,” said Matthew, aware that he might well be talking to the wall. “If, however, you wish to—as you stated to the Lady Prisskitt—have things change for you, then you’re standing on the threshold.”
“The what?”
“Standing at the crossroads,” Matthew amended. “I say remake yourself, beginning with a bath and clean clothes. Wash and trim your hair and your beard, take your emeralds and bottles to town and see what can be done. You might find your craft much in demand, and yourself as well by several ladies who are worth much more attention than Pandora Prisskitt. But…if you prefer this solitary life way out here, then by all means sink your roots deeper. Sink them until you disappear, if you choose. It’s your life, isn’t it?”
Magnus didn’t answer. He was staring into space with the blank expression of a mountainous enigma.
“I’ve spoken my piece,” Matthew said at last. “It would give me some satisfaction to know I had urged you out of this solitude and into a more congenial and gentlemanly role, if just to sprinkle a little pepper into the Lady Prisskitt’s nose. But the rest is up to you, to decide or not, to act or not.”
“You talk in riddles, don’t you?”
“My talking is done. Good day to you, sir, and I hope you find great opportunity in whatever path you choose.” Matthew started toward the door.
“Where are you goin’?” Magnus asked.
“Back to Charles Town, of course. I’d like to get there before dark.”
“Hold on a minute. I was thinkin’…maybe…I want to hear more about these ideas. Maybe they make sense, even though I don’t want ’em to.” Magnus looked around the little room for a moment, as if measuring its space as a prisoner might measure a cell. “I’m goin’ out to hunt some supper,” he told Matthew, as he stood up and reached for the musket from the wallrack. A powderhorn hung nearby, and also a well-used brown leather bag that likely held the shot and other necessaries for use of the musket. “You want to come along, you’re welcome. Shoot you some supper too, if you please.”
Matthew’s first response was to say no, that he had to get back to Charles Town, but something in Magnus’ offer stayed his answer. It seemed to him that this was a rare and possibly first occasion, that Magnus had ever wanted anyone to share a meal with him. Matthew thought that the road to civilization might start here. He decided, in light of this, that it was worth staying for another couple of hours or so.
“All right,” he agreed. “What’re you hunting?”
“Squirrels,” was the reply. “They fry up real good. Get four of ’em, you got yourself a feast.”
Matthew nodded, thinking that this was the kind of feast Hudson Greathouse would heartily approve of. He followed Muldoon out the door, and in another few minutes was wandering through the forest alert for any sign or sound of their supper.
Thus it was, when the four squirrels had been skinned and cleaned and fried in a pan over a fire in the hearth, and Matthew had eaten this dish along with a roasted ear of corn and a piece of cornbread and the sun was starting to sink outside and the shadows lengthen, that Magnus got up, left the room into the next room beyond and returned with the bottle as red as holy fire. He was carrying two wooden cups, which he set down upon the table.
He wiped the squirrel grease from his mouth with his forearm, pulled the cork from the bottle and said, “This is my own brew a’ likker.” He poured some—just a small taste, really—into one of the cups for Matthew, who was sitting in a chair made from treebranches. “Have a swig.”
“I’d best pass on that,” said Matthew, as Magnus poured a drink for himself. “I think it’s time I’m getting back.”
“One swig won’t harm you. Besides, I’ll guide you back to town if you need guidin’, I can ride that road in the dark. Go ahead, Matthew.” He gave a sly smile. “Fella ain’t feared of a deadly comb, shouldn’t be feared of a little mild corn likker.”
Matthew picked up the cup. The liquid was colorless. He sniffed it. It did have a strong aroma that promised a kick, but…he felt the challenge of another duel slapping his face, and it had been a good dinner and a good day and he really was in no hurry. All his concerns about Professor Fell seemed very far away, out here in these woods on the edge of the Solstice River. The same also about his concerns for Berry Grigsby, and his own future. He put the cup to his mouth and downed the liquor with a single swallow.
Muldoon had been correct. No harm was done, except for perhaps the instant watering of the eyes, a feeling of a flashfire searing down the throat and the speculation that a few hundred tastebuds had been burned off the tongue, but otherwise…no harm.
“Whew!” Matthew said when he’d gotten his eyes cleared and his throat working. “Quite potent!”
Magnus had taken his own drink down with seemingly no ill effect. He poured again into Matthew’s cup and then his own. “Lemme tell you my story,” he offered. “How we came across from Wales. Came through storms and seas as high as houses. How we got settled in here…and then, how I happened to see Pandora—I mean, Lady Prisskitt—on the street one day. You up for the hearin’?”
Matthew took a more careful sip of the liquor this time. Still, it went down the throat like a flaming torch down a well. “I am,” he rasped, thinking that Muldoon was probably starved for company, and a couple of squirrels did not exactly fill the belly for that.
Sometime in the next hour, as the contents of the red bottle dwindled, the fire burned low in the hearth, the blue of evening claimed the world and Magnus’ story began to go in circles, Matthew remembered the room starting to spin. He reached to finish off the last of his drink with an arm that seemed to grow ten feet long. He was sliding off his chair onto the floor. He thought he was falling out of a tree, therefore he grabbed at the branches and he and the chair fell together. He recalling hearing Magnus laugh, as if declaring himself the victor in this particular duel. Matthew tried to say something suitably witty for the occasion but all that came out was a frogcroak; he was well and truly stewed by Magnus’ brew, and as he lost consciousness he realized he was not going anywhere anytime soon.