Matthew couldn’t help it. It came out of him before he could stop it, and maybe it was because of his loss of blood or weariness or lightheadedness, but he spoke the words: “Mr. Royce…how many knives do you own?”
Royce looked up from the business of snake-cooking. His expression was untroubled. “Three. How many do you own?”
“None. But I was wondering…have you lost a knife lately?”
“Not that I know of.” Royce gave Gunn a quick, dark glance before the calm expression returned. “Matthew…can I call you such?…you ought to sit down before you fall down. I think the swamp’s workin’ on that wound right now.”
“I was wondering,” Matthew went on, in spite of himself, “where Abram might have gotten the knife he used to kill Sarah.” He paused to let that circle Royce’s head. “I mean to say…could Abram have stolen one of your knives? He had to get the knife from somewhere. Or from you, Mr. Gunn.” Matthew turned his face toward the other captain. “My question is…how did Abram get hold of that knife?”
“Easy answer.” Royce’s teeth began to tear at the meat. “A servant in the big house likely stole a knife and got it to him. Those girls are always stealin’ things to take down to the quarter. One of ’em slipped a knife up her skirt and Abram got hold of it. That’s how it happened.”
“Bet Abram slipped somethin’ else up the bitch’s skirt in exchange,” said Gunn, and he laughed a little too loudly and harshly, which a few of the others echoed with dumb humor.
“A lady’s present, gentlemen,” Stamper cautioned, with a sly grin.
“Where?” asked Bovie. “All I see is Rotbottom trash.” He aimed his eyes not at Quinn, but at Matthew. “Cracked in the head, too. Thinks this boy here is her dead husband come back to life. Ain’t that a crazy thing, Royce?”
Royce made a noise of affirmation while he consumed the snakemeat.
Matthew thought he should say something in Quinn’s defense, yet he knew not what to say. Suddenly Quinn let go of his arm and stepped forward, and she lifted her chin in defiance of the rough-hewn men around the fire and she said, “I pity you.”
The three words, quietly spoken, brought down silence.
“Where are your women?” she asked them. “Where are your wives? Why aren’t they here with you? Because you didn’t want ’em, or because they don’t care whether you come back home or not? They know what’s said about this river…this swamp. They must not love you very much, to let you come out here…and them not with you, to see you through this. Well, I’m here with Daniel…” She hesitated, struggling inwardly. “Matthew,” she corrected. “And I am going to see him through. You will never know what real love is. You will never touch it, or hear it spoken in a voice. That’s why I pity you…every one of you poor wretched men.”
To this, one of the men across the fire—Matthew thought it was the red-haired Morgan—lifted his leg and let utter a reply from between his buttocks, which brought a gale of laughter from the gallery. But the laughter did not last very long, and afterward the silence seemed as heavy as a gravestone.
Quinn said nothing else; she backed away from the fire, and her arm found Matthew’s. He was perplexed and unsure of what to do about this girl. It was a problem he didn’t know how to solve. But in the meantime he was glad she was beside him, for he did have to lean upon her lest his legs weaken.
“Daylight soon,” said Royce. He wiped his lips with the scratched and bloodied left forearm. Matthew noted that the day was indeed coming, faintly, but it was going to be a gray morning. “An hour’s rest, then I say we move out together. Comb the woods better that way. Should get ’em ’fore they make the grassland.”
“Fine with me,” Stamper replied. “But I’m still plannin’ on gettin’ me some ears…and some of that Kincannon money.”
Matthew couldn’t stand up any longer. As he sank down, both Quinn and Magnus kept him from a hard fall. He settled with his back against a tree, and Quinn sat close beside him. His head was spinning, his focus blurred. He knew that Gunn had surely told Royce the whole story of what had happened in the chapel. If I had my way that damn Granny Pegg would be swingin’ from a rope right now. Yes, if Royce had his way. Royce and Gunn feared the slaves might be captured, their brands read, and then returned to the Green Sea. If Abram had a chance to defend himself before Mrs. Kincannon, and with Granny Pegg’s story plus the evidence of the broken compress…it wouldn’t go well for the two captains. Yet out here, Matthew could prove nothing.
Matthew was further perplexed by something Quinn had said, and he pondered this as he slipped away from the world.
Something about Daniel. His death.
Taken, she’d said. By the beast. It fell on my Daniel, she’d said, and he was gone. Matthew slept, as heat lightning streaked across the dark gray sky above and the River of Souls ran its ancient, twisting course.
Fourteen
The searchers, twenty in all including the girl from Rotbottom, moved through the wilderness in a long row so as to cover the most ground. Quinn carried her water gourd and stayed close to Matthew, who still staggered and felt lightheaded after barely an hour’s sleep. Beside Matthew walked Magnus, the bearded bear keeping an eye on him if he started to fall. Matthew carried the short-bladed sword, which felt as heavy as an anvil to his weary arm.
The early morning sky was plated with thick gray clouds, cutting the light to a grim haze. Every so often thunder would rumble and lightning flared, yet no rain fell. The woods were a tangle of vines, thorns and underbrush, the ground sometimes swampy and sometimes hard, and the going was slow. The torches had guttered and started to burn down to blue flames, but Stamper was carrying a leather bag strapped to his shoulder that held a supply of rags soaked with his own mixture of flammables, and from these the torches were revived. The more light to pierce this gloom, the better. From where he was positioned in the row, Matthew could see only Joel Gunn under the torch the man was carrying, Seth Lott and Magnus to his left, Quinn right beside him, and then through the thicket on his right the red-haired Morgan and an older man with gray hair and a full gray beard streaked with white. This man was armed to the teeth, with musket, sword and dagger. The other men on either side were obscured by the woods and the low light, though occasionally the glint of another torch could be seen through the trees.
Matthew spoke to Quinn as they walked. “You think Daniel’s spirit is in me? That he’s become some part of me?” He waited for her to nod. “Why?” he asked. “Do I look like him? Is there something about me that reminds you of him?”
She took a moment in answering. Then, “You do look like him…some. But there’s more to it than that. There…was a knowin’. A feelin’ that I should leave my house and get to the river, because…you were comin’ back. Because after all my waitin’…finally…this was the night. I brushed my hair out and tried to make myself pretty for you. I didn’t know what you would look like…or what your name would be, or if you’d remember me at all, but I knew when I saw your boat pull over…I thought…this must be him. And then I heard your voice, and I saw your face. Yes, you do look like him. In the eyes. The way you carry yourself. With dignity, like he did. With a purpose, like he did. I knew he was going to come back to me, if he had to break out of Heaven and use the body of another man to do it. I knew this, deep in my heart.” She looked at him and gave a lopsided little grin. “You think I’m as crazy as a two-headed dog, don’t you?”