Death And The Running Patterer Part 2

Outside, the patterer hoped to see Miss Dormin again, but she had disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Riddles lie here, or in a word, Here lies blood ...

-John Cleveland, "Epitaph on the Earl of Strafford" (1647)

ROSSI AND YOUNG DUNNE WALKED BACK ALONG KENT STREET. The magistrate planned to turn off after a few blocks and return to his court, while the patterer continued across town to his ultimate destination, the hospital beside the Hyde Park prisoners' barracks.

"Why were we sent the halfpenny with the verse?" Dunne wondered aloud. "Apart from equaling two zuzim zuzim, what was its relevance?"

"I don't know," admitted Rossi "but I suppose it may be significant."

"Let's be logical," said Dunne. "Was the killer making the point that he was changing the parable's original currency into English coin?"

"Very well. So?"

"So, does it mean that he has also given much of the parable's wheel of death and destruction an English context? By 'English' I mean here, in Sydney. Yes, there is is still an angel of death-our quarry. But forget the ox, the water, fire, staff, dog and cat, and reckon that, instead, there are Englishmen-here-at risk. And so far it seems it all has something to do with soldiery." still an angel of death-our quarry. But forget the ox, the water, fire, staff, dog and cat, and reckon that, instead, there are Englishmen-here-at risk. And so far it seems it all has something to do with soldiery."

"And the kid?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can forget that, too. Or perhaps there is an English local equivalent that started the circle here."

"The victims in the verse kill each other," pointed out Rossi. "Our victims seem to have a common nemesis."

"Perhaps our angel would be happy for them to kill each other. But if they won't oblige, he will."

Rossi grunted. "You've overlooked the end of the loop-the Most Holy, who slew the angel of death."

"Yes, well ..." The patterer had a sudden thought. "Perhaps our angel wants to be caught and punished. If so, he's not just taunting us, he's guiding guiding us! So we us! So we must must be about to receive another clue. Or there's one we've overlooked." be about to receive another clue. Or there's one we've overlooked."

"Well," sighed the magistrate, "it's a poser, whichever way you look at it."

The patterer stopped in his tracks, turned to the magistrate and asked urgently, "What did you just say?"

"I simply said that it's a poser ..."

"No, no-the last bit; you said, 'Whichever way you look at it.' "

"Well?"

"Well, indeed! Tell me, how exactly were you standing when you tried to read that last line of type?"

Rossi frowned. "Ah, I was facing the end of, what did you call it, the galley? Why, is that important?"

Dunne shook his head impatiently. "Were you at the head of the column of type or at the galley's open end? I mean, were all the letters upside down?"

"Why, no. When I come to think of it, I was at the open end and the letters were the right way up. Backward, of course, but ..."

"Patience, Captain. The last line you tried to make out-it wasn't quite as unintelligible as the rest above?"

The magistrate agreed.

The patterer grabbed Rossi's lapel excitedly. "Let's go back to the scene of the crime and take another look at that typesetting."

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THE NEW WORLD NEW WORLD was deserted, apart from one constable nearby, guarding against looting. Not that this was an automatic protection, Dunne thought as he saw the man hastily hide a bottle at Rossi's approach. was deserted, apart from one constable nearby, guarding against looting. Not that this was an automatic protection, Dunne thought as he saw the man hastily hide a bottle at Rossi's approach.

The patterer had always taken a professional interest in the colony's police. He knew that the mounted force, set up only a few years before to hunt down outlaws, was a success though accused of questionable tactics. But after more than ten years, the foot patrols labored under a welter of problems. They were under-strength, and pay and morale were low. Why, in the mid-'20s, in a force that should have hovered around eighty bodies at any one time, there had been twenty-five resignations and sixty or so sackings for drunkenness, dishonesty or other misconduct. And many constables were ex-convicts, causing suspicion or mistrust among all members of the populace.

"Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" murmured Dunne. murmured Dunne.

"But who is to guard the guards themselves-Juvenal?" replied Rossi, earning a raised eyebrow from the patterer. "That's at least one one piece of Latin that police chiefs know!" the magistrate said with a wink. piece of Latin that police chiefs know!" the magistrate said with a wink.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A compositor early acquires the art of reading type both in reverse and upside down. The line you have just read appears to the compositor like this:[image]

-John A. Spellman, Printing Works Like This (1964)

IN THE COMPOSING ROOM, THE PATTERER PICKED UP THE GALLEY OF type and then carefully, so as not to spill the tiny characters, centered it on a perfectly level stone-topped table. Keeping the lines of type firmly together by blocking them with a heavy metal wedge, he lightly coated the typeface with an ink-sodden dabber made of horsehair and wool covered with sheepskin. He next covered the inked surface with a sheet of paper and, with a clean padded roller, took an impression. He peeled off the proof to reveal a column, not one and a half inches deep, its lines in a very small typeface. On examination, this text proved to be an incomplete recitation of government orders, but the last line seemed to have no place in the report and the first line read, puzzlingly, "All eight point."

Dunne showed the proof to the magistrate. "It's hard enough to read now," he said. "The typeface is a very small one-it's called Ruby-so small that you can print more than a dozen lines to the inch."

Rossi looked at the galley proof and shook his head. "But that's d.a.m.ned odd. When I I looked at the type I couldn't decipher the beginning, but could make some sense of the last line. Now the tables are turned." looked at the type I couldn't decipher the beginning, but could make some sense of the last line. Now the tables are turned."

The patterer laughed. "No wonder. You looked from the wrong end of the galley. A compositor masters the art of reading type in reverse and upside down. That's why we say, for 'be careful,' 'mind your p ps and q qs-its old compositors' lore, because p p and and q q are the hardest letters to distinguish in reverse, along with are the hardest letters to distinguish in reverse, along with b b and and d d. You read what you thought was 'exobus SISSE because you guessed correctly at the backward e e and s. But you confused and s. But you confused d d in reverse for in reverse for b b, a backward numeral 2 2 for for S S and a reversed and a reversed 3 3 for for E E."

Rossi squinted at the proof. "But even printed, that last line doesn't make sense. Now it reads: '32212 sudoxe!' "

"It suggests that Will Abbot didn't set that last line-and that whoever did wasn't really a printer. Oh, he understood a smattering, but not the rudiments. He simply set what he wanted to say just as he'd write it-from left to right. So it prints prints in reverse order." in reverse order."

"So, it is meant to say ..."

"Exactly-exodus 21223! Given that our amateur printer made several mistakes, it may be a reference to the biblical Book of Exodus, chapter and verse."

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AS THE INVESTIGATORS were leaving what was left of the New World New World printery for the second time that day, heaven smiled on their quest for biblical enlightenment. For they spied in the distance a bulky figure emerging from the nearby Judge's House, which was now home to the newly arrived junior judge, James Dowling. The fellow steering a stately course for his carriage was the Reverend Samuel Marsden, an old man of sixty-three but still, with his great land-holdings, a leading figure in the colony even though his earlier powers were now in decline. printery for the second time that day, heaven smiled on their quest for biblical enlightenment. For they spied in the distance a bulky figure emerging from the nearby Judge's House, which was now home to the newly arrived junior judge, James Dowling. The fellow steering a stately course for his carriage was the Reverend Samuel Marsden, an old man of sixty-three but still, with his great land-holdings, a leading figure in the colony even though his earlier powers were now in decline.

"Ah, capital!" said Rossi as he headed toward the cleric. "Who better to give us an opinion on matters spiritual than the gentleman who was once a.s.sistant chaplain for the entire colony?"

The patterer hung back, clearly not as happy as Rossi to see Marsden.

"Well, you do all the talking," he muttered. "He'll ignore us if he knows I'm not free, pa.s.s-man though I may be. He even loathes men who have done their time. He'd probably like to cut me dead-literally-if I stepped out of line in any way. He's not known as the 'Flogging Parson' for nothing."

He ignored Rossi's snort and continued. "It's true. Why, as a magistrate he used to scourge suspects until they confessed. And he had a woman at the Factory chained to a log for two months."

Rossi simply snorted again and strode on, so Dunne kept silent and maintained a respectful pace behind him as they intercepted the minister.

Marsden was clearly interested in what was put to him as an official request and, after hearing the full details, agreed to help. He waved away a suggestion that perhaps he and Rossi should repair to a place that contained a Bible.

"No," said the minister. "My sight may be fast failing now, but it has only sharpened my mind. And I have lived the words of the Bible all my years. Tell me the references and doubtless I should be able to identify them."

"Well," replied Rossi, "I believe the book in question is Exodus, but after that all I have is a string of numerals-2, 1, 2, 2 and 3."

Marsden was silent for almost a minute, then said, "Hmm. As there is no Chapter 212, there are, it seems to me, only four possibilities that make much sense. There can be either two verses from Chapter 2-and they are verses 12 and 23-or two from Chapter 21-verses 2 and 23.

"The two verses from Chapter 2 I don't expect to be of much help to your cause. In verse 12, Moses kills an Egyptian for smiting a Hebrew and hides him in the sand. In verse 23, the King of Egypt dies but the children of Israel are still in bondage.

"In Chapter 21, verse 2 says that if you buy a Hebrew servant he shall go free in his seventh year of servitude. Perhaps you could draw a long bow and see some link with our system of penal transportation."

The old minister paused for breath. "Now, verse 23 may be the interesting one. Everyone has heard of it even if they don't know its provenance. It and the following verses read, 'If any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.' That's all I can suggest to you."

After he had profusely thanked the departing minister, Rossi raised his eyebrows at Dunne.

"I don't know," said the young man. "The last verse seems to reinforce our belief that it is all about revenge, retribution, call it what you will. But does this advance our case at all?"

"I can't see it," admitted the magistrate. "But, anyway, you must admit that the reverend gentleman was very gracious and generous with his time. And you are wrong about him, you know. I believe he has a loyal band of convict servants he could not do without."

Yes, the patterer thought bitterly. They can't live with us and they can't live without us.

"Come!" said Rossi. "His Excellency will want to know. We should catch him at the barracks."

CHAPTER NINE.

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.

-Jane Austen, Emma (1815)

ROSSI AND DUNNE LEFT THE GOVERNOR AND CAREFULLY SKIRTED the barracks' dusty parade ground to head for a gate onto George Street.

The barracks were surrounded by hammer-dressed stone walls ten feet high and two feet thick, which kept their fifteen-acre world private from the growing town outside. Drought was in its third year and the fountain at one side of the open ground was dry. Perhaps it always had been; Sydney, apart from ale and rum, was a dry town. The original prime source of water, the Tank Stream, had long become fouled, and fresh water was drawn now from the Lachlan Swamps four miles away to boost inadequate private wells. Carters hawked it at sixpence a bucket.

The only other movement near the parade ground came from three soldiers on punishment detail. They were pa.s.sing the shot-each in turn bending to pick up a cannonball, straightening his back and handing it on to the next fellow.

At Dunne's grimace, Rossi said, "You have no time for discipline?"

"Discipline, yes. b.a.s.t.a.r.dry, no."

Rossi changed the subject and returned to the cause of the patterer's transportation. "Tell me, did the English really love Caroline?"

Dunne shrugged. "Mostly they were sorry for her. George was a drunk and a debauchee. They say he only married her in return for payment of his debts. Anyway, he was married already, wasn't he?"

"So they say." Rossi pondered for a moment how Protestant England would have reacted to the secret bride, a Catholic widow named Maria Fitzherbert, sharing the throne. Anyway, the marriage was a sham-not that the poor lady had any inkling. "Was he married? Yes-and no," he continued now. "But that's as you well know. You don't need me to tell you." His tone was chiding.

The patterer grinned and nodded. He did know the story, of course. He had no personal memory of it-it had occurred back in 1785, after all-but he imagined that few in Britain would not know the story, or some version of it: how the then Prince of Wales had taken Mrs. Fitzherbert as his bride, in defiance of his royal father.

"How did did Prinny hope to get away with the marriage?" asked Dunne. Prinny hope to get away with the marriage?" asked Dunne.

"Oh." Rossi shrugged. "I suppose he thought he could present a fait accompli-and, to some extent, he did. He found a clergyman in debtors' prison and offered him 500 pounds to clear his shortages. And he threw in the bait of offering a bishop's mitre. He had his wedding."

"Did the clergyman get what was promised?"

"Do you know," sighed the captain, "I'm not sure. I imagine so. But poor Mrs. Fitzherbert, alas. She hovered as the illegal 'queen' for years; the marriage was annulled, naturally. Then, of course, the prince in '95 properly married your Caroline of Brunswick-and you're right, it was only for money."

"Well, anyway," said Dunne, "I'm glad I have no interest in the royal family."

Rossi stared at him. "Perhaps your lack of interest is misplaced."

"Pardon?"

"Ah, well." The captain's frown closed down the conversation. As he walked away he muttered, "Ignore my meandering. Forget I said it."

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NICODEMUS DUNNE WAS so preoccupied with thoughts of royal goings-on that he collided heavily with the first pedestrian he came across in George Street.