Speaks The Nightbird Part 51

Again, a pause. Something about it this time was ominous.

"Ohhhhh, it was you come in my house and gone through my things, eh?" Now the door opened wider, and Linch's clean but unshaven face peered out. His pale, icy gray eyes were aimed at Matthew with the power of weapons, his teeth bared in a grin. "I found your shoemud on my floor. You didn't shut my trunk firm enough, either. Have to be blind not to see it was open a quarter-inch."

"You're very observant, aren't you? Does that come from catching rats?"

"It does. I see, though, I let a whorin' mother's two-legged rat creep in and nibble my cheese."

"Interesting cheese, too, " Matthew said, maintaining his distance from the door. "I would never have imagined you... how shall I say this?... lived in such virtuous order, from the wreck you've allowed the exterior of your house to become. I also would never have imagined you to be a scholar of ancient Egypt."

"There is a law, " Linch said, his grin still fixed and his eyes still aimed, "against enterin' a man's house without bein' invited. I believe in this town it's ten lashes. You care to tell Bidwell, or you want me to?"

"Ten lashes." Matthew frowned and shook his head. "I would surely hate to suffer ten lashes, Mr. Linch."

"Fifteen, if I can prove you thieved any thin'. And you know what? I might just be missin' a..."

"Sapphire brooch?" Matthew interrupted. "No, that's in the drawer where I left it." He offered Linch a tight smile.

The ratcatcher's expression did not change, though there might have been a slight narrowing of the eyes. "You're a c.o.c.ksure b.a.s.t.a.r.d, ain't you? But you're good. I'll grant you that. You knotted the twine back well enough to fool me... and I ain't fooled very often."

"Oh, I think it's you who does the fooling, Mr. Linch. What is this masquerade about?"

"Masquerade? You're talkin' riddles, boy!"

"Now you just said an interesting word, Mr. Linch. You yourself are a riddle, and one I mean to solve. Why is it that you present yourself to the town as being... and let us be plainspoken here... a roughhewn and filthy dolt, when you actually are a man of literacy and good order? Meticulous order, I might say. And need I add the point of your obvious financial status, if indeed that brooch belongs to you?"

From Linch there was not a word nor a trace of reaction but Matthew could tell from the glint of his extraordinary eyes that the man's mind was working, grinding these words into a fine dust to be weighed and measured.

"I suspect that even your harborfront accent is shammed, " Matthew went on. "Is it?"

Linch gave a low, quiet laugh. "Boy, your brainpan has been dented. If I were you, I'd either go get drunk or ask the town quack for a cup of opium."

"You are not who you pretend to be, " Matthew said, defying the man's cutting stare. "Therefore... who are you?"

Linch paused, thinking about it. Then he licked his lower lip and said, "Come on in and we'll have us a talk."

"No, thank you. I do enjoy the sun's warmth. Oh... I also spoke to one of the maskers as I pa.s.sed their camp. If I were to... suffer an accident, say... I'm sure the man would recall I'd been walking in this direction."

"Suffer an accident? What foolishness are you prattlin'? No, come on in and I'll spell you what you care to know. Come on." Linch hooked a finger at him.

"You may spell me what I care to know right here as well as in there."

"No, I can't. 'Sides, my breakfast is coolin'. Tell you what: I'll open all the shutters and leave the door wide. That suit you?"

"Not really. I have noticed a dearth of neighbors in this vicinity."

"Well, either come in or not, 'cause I'm done with this chat-tin'." He opened the door to its widest possible degree and walked away. Soon afterward, the nearest window was opened, the shutters pushed as far as their hinges would allow. Then the next window was opened, and afterward the third and fourth.

Matthew could see Linch, wearing tan-colored breeches and a loose-fitting gray shirt, busying himself around the hearth. The interior of the house appeared just as painstakingly neat as Matthew had previously seen it. He realized that he'd begun a duel of nerves with the ratcatcher, and this challenge to come into the house was the riposte to his own first slash concerning Linch's interest in Egyptian culture.

Linch stirred something in a skillet and added what might have been spices from a jar. Then, seemingly unconcerned with Matthew, he fetched a wooden plate and spooned food onto it.

Matthew watched as Linch sat down at his desk, placed the plate before him, and began to eat with a display of mannered restraint. Matthew knew nothing was to be gained by standing out here, yet he feared entering the ratcatcher's house even with the door and every window open wide. Still... the challenge had been given, and must be accepted.

Slowly and cautiously, he advanced first to the doorway, where he paused to gauge Linch's reaction. The ratcatcher kept eating what looked to be a mixture of eggs, sausage, and potatoes all cooked together. Then, even more cautiously, Matthew walked into the house but stopped with the threshold less than an arm's length behind him.

Linch continued to eat, using a brown napkin to occasionally wipe his mouth. "You have the manners of a gentleman, " Matthew said.

"My mother raised me right, " came the reply. "You won't find me stealin' into private houses and goin' through people's belonging."

"I presume you have an explanation for the book? And the brooch as well?"

"I do." Linch looked out the window that his desk stood before. "But why should I explain anythin' to you? It's my business."

"That's true enough. On the other hand, can't you understand how... uh... strange this appears?"

"Strange is one of them things in the eye of the beholder now, ain't it?" He put his spoon and knife down and turned his chair a few inches so that he was facing Matthew more directly. The movement made Matthew back away apace. Linch grinned. "I scare you, do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"Well, why should you be scared of me? What have I ever done to you, 'cept save your a.s.s from bein' et up by rats there in the gaol?"

"You've done nothing to me, " Matthew admitted. He was ready to deliver the next slash. "I just wonder what you may have done to Violet Adams."

To his credit-and his iron nerves-Linch only exhibited a slight frown. "Who?"

"Violet Adams. Surely you know the child and her family."

"I do. They live up the street. Cleaned some rats out for 'em not too long ago. Now what am I supposed to have done to that little girl? Pulled her dress up and poked her t.w.a.t?"

"No, nothing so crude... or so obvious, " Matthew said. "But I have reason to believe that you may have-"

Linch suddenly stood up and Matthew almost jumped out the door.

"Don't p.i.s.s your breeches, " Linch said, picking up his empty plate. "I'm gettin' another helpin'. You'll pardon me if I don't offer you none?"

Linch went to the hearth, spooned some more of the breakfast onto his plate, and came back to his chair. When he sat down, he turned the chair a few more inches toward Matthew so that now they almost directly faced each other. A stream of sunlight lay across Linch's chest. "Go on, " he said as he ate, the plate in his lap. "You were sayin'?"

"Uh... yes. I was saying... I have reason to believe you may have defiled Violet Adams in a way other than physical."

"What other way is there?"

"Mental defilement, " Matthew answered. Linch stopped chewing. Only for a s.p.a.ce of perhaps two heartbeats, however. Then Linch was eating once more, staring at the pattern of sunlight on the floorboards between them.

Matthew's sword was aimed. It was time to strike for the heart, and see what color blood spurted out. "I believe you created a fiction in the child's mind that she had an audience with Satan in the Hamilton house. I believe you've had a hand in creating such a fiction in many people hereabouts, including Jeremiah Buckner and Elias Garrick. And that you planted the poppets under Rachel Howarth's floor and caused Cara Grunewald to have a 'vision' that led to their discovery."

Linch continued to eat his breakfast without haste, as if these d.a.m.ning words had never been uttered. When he spoke, however, his voice was... somehow changed, though Matthew couldn't quite explain its difference other than a subtle shift to a lower pitch.

"And just how am I supposed to have done such a thing?"

"I have no idea, " Matthew said. "Unless you're a warlock, and you've learned sorcery at the Devil's knee."

Linch laughed heartily and put his plate aside. "Oh, that's rich indeed! Me a warlock! Oh, yes! Shall I shoot a fireball up your a.r.s.e for you?"

"That's not necessary. If you wish to begin refuting my theory by explaining your masquerade, you may proceed."

Linch's smile faded. "And if I don't, you'll have me burnin' at the stake in place of your wench? Listen to me, boy: when you go see Dr. Shields, ask for a whole keg of opium."

"I'm sure Mr. Bidwell's curiosity about you will be fired just as mine was, " Matthew said calmly. "Particularly after I tell him about the book and the brooch."

"You mean you haven't already?" Linch gave a faint, sinister smile.

"No. Mind you, the maskers saw me pa.s.s their camp."

"The maskers!" Linch laughed again. "Maskers have less sense than rats, boy! They pay attention to no details but lookin' at their own d.a.m.ned faces in mirrors!"

This had been said with contemptuous ferocity... and suddenly Matthew knew.

"Ahhhhh, " he said. "Of course. You are a professional actor, aren't you?"

"I've already told you I spent some time with a circus, " Linch said smoothly. "My act with trained rats. I had some dealin's with actors, much to my sorrow. I say to h.e.l.l with the whole lyin', stealin' breed. But look here." He opened the drawer and brought out the Egyptian tome and the wallet that hid the sapphire brooch. Linch placed both objects on the desktop, then removed the twine-tied brown cotton cloth from the wallet and began to untie it with nimble fingers. "I expect I should give you some kind of explanation, such as it is."

"It would be much appreciated." And very intriguing to see what Linch came up with, Matthew thought.

"The truth is... that I am more learned than I let on. But I ain't shammin' the accent. I was born on the breast of the Thames, and I'm proud of it." Linch had undone the twine, and now he opened the cloth and picked up the sapphire brooch between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He held it in the stream of sunlight, inspecting it with his pale, intense eyes. "This belonged to my mother, G.o.d rest her lovin' soul. Yes, it's worth a good piece of coin but I'd never part with it. Never. It's the only thing I've got to remember her by." He turned the brooch slightly, and light glinted from its golden edge into Matthew's face. "It's a thing of beauty, ain't it? So beautiful. Like she was. So, so beautiful." Again, the brooch was turned and again a glint of light struck Matthew's eyes.

Linch's voice had almost imperceptibly softened. "I'd never part with it. Not for any amount of money. So beautiful. So very, very beautiful."

The brooch turned... the light glinted...

"Never. For any amount of money. You see how it shines? So, so beautiful. Like she was. So, so beautiful."

The brooch... the light... the brooch... the light...

Matthew stared at the golden glint. Linch had begun to angle the brooch slowly in and out of the sun's stream, in a regular-and transfixing-pattern.

"Yes, " Matthew said. "Beautiful." With a surprising amount of difficulty, he pulled his gaze away from the brooch. "I want to know about the book."

"Ahhhh, the book!" Linch slowly raised the index finger of his left hand, which again secured Matthew's attention. Linch made a small circle in the air with that finger, then slid it down to the brooch. Matthew's eyes followed its smooth descent, and suddenly he was staring once more at the light... the brooch... the light... the brooch...

"The book, " Linch repeated softly. "The book, the book, the book."

"Yes, the book, " Matthew said, and just as he attempted to pull his gaze again from the brooch Linch held it motionless in the light for perhaps three seconds. The lack of movement now seemed as strangely compelling as the motion. Linch then began to move the brooch in and out of the light in a slow clockwise direction.

"The book." This was peculiar, Matthew thought. His voice sounded hollow, as if he were hearing himself speak from the distance of another room. "Why..." The brooch... the light... the brooch... the light. "Why Egyptian culture?"

"Fascinating, " Linch said. "I find the Egyptian culture fascinating."

The brooch... the light...

"Fascinating, " Linch said again, and now he too seemed to be speaking from a distance. "How they... forged an empire... from shifting sand. Shifting sand... all about... shifting sand... flowing... softly, softly..."

"What?" Matthew whispered. The brooch... the light... the brooch...

"Shifting... shifting sand, " Linch said.

... the light...

"Listen, Matthew. Listen."

Matthew was listening. It seemed to him that the room around him had become darkened, and the only glint of illumination came from that brooch in Linch's hand. He could hear no sound but Linch's low, sonorous voice, and he found himself waiting for the next word to be spoken.

"Listen... Matthew... the shifting sand... shifting... so so beautiful..."

The voice seemed to be whispering right in his ear. No, no: Linch was closer than that. Closer...

... the brooch... the light... the brooch... Closer.

"Listen, " came the hushed command, in a voice that Matthew now hardly recognized. "Listen... to the silence."

... the light... the shifting shifting sand... the brooch... the so so beautiful light...

"Listen, Matthew. To the silence. Every. Thing. Silent. Every. Thing. So so beautiful. The shifting shifting sand. Silent, silent. The town... silent. As if... the whole world... holds its breath..."

"Uh!" Matthew said; it was the panicked sound of a drowning swimmer, searching for air. His mouth opened wider... he heard himself gasp... a terrible noise...

"Silent, silent, " Linch was saying, in a hushed, slow singsong voice. "Every. Thing. Silent. Every. Till-"

"No!" Matthew took a backward step and collided with the doorframe. He jerked his eyes away from the glinting brooch, though Linch continued to turn it in and out of the sunlight. "No! You're not... going to..."

"What, Matthew?" Linch smiled, his eyes piercing through Matthew's skull to his very mind. "Not going to what?" He stood up from his chair... slowly... smoothly... like shifting shifting sand...

Matthew felt terror bloom within him unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His legs seemed weighted in iron boots. Linch was coming toward him, reaching out to grasp his arm in what seemed a strange slow-motion travesty of time. Matthew could not look away from Linch's eyes; they were the center of the whole world, and everything else was silent... silent...

He was aware that Linch's fingers were about to take hold of his sleeve.

With all the effort of will he could summon, Matthew shouted, "No!" into Linch's face. Linch blinked. His hand faltered, for perhaps a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

Matthew turned and fled from the house. Fled, though his eyes felt bloodshot and swollen. Fled though his legs were heavy and his throat as dry as shifting sand. Fled with silence thundering in his ears, and his lungs gasping for breath that had seemed stolen away from him only a few seconds before.

He fled along Industry Street, the warm sunlight thawing the freeze that had tightened his muscles and bones. He dared not look back. Dared not look back. Dared not.

But as he ran, putting precious distance between himself and that soft trap he had nearly been snared by, he realized the enormity and strange power of the force that Linch wielded. Such a thing was unnatural... monstrous... such a thing was shifting sand... shifting... sorcery and must be silent silent of the very Devil himself.

It was in his head. He couldn't get it out, and that further terrified him because the contamination of his mind-his most dependable resource-was utterly unthinkable.

He ran and ran, sweat on his face, and his lungs heaving.