The Whiskey Rebels (74 page)

I studied him. His face was utterly placid, but for an instant I recognized it was a mask he wore to disguise the agony he felt. “You are a frightening man,” I said.

The trek to the bottom of the stairs was terrifying, for we were most vulnerable, but we made it with good speed and little noise. Lavien rested against the banister while I went to the door. The adjacent sitting room’s windows faced west, and there were no windows at all in this room, so the foyer, with its dark wallpaper and uncovered floors, was gloomy. Even so, once I took out the key the Scot had given me, I did not even have to try it to realize it was far too big for the lock. Its thick brass glinted like a winking eye in the dark room. He’d tricked us.

“It looks like the devil wins this one,” said Lavien.

“Better to kill everyone in case they turn out to be not nice. It’s not as fast as a key, but I can try to pick the lock.”

I stooped down, preparing to remove my boot and retrieve my picking tool when I saw a presence from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, why trouble yourself,” said a voice, vaguely familiar, and even before I could identify it, a thrill of terror ran through me. Somewhere, at the base of my consciousness, I knew that things had taken another turn, become more dangerous and more unpredictable. For a fleeting instant I kept myself from looking, as though I could prevent this encounter simply by not seeing it, but the instant passed and my head turned. There upon the top of the stairs was Jacob Pearson. He stood with his wife directly before him, however. Lavien, were he so inclined, could not toss his knife to eliminate him. He had one arm around her waist, held in that tight grip I had experienced myself, the other against her back, and her eyes were wide and moist and, even from a great distance I could see they were red from crying. He did not have to tell me for me to know there was a gun pressed to her.

Cynthia met my gaze, and I could see in her all the hope, all the expectation she placed in me. I would get her out of this. I would protect her. I had no idea how, but I would make it happen.

“No doubt you thought yourself too clever, but I’ve bested you before and will do so now,” he said.

“You would bring your wife and children into the middle of this violence?” I said. “You are more of a wretch than I thought.”

“The children are safe,” he said. “They’re with my sister. My wife—well, she deserves no special consideration. You’ll be pleased to know she’s tried to run away several times. No doubt to go to you, so the two of you can live in adulterous poverty and turn my children into an object of scandal. I think it’s safe to say that Cynthia does not know what is best for her.”

She smiled a sad smile at me. I knew what it meant. She was trying to be brave, to be ready should some chance present itself. I intended that it would.

“After you escaped from the prison under the pier,” said Pearson, “I was prepared to kill you when I had the opportunity, but now I won’t have to. I believe the big Irishman will take care of it for me when he sees what you’ve done to his man. I wish you’d killed the other, but one will have to do. That bitch of a widow made us all swear this way and that not to harm you unless our lives were in the balance, but I don’t believe Dalton will honor her word now. Ho! Dalton! Irishman, come here quick!”

I heard footsteps running toward us, and I glared at Lavien. If he were to take his chances with Pearson, it would be now, but I met his eye. “Stay your hand,” I said. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself.”

He did not react, but I had not expected him to.

Now Leonidas came into the foyer, squinting as his eyes adjusted from the well-lit rooms of the back of the house to the gloom of the front. “What is this?” he demanded.

“I called for the Irishman, not the nigger, though there is little enough difference,” said Pearson. “Get the Irishman. They’ve killed Richmond. I believe Dalton will want his revenge.”

Leonidas looked as though he’d just learned of the death of a parent. His eyes grew wide with horror. “Oh, Ethan, why have you done it? Dalton’s a good man, but he won’t let this go.”

I would not defend myself, not even to say that this time it was not Ethan Saunders who took a bad situation and made it worse. Things would sort themselves out or I would die, but I would not allow my final words to be a speech of equivocation.

Mrs. Maycott walked into the foyer, followed closely behind by Dalton. The space was now crowded. Five of us stood where two or three might comfortably remain. Pearson led Cynthia halfway down the stairs but then stopped, remaining distant.

Dalton looked us over and shook his head, not bothering to hide his amusement. “They’re determined, I’ll say that for them. Now, back to their rooms. Where’s Skye and Jericho? We’ll need their help.”

“Skye’s been locked in a bedroom.” Pearson spat. “They’ve killed Richmond. Murdered him in cold blood.”

Dalton’s face turned pale and his lips, instantly bloodless, quivered as though he were a little child. Then, in an instant, his face turned cold and hard and frightening in its cruelty. He underwent a second metamorphosis, to something ugly and fierce, something that wanted vengeance. He stepped forward, then stopped. He swallowed. “Is it true?” he asked quietly. Then, when he received no response, he screamed the same words.
“Is it true?”
It was loud, ringing, like the roar of a deranged lion, and from his coat he pulled two pistols, primed. He held them aloft, not quite sure what to do next, and then he turned on us.

Joan said, “No, Dalton,” and stepped before him, but he pressed a hand hard to her breasts and shoved, and she staggered down the hall, losing her balance, falling upon her knees.

Leonidas took out his own pistol and pointed it at Dalton. “Fire your weapon, and you’re a dead man,” he said.

“For God’s sake, Leonidas, if you’re going to kill him, do it before he shoots me, not after. But I beg that no one shoot anyone. Look you, if you have eyes. That man there on the staircase, holding a gun to the back of his wife. He is the one who tells you we hurt your friend. We did not. It’s true we locked away your man Skye, but we did not hurt him, and he will tell you so himself.” I tossed Joan the key to Skye’s room. “Go unlock him and ask. Why should we kill one man and let another live? We would not. If this man, this known liar and thief, says your friend is dead, I doubt not it is because he did the killing himself.”

I did not know if they believed it, but it would buy us time, which was the best we could hope for at the moment.

Put away the knife,
I mouthed to Lavien. To my astonishment, he obeyed, though I had no doubt he could have it out again in a matter of seconds, should he so desire. For now, however, he would give me my chance to take the devil’s soul after all.

I reached down and helped Lavien to his feet—to his foot. Whatever pain he had suffered, he appeared no more disabled than he had been before. I handed him his weapon, and I believe he made a good show of himself by using it as a crutch and doing nothing more.

“I don’t deny we wish to escape,” I said to Joan, “but that is how the game is played. You make your move, and we make ours. That is all. But that man,” I said, pointing to Pearson, “would hold a woman hostage—his own wife—which is as base a thing as a man can do. He killed your friend for no other reason than to lay the blame upon us.”

Lavien turned to Dalton and pulled his knife from his belt. It meant that he would be the target of the first fire, for a man cannot aim at two enemies at once. I had not a moment to spare, so I thrust out my leg into Lavien’s one good one, and he slipped out from under himself, landing upon his broken limb. I cannot imagine the pain, but he made not a noise, though his face twisted in agony, or perhaps shock. Or perhaps relief, for as he landed, Dalton’s pistol fired, unleashing its thunder crack and black smoke and sharp scent into the little space. The ball passed through the air where Lavien would have stood, blasting instead into the front door. There was a second blast—just an instant after the first—and wood splintered and sunlight shot into the gloomy foyer as the door swung open on its hinges. That, at least, was a bit of good luck, if we lived to take advantage of it.

I thought back to that night in Helltown, that night that now seemed so long ago, when I had been prepared to let Dorland kill me. I had stood in the cold and the filth of the Helltown alley and considered that I might yet talk my way into living, but I held my tongue.

I would not stay quiet this time. The air smelled of powder and my eyes stung with smoke. Just behind me, a door lay open, and sunlight seeped into our little gathering storm of violence. This would likely end in more deaths. There were far too many people in the room for whom I cared—maybe the only people on earth for whom I cared—and I would not let it go that way. I had been built from my foundation with a capacity to deceive, and here, if ever there was one, was a time for deception.

“Hold!” I cried. “Hold! Let there be no more violence.”

Dalton pointed his other pistol to Lavien, who lay prostrate upon the ground, and I stood directly in his path.

All this time Cynthia had stood a mute statue; I had hardly dared to look upon her. A weapon had already been fired, and there was like to be more. I would not have my own resolve softened by her fear. But now Cynthia spoke up, and her voice, though wavering, had a kind of clarity that surprised me. “It’s true. My God, it is true. I knew he was cruel, but I never thought he could kill a man in cold blood. He walked up to him, and your man—he suspected nothing.”

Was ever anyone so in love as I at that moment? Did ever man, since the fall of Eve, so rejoice in the lies of woman?

“Shut up,” Pearson hissed at her. “It’s not true,” he said to the others, but if Cynthia had just spoken the most convincing of lies, her husband had the misfortune of sounding entirely false while speaking truth.

Leonidas trained his gun upon Pearson. “Let the lady go.”

“But they lie,” he said.

“You make a better case,” Leonidas said, “if you are not holding a gun to a woman.”

“She is my wife. I may use her as I wish.”

“Let the lady go,” Joan said, and her voice was hard and angry. Somehow Cynthia, held upon the stairs by her husband, a gun to her back, had become the most important thing to everyone in the room—not the dead man upstairs, not the two prisoners who had gotten free, not the open door to freedom that lay behind us.

He released his grip and Cynthia ran down the stairs and toward me. Our eyes met and she, for but a fleeting instant, nodded at me, and I knew that this was the moment when she must prove herself. She must be the woman she had always wished to be, or she would fail me. I dared to hold her eyes for a long important moment, and I hoped it would be enough for her to understand.

“You stupid bitch,” I snapped. “This is all your fault.”

She took a step back, the hurt on her face so real—or so seemingly real—it nearly broke my heart. “Ethan, I am sorry.”

“I told you no one gets hurt. I told you that.”

She shook her head. “I could not stop him,” she said. Tears began to well up in her eyes. “I tried to stop him, Ethan, but I could not. I tried. You should have been there for me, but you weren’t, and I could not do it alone.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “I never should have trusted you.”

Dalton had heard enough. He turned now on Pearson. While, in general, I do not care to see unarmed men viciously assaulted, here was a case in which I could make an exception. Dalton darted up the stairs, grabbed Pearson under his armpits, and lifted him high in the air as if he weighed no more than a baby. Dalton then locked his elbows and hurled Pearson—whose mouth was open in terror too primal for noise—through the air and hard against the wall separating the foyer from the sitting room. He struck with a sharp agonizing crack, spun slightly, and then landed with his feet against a narrow chair, his head toward us, though it was cocked at the most unnatural of angles.

Cynthia let out a moan and covered her mouth. Leonidas whispered something under his breath. Dalton took a moment to admire his work and then ran up two flights of stairs. Above, I heard him wail.

I turned to Joan. “I am sorry it ended thus. Yours are good people, with your own sense of honor, and I do not doubt you’ve been wronged. I wish we were never opposed.”

She shook her head. “So much bloodshed.”

I stepped to her. “It never ought to have been like this. Joan, you are better than this. You are so much better. Imagine what you might have done had you only tried your hand at creating rather than destroying.” I touched her face. “Imagine what we could do together. Joan, you and I must be together.”

Cynthia rushed forward. “Ethan, are you mad? You promised it would be me. You swore you loved me.”

“You silly woman,” I said with a laugh. “How could I love someone like you?”

Leonidas let out a throaty laugh and began to clap his hands. “I must say, I am remarkably impressed. You cannot have practiced this, and yet it is so easy and natural.”

Joan turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Leonidas laughed again. “I have seen it a hundred times, though never when the stakes were so high. It is Ethan Saunders being Ethan Saunders, when lies and false notions and absurd claims roll off his tongue; we all watched him. But now I look up and see his point. Even I, who ought not to have been fooled, was caught up. Do you not notice someone is missing?”

And indeed he was. I could not say when Lavien had slipped away. I had made a point not to look at him myself, hoping that if he was invisible to me he might be invisible to all. Joan Maycott now rushed to the door and looked out into the morning light. I moved behind her, prepared to place my hand over her mouth should she try to call to Dalton, but she made no effort. She stood there in confused silence. Far away, upon the distant King’s Highway, appeared a single awkward figure upon a gray horse, riding hard and fast like Paul Revere, to save a country that was not even his own native land. I did not believe that there would ever be ballads sung of this ride, but oh, how worthy, how glorious, it was. And it had been made possible by my actions, which I could not but like.