No Good Deed 35

It did indeed appear newly opened, in as much as it was entirely deserted, save for a bent and gnarled old fellow, whose snoring at least proved he was, as yet, still living. The floorboards were in need of a vigorous application of lye and a brush. The reception desk, behind which the old man swam deep in the Lethe, took up the half of the vestibule. There were numerous doors which may have led to rooms and a staircase leading to the upper floors. We took the staircase, after the Reverend had removed a large key from one of a quantity of hooks on a board behind the sleeping sentinel's head.

Newberry stopped at a room with ill-aligned numerals indicating that we were about to enter a room numbered 101. The room could have been less comfortable: the mean cot was ideal for a man inclined to the more self-denying aspects of his religion, there was no crockery in which to wash or perform any necessity. There were no drapes at the many-paned window, which was deficient of its full complement by a single piece of glass. There was no wardrobe, chest or indeed anywhere to store clothes or anything at all. There was a mound of discarded trousers, shirts and underclothing over by the window.

Erastus Newberry un-stiffened his spine a little and his lips spread in something one might have thought a smile, if ever a jackal might wear one.

'So, Northrup. The silver: shall I tell you? Or are you merely a spy?'

I was so taken aback by the civilised volume at which he spoke, that I could not immediately reply. The churchman's gaze remained fixed on me. He had eyes so brown as to appear black, as though some freak of nature had deprived his eyes of any iris at all, and the enormous pupils were windows darkened by the soul beyond them.

'I am no spy, sir.'

'Perhaps not, sir, no matter. The escaping slaves are not my concern. There are enough holy fools to help them on their way.'

I felt myself warm a little to Erastus Newberry, since I was beginning to suspect that he was no more a Reverend than I.

'Go on,' I said.

'There is one such holy fool- these idiots can be useful - he worked in the New Orleans Mint until but recently.'

'So? He no longer works there, what good is that?'

'There are plans afoot. He still works there. He will still be working there in March, when Louisiana joins the Confederacy and it reopens as the Confederacy's Mint.'

I laughed, 'Confederacy? My friend even a neophyte like myself knows that it's just a pipe-dream. A nonsense concocted by a few politically ineffectual blow-hards.'

The black eyes gleamed, 'How wrong you are, Mr Northrup.'

'In any event, how is profit to be made from events occurring so far away?' I asked.

'The mint is striking no coins at the moment. Jacob Holzbein is well-placed to ensure the silver store does not overflow.'

'I'm afraid, I remain none the wiser.'

'There are slaves working at the Mint, Northrup, and Holzbein is a fierce abolitionist.'

'The silver?'

'It comes with escaped slaves, they will surely be caught if they take the Freedom Train overland, but that's why we want them on the Grand Turk. We'll relieve them of the silver at St.Paul.'

'And the Master of the Riverboat, Grey?' I asked.

'Where better to hide slaves than aboard the vessel of a dyed-in-the-wool secessionist?'

I had to admit it was a bold plan, and I heartily wished I had spent at least a little more time in the cramped slave-quarters aboard the Grand Turk.