He looked now from the pistol at Berry, and said with a faint smile, "Ah. Miss Grigsby."
Berry didn't answer. She was yet motionless, still studying the grisly surroundings, and Matthew wondered if she could find her tongue.
"Mr. McCaggers' collections," Matthew heard himself say, as if it would do any good.
A silence stretched, and finally McCaggers said, "Can I get anyone some tea? It's cold, but—"
"What a magnificent
. . .
" Berry paused, seeking the correct word. "Gallery," she decided. Her voice was calm and clear and she stretched out an arm toward the child-sized skeleton that hung nearest her. Matthew winced, thinking she was going to touch its hand, but of course it was too high for her to reach. Though not by much. She turned her gaze toward the coroner, and as Matthew walked quietly around to one side he could see her mind at work, examining the man who lived amid such a museum. "I presume these were unclaimed corpses, and the cemetery is not filling up so quickly in New York that there's no more room?"
"Indeed, not, and you presume correctly." McCaggers allowed himself a hint of a smile. He took off his spectacles and cleaned them on a handkerchief from the pocket of his black breeches. The better to see Berry more clearly, Matthew thought. McCaggers was only three years older than Matthew, was pale and of medium height and had light brown hair receding from a high forehead. He wore a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and was perpetually a day or two away from a decent shave. In spite of that, he kept himself and his attic as neat as Sally Almond's kitchen. He put his spectacles back on, and seemed to view Berry in a new light. "I don't have many visitors here. The ones I do have usually cringe, and can't wait to get out. Most people are . . . you know . . . so afraid of death."
"Well," Berry answered, "I'm not fond of the idea," and she gave Matthew a quick glance that said she still hadn't quite gotten over their brush with mortality in the form of hawk talons and killers' knives at the Chapel estate. "But for the sake of form, your specimens are very interesting. One might say . . . artful."
"Oh, absolutely!" McCaggers almost grinned, obviously pleased to have discovered a kindred spirit. "The bones
are
beautiful, aren't they? As I once told Matthew, to me they represent everything fascinating about life and death." He gazed up at the skeletons with an expression of pride that made Matthew's flesh crawl. "The young man and woman—those two there—came with me from Bristol. The little girl and older man were found here. My father was a coroner in Bristol, you know. As was my grandfather before—"
There came the loud
snap
of the pistol's trigger being pulled, which served to stop McCaggers' recitation of his family history.
"Our business at hand," said Greathouse, who nodded toward a table across the attic where Zed sat in a spill of light cleaning and polishing some of the forceps, callipers and little blades that were tools of the coroner's trade. Zed's attire was a gray shirt and brown breeches, far removed from his suit of last night. When he looked up and saw everyone staring at him he returned the attention impassively, and then shifted his chair so his broad back was presented to his audience. He continued his work with admirable dignity.
"So," McCaggers went on, again concentrating on Berry. "You have an appreciation for art?"
Oh for Lord's sake! Matthew thought. If Effrem were present, the tailor's son might feel a twinge of jealousy at this obvious play for Berry's interest.
"I do, sir," Berry answered. "Most certainly."
Matthew could have told McCaggers how Berry's talent for drawing had helped solve the puzzle of the Queen of Bedlam, but he hadn't been asked. He shot a glance at Greathouse, who looked as if he were ready to shoot the coroner.
"Ah!" It was spoken by McCaggers as a sublime statement. Behind his spectacles his eyes took in Berry from shoetoe to hat brim. "And as a teacher, you have a curiosity for . . . shall we say . . . the
unusual
?"
Now Berry did appear a little flustered. "Pardon me?"
"The unusual," McCaggers repeated. "Not just in forms of art, but forms of . . . creation?"
Berry looked to Matthew for help, but Matthew shrugged; he had no earthly idea what McCaggers was driving at.
"Listen," Greathouse spoke up. "In case you've forgotten, we're here about—"
"I don't forget anything," came the reply, which carried a touch of frost. "Ever. Miss Grigsby?" His voice warmed again with her name. "May I show you my greatest treasure?"
"Well . . . I'm not sure I'm—"
"Of course you're worthy. Being interested in forms of art, and creation, and a teacher as well. Also, I think you might like to see . . . a
mystery
that has no answer. Would you?"
"All mysteries have answers," Greathouse said. "It's just finding the one that fits."
"So
you
say." With that remark, McCaggers turned away and walked past a bookcase full of ancient-looking tomes bound in scabby leather. He went to a massive old black chest-of-drawers, which stood next to a cubbyhole arrangement that held rolled-up scrolls of paper. From the bottom drawer of the chest, McCaggers removed a small red velvet box. He came back to Berry bearing the red box as if it held the finest emerald from the mines of Brazil. "This is my greatest treasure," he said quietly. "A mystery that has no answer. It was given to my grandfather, as payment for work done. My father passed it along to me. And now . . . " He paused, about to open the box. Matthew noted that even Zed had put aside his work and was watching intently. "I've never shown this to anyone else, Miss Grigsby. May I call you 'Berry'?"
She nodded, staring at the box.
"God creates all," McCaggers said, his spectacles reflecting red. "And all suits God's purpose. What then, is
this
?"
He raised the velvet lid, and both Berry and Matthew saw what was inside as McCaggers tilted the box toward them.
It was an ugly piece of dark brown wood, curved and scored and about five inches long, that came to a bladelike point.
"Hm," Matthew said, with a lift of his eyebrows that betrayed his amusement at McCaggers' folly. "Very interesting."
"And of course, by that tone of voice, you tell me you have no idea what you're looking at. Berry, would you care to guess what this is?"
Greathouse had put aside the pistol and come nearer. He offered his comment without being asked. "A tent stake, I'd say. Wouldn't care to stake my tent on it in a windstorm, though."
"I'll tell you where this was found," McCaggers said, as he drew a finger along the item's length. "Are you familiar with the bell pits of Somerset?"
"The coalfield? Yes, I know that area."
McCaggers nodded. He picked the item up and held it before them. "This was found sixty feet underground, in the wall of a bell pit near Nettlebridge. It's a tooth."
There was a span of silence, which after a few seconds was broken by Greathouse's rude guffaw. "A
tooth
! Sixty feet under? In a
coalmine
?"
"That's correct. I know a tooth when I see one, Mr. Greathouse. This is very old. A thousand years? Five thousand? Who can say? But you're missing the larger picture, so to speak."
"Which is?"
Berry answered, in a quiet voice: "The size of the tooth. If—from one tooth—you speculate the size of the jaw . . . and then the head . . . "
"Correct," the coroner said. "It must have belonged to what I can only say would have been . . . " He hesitated, and fixed his gaze on the vicious point. "A monster," he finished.
"A monster!" Greathouse laughed again, but this time it didn't have the same force or conviction. "Where do you keep your rum barrel up here?"
"From what I understand," McCaggers continued, "the Somerset miners occasionally bring up bones that none of the locals can identify as being from any animal anyone's ever seen. They're considered to be ill omens, and so they're disposed of however one would dispose of such things. This tooth escaped destruction. Would you care to hold it?" He offered it toward Greathouse, who in spite of his courage in all things swords or fistic seemed to blanch a bit and recoiled from the gift.
Matthew found himself stepping forward. He opened his hand and McCaggers placed the tooth in his palm. It was as heavy as a stone of that size might be, yet it was surely no stone. Matthew could see serrations along one edge that might still do damage to flesh.
Berry pressed against his shoulder, peering at the object, and Matthew made no move to widen the distance between them.
"A dragon's tooth," Berry said at last, the sound of both excitement and awe in her voice. "That's what it must be. Yes?" She looked at McCaggers for confirmation.
"Some might say that. Those who believe in dragons, I mean."
"What else could it be, then?"
"A dragon—if such existed outside mythology—might be considered to conquer its enemies with fire. This creature was a killer made to tear away huge pieces of meat. A supreme carnivore. You see the edge on that tooth? A masterpiece of form and function. Do you have any idea what a jaw full of those could do to . . . say . . . a side of beef?"
"Dragons! Carnivores!" Greathouse had recovered his wits and his color. "This is nonsense, McCaggers! I mean no disrespect, but I think your grandfather has passed along something from a scoundrel's workshop!"
McCaggers regarded him somberly and then took the object from Matthew's palm. "That may well be," he said as he returned it to the velvet box, "but then again . . . perhaps it's evidence of what God told Job."
Greathouse frowned. "What are you on about
now
?"
"God spoke to Job," McCaggers said, "from the whirlwind. He told Job about the behemoth and the leviathan. Unimaginable creatures of size and power. He told Job to gird up his loins like a man, and face what was to come. He said,
I will demand of thee
." McCaggers saw that none of this was getting through to Greathouse. "Don't you know your Bible?"
"I know the part that says if men respect me, I'll respect them. Is there anything else?"
McCaggers pointedly ignored him, focusing his attention to Matthew and Berry. "This may be a tooth from behemoth, or from leviathan. As I said before, it's a mystery without an answer."
"Maybe
they
know the answer by now." Greathouse motioned upward, where the coroner's angels watched with hollow sockets. "Too bad you have to die before you find out."
"Yes, that
is
unfortunate," McCaggers agreed, and closed the lid of his red velvet box. Then he spoke directly to Berry. "I thought you might enjoy seeing it, from the viewpoint of both a teacher and a person who obviously appreciates the art of function. Just as the bones of a human skeleton are all formed for specific tasks, so was this tooth. Whatever the creature was that possessed it, you can be sure the animal was formed for the function of both destruction and survival. My further question is . . . what was in God's will to create such a monster?" As he knew no reply could be forthcoming, he turned away once more, took the box back to the chest-of-drawers and deposited it where it had been.
"About Zed," Greathouse prompted. Beyond McCaggers, the slave had returned to his task of cleaning the instruments and seemed not to care a fig about anything else.
"I appreciate your experiment with him," McCaggers said as he strolled back to them. "I understand and share your opinion about his talents, that he shouldn't be—as you've stated—wasted in the duty of moving corpses about. I had no idea of his obviously valuable heritage. I also find it quite interesting and very remarkable that you wish to buy him from me and go about the process of gaining a writ of manumission for him from Lord Cornbury."
"First things first. I'd like Miss Grigsby to observe him for a few days and tell me if she thinks he can be trained." Greathouse caught himself, and his mouth twisted as if he'd tasted some bad liver. "I mean to say,
taught
."
McCaggers gave a thin smile. "Of course he can be taught. He's very intelligent, as a matter of fact. He quickly understands instructions, as you yourself found out last night. I have to say, I don't know to what
extent
he can be taught, but simple tasks are no problem for him."
"Does he know very much English?" Berry asked, watching Zed work.
"He knows enough to carry out his job. I think he had some knowledge of English before he arrived at the auction block. It's somewhat difficult to know precisely, as of course he can't speak." McCaggers looked at Greathouse and narrowed his eyes behind his spectacles. "Before we go any further, sir, I should tell you that there is a problem. As I do appreciate and respect your offer, I'm afraid it's not possible."
"Not possible? Why? I'd be willing to pay—"
"Not enough," McCaggers interrupted. "Simply because I don't own Zed outright."
Greathouse was taken aback, and glanced at Matthew for support.
"You mean . . . someone else owns him?" Matthew asked.
"When Zed came up for auction, you can be sure I wasn't the only bidder, and that I quickly came to the bottom of my pocket. One of the predominant bidders was Gerritt van Kowenhoven."
A wealthy shipbuilder, Matthew knew, who owned one of the mansions atop Golden Hill. The man was in his seventies, had been through three wives and had the reputation of being both a skinflint and a backbreaking taskmaster. But, for all that, his ships were majesties of grace and speed. "He wanted Zed for his shipyard," McCaggers went on. "I happened to know that van Kowenhoven has not been able to buy something he devoutly desires. Due to the fact that he's wrangled famously with every mayor we've had, and proclaimed his shipyard to still be part of the States of Holland."
"That would tend to annoy," Matthew observed.
"Exactly. Well, as I knew what van Kowenhoven desired and I have sufficient influence to make it happen, I concluded an agreement with him before the gavel's last fall. Thus I have possession of Zed for four years—and we are currently in the fifth month of the third year—after which he becomes the sole property of van Kowenhoven and I presume will do the work of a half-dozen men for the remainder of his life."