These Honored Dead (A Lincoln and Speed Mystery #1) - Jonathan F. Putnam Page 0,103

ring of keys.

I took the candle that had been in Hathaway’s hand and walked into the house. At once, I was hit by the stench of decay and suffering. A few residents were peering out from their doors on the long hallway, drawn by the late night disturbance. I saw them gape in wonder as they realized it was their master who was lying unconscious in the entranceway. I didn’t stop to ask their views on the matter, but Martha seemed to have procured with great speed enough rope to tie Hathaway up three times over.

By the time Martha had secured his arms and legs, pulling the rope especially tight, Hathaway was moaning softly. “Where to?” my sister asked.

“Perhaps I’ll stay to make sure he’s bound securely and then catch up with you,” suggested Jane.

“No, we need to stick together,” I said, thinking there was no longer any doubt Jane and Hathaway had been in league. “It’s a labyrinth inside. Follow me.”

Jane looked at me warily but did not argue. I led the two women along the dank hall, through the closed door at the end, and down the narrow flight of stairs to the long infirmary. Most of the persons there were sleeping, and we walked through the room quietly in order to avoid waking them. I noticed several were covered by blankets once in the inventory of A. Y. Ellis & Co.

As quietly as I could, I tried the various keys from Hathaway’s ring in the door at the end of the sickroom. Finally one inserted and turned, and I opened the door and beckoned Martha and Jane to follow me into the small, pitch-black space.

The two women looked around the empty room with confusion. “I thought you said you knew where he’d hide her,” said Martha.

“I do. Hold this for a minute.” I handed her the burning candle, then dropped to my knees and felt around until I found the hidden lever in the floor. I pulled open the panel, revealing the Idiot’s pit and the top of the ladder. A great smell of waste erupted from the hole. Martha gulped.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, taking the candle from Martha and descending the ladder. Jane took half a step to follow after me, but the odor must have hit her with full force as she gagged and stepped back.

When I reached the bottom of the pit, it was hard to see anything at all. If I looked at the candle, it blinded me to the rest of the dug-out room; if I looked away, the refracted light was too faint to make out anything. But gradually my eyes adjusted, and I perceived Fanning asleep in his man-cage, a sighing, foul heap of rags, skin, and bones. Stooping to avoid the low ceiling, I squinted around the room. Where was she?

“Over here, Master,” came a quiet voice.

I knelt beside a shrouded figure, bound in a burlap sack under the eaves opposite the man-cage. I held the flame up to Phillis’s eyes and she blinked rapidly. There was a bruise below her right eye.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s happened to your face, then?”

“It’s nothing. But that one over there is crazy. Hollering at me until he fell asleep from the effort.”

“Phillis?” called Martha’s voice from above. Lifting the candle, I saw Jane peering down anxiously beside her.

“I’ve got her,” I said. “We’ll be up in a minute.” I put the candle in my teeth and, working quickly with both hands, managed to loosen the sack and untie Phillis’s arms. The Negro neither smiled nor thanked me but merely stood there, rubbing the welts on her arms and awaiting my further direction.

“Can you make it up the ladder by yourself?”

“Imagine so,” she said, and she did, slowly. As I trailed behind her, I tried to figure out what to do next. Jane seemed determined not to let Phillis out of her sight. There was no need to bring the issue to a head here in unfamiliar territory. After we’d returned to Springfield, there would be plenty of opportunity to learn what Phillis had overheard.

When she reached the top of the ladder, Phillis was swept up by Martha in an exuberant embrace. “I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” Martha said, her arms gleefully around Phillis’s neck. The slave stood limp; her arms remained at her side. “I told you she was still here,” Martha continued, looking at me and Jane with triumph, seemingly unaware of the bondswoman’s lack