-= 141 =-
April 1784
South Carolina
Befor Mid: Tom chalenged by Pvt. Ricker at city gate. R describes as upset. Unshaven. Tired. Horse riden hard. T was in uniform and recognised, so admit.
About 1:30a: I find Tom at Mrs. Whiting's. We argued...
John Preston looked through his papers, rebuilding through note and annotation the hours leading up to Rutledge's house exploding. He was not a good writer, having learned the skill while working in his father's counting house as a boy. These papers then, written in a shaky hand and horribly misspelt, had taken a morning to prepare. It had been worth it though. It helped to organize his thoughts.
7:30a: Tom enters Ofc of quartrmstr. Orders suplys sent - Branchville. QM refused. Quere: When was T at Branchville? Why he cares? NOTE: QM lied. Capt. Barcer says QM organised food and blankets to Branchville til Mr. R stoped him about 8;30. Who told Mr. R?
John pondered these questions for a moment, then pulled over a notice he'd found nailed to the church announcement board this morning. The Patriot's League had met last night and, tired of waiting for John (and therefore the Carolina Guard) to denounce Heyward, had posted a bounty. Two hundred dollars. Dead or alive. Preston didn't know if what amounted to a private bounty was even legal, but he was quite sure anyone who could pay that kind of fee didn't care.
The problem was if this was Tom's idea of an assassination attempt, then it wasn't very good. The house had been aflame, so it could be argued that he'd attacked Rutledge and tried to cover the evidence. However, Rutledge had been found in what was left of the front foyer, and the injuries he suffered clearly came from the explosion. Far better to kill the man,
then set the house on fire. Even if Heyward meant for him to be burned alive, there was no sign the victim had been bound or otherwise restrained.
About 9:30a: Capt. Pierce leaves Tom and Mr. R alone. P says Tom was hostile. (no surprise) Tom was not armd. though says Mr. R kept knyf in globe. Why? Mr. R liked that globe. Tom talkd about Indians.
Befor 10a: Hue and cry raised. Smoke and fire. 2d floor. Study?
The explosion was John's other big problem. He wasn't worried about the trigger: Rutledge's house was wood, and the fire had been going for some minutes before it exploded. Preston was by no means an expert, but he knew flames could travel very quickly without provocation or warning. Fire alone, however, does not mean explosion. There wasn't much that could do this: Gunpowder, but he'd already ruled that out. Unless the quartermaster was
really lying and had given Tom a few kegs...
Unlikely. Plus, how would he have carried the kegs to the kitchen, where Cassie thought the explosion occurred from what she remembered of the layout, without someone seeing him? The guard at the door for example.
Swamp gas could explode, but that was even more unlikely than Tom smuggling gunpowder in the house. Wait, didn't flour mills sometimes explode? The kitchen...what if Rutledge had simply bought some ill refined flour? He'd have to speak with a miller.
(1)
In the distance, John heard the church bell ring once. Time. He stood from behind Anne Whiting's writing desk and surveyed the chaos wreaked by his men looking for clues to her whereabouts, and whether Tom might be there as well. Overturned furniture, drawers and boxes cut open in case of hidden compartments, torn and sliced garments for much the same reason. Some enterprising soul earned seven years bad luck by shattering a mirror. Naturally they'd found nothing. Whatever her reasons for leaving, it'd been sudden and unplanned.
"Unplanned," Preston muttered as he walked out of town, ignoring people trying to go about their lives in spite of soldiers on almost every street corner. It was a strange atmosphere: Fearful and anxious, certainly, but with a hint of a festival as if the increased security promised some sort of unexpected excitement.
Which, John reflected, was probably right.
The Hospital of St. Mary's stood about a mile outside town on the north road towards Wilmington. It was a low, one story brick building not unlike a squat castle overlooking its rich green fields and trees. The castle impression seemed reinforced by the strong military presence. Soldiers, some in oversized, sagging uniforms to accommodate growth, patrolled the grounds and iron fence surrounding the building. Preston stopped at the gate and frowned at a very young man - a boy really.
"Sir! You're expected! Please come with me!"
"If you show me the way," Preston replied, "who will guard the gate?"
This bit of trivia seemed to stump the youngster. John sighed and pushed past him. "I know the way." Soldiers at a hospital. He didn't know whether to be outraged, pleased or amused. Ever since some manic had snapped a patient's neck in Rutledge's own ward though, it was simply life.
He found Black sitting in a chair by the window of his private room. Once he'd recovered his wits they moved him away from the other patients, of course, and now he sat contemplating a tree. That, too, was one of God's creations. A good reason to kill it.
"John," he said without turning to the door. "Have you found Thomas or Anne?"
"No, sir. We are still combing the town. The League's taken their own steps." Preston removed his hat and walked past the neat, trim bed. He sat across from Black and rested his hands on the table.
"The League. I know." Black turned finally, and John looked down quickly. The horrible scars and burns to Rutledge's face were healing, remarkably fast according to the doctors, but they disgusted him nonetheless. Black regarded him for a moment, then continued. "They tire of your investigation. It is clear what occurred, is it not?"
"I do not doubt you," John lied. "I merely wish to establish a few points in my own mind. You'd agree that if we're to make an example of General Heyward's betrayal, then we must be able to clearly show any doubters proof of what's happened."
"My word is sufficient, John." Black smiled, which only made him look even worse as half his mouth refused to obey. "Do my looks displease you?"
"Of course not!" Preston met his eyes with difficulty.
Black held his gaze for a moment. "Yes they do," he said. "It is of no import. I would not go to you for beauty advice anyway."
Preston glared. He knew very well what it felt like to have one's face shredded and scarred. He'd carry the nightmares to his grave. "Then we are even," he snapped.
"Hardly." Black sniffed and turned away. "So? Tell me of your investigation."
John did, omitting nothing but his doubts. "I must aveer to the explosion," he said at last. "What caused it? We know it started in the kitchen. Were you carrying anything explosive?"
Black continued wishing death on his tree without turning. "The doctor asked me that. The answer is no. Clearly Thomas snuck something in there. If not gunpowder as you say, then I would not hazard what."
"How did General Heyward get something like that past your guard?"
Black turned and glared. "You are the one playing at detective. You tell me."
"I am not sure I care for your tone, Mister Rutledge."
Black grimaced. He might still need this fool. Otherwise he'd let Jasen have him. "My apologies... Colonel. My wounds trouble me."
John nodded and pushed a paper across the table. "Can you tell me what this symbol means?"
"You've been going through my papers!"
"We found them while searching the house."
"You were searching my house when you should have been catching my assassin? John, if you are going to insist on doing this you must get your priorities straight!"
"My priorities are fine! Tell me about the symbol!"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because General Heyward told me about it before the end of the last war! He said I should beware it!"
Black's jaw dropped, painful as it was.
Oh, you little fool. He tried to warn you and you ran to me. Glorious! He smothered his glee and slowly nodded. "I see. Well, now at least I can tell you why the general wants me dead."
Preston leaned forward. "I'm listening."
Black weaved his tale slowly, carefully. They were a secret organization, he said, one dedicated to undoing the 1710 act dividing North and South Carolina. They first worked to influence the British, then when that failed encouraged the Carolinas to join the infant rebellion.
"That doesn't explain why he'd try to kill you."
"If you'll recall, Thomas was in Congress for awhile. While there, though, he fell under the influence of northern representatives jealous of our strength. Mister Adams was particularly obnoxious. I attempted to shield him as I could, but eventually they convinced him of our supposed misdeeds."
"And?"
"And so we tried to reason with him, of course. I, personally, even allowed that if he no longer agreed we would not make him fight for a cause he didn't believe him. That is why the Assembly sent him home and he wound up an army officer. Thomas saw this as an indirect attack on his reputation, however. I hold myself accountable, I did not explain myself clearly. He began seeing plots and trickery everywhere, afraid that we were after him when in fact we were not. His insistence that you beware our symbol proves he never forgot this."
John considered Black's story. It did seem to explain quite a bit of their decade long rivalry.
"It is no secret we disagreed on my solution to the Indian problem. That, taken with recent advances in our efforts to join with North Carolina, may have convinced him we were acting again. It could drive any man to desperation. Perhaps at the end Thomas went mad. Anxiety and paranoia have brought many honorable men low."
Was it possible? Certainly Tom had acted strange that last night. John would have to talk to the doctor, find out if there were any obvious signs of those illnesses. And where the devil had he gone?
-------------
"Halt! Halt and be recognized!"
Sergeant Greymane of His Majesty's 51st Foot pointed his rifle at the driver of the cart. The driver pulled on the reins. The horse swung its head to one side, tail flicking with annoyance, but stopped obediently.
The sergeant nodded to his two men, who shifted their aim to the horse lest the driver try to break through. Through his subordinates, General Burgoyne made it clear that the Americans in South Carolina could not be trusted, and anyone attempting to cross the border should be treated with the greatest suspicion. Greymane approached warily.
He nearly fired when the driver pulled back her hood, revealing red, unkempt hair. She glared down at him, ignoring the rifles. "Let me pass!"
"What is your business?" Greymane asked coldly, unimpressed.
"My...my husband's in back!" Anne Whiting cried, tossing her head for emphasis. "He needs a doctor!"
------------------
(1) Yes, I know that's not how flour dust explosions work. John doesn't!