Twaits nods his head vigorously.
“Anyone you could identify?”
“Certainly,” Twaits says, and Gilbert looks at Marcus, wanting to know what he thinks the chances are Twaits can tell one Black man from another.
The rod glows a dull red, then turns bright red and finally orange. It’s time for Gilbert to remove it from the coals, but if he does, he’s got to go back to banging on it at the anvil, and he won’t be able to hear anything the men say. Just a minute longer, he tells himself, as he watches the orange change to yellow.
Kemp is inexhaustible. “We’ll start at the armory, then move in the direction of the penitentiary, and if that doesn’t turn up anyone, we’ll head out to Brook Road and take a look around.” While the men exchange information, he puts on his coat and grabs his gun. “Ned,” he says, “I’m leaving you in charge.”
Everyone in the shop likes it when Kemp leaves Ned in charge. Ned’s got a girl over in Manchester, and he doesn’t think twice about shutting the smithy down early if he’s sure he won’t get caught. “How long you think you’ll be gone?” Ned asks Kemp in as casual a tone as he can manage.
“Could be all day,” says Kemp. “If anyone comes by looking to ride out with us, tell them we’ll convene at the slaughterhouse at midday.”
Ned promises he will.
“Oh, and Gilbert,” Kemp says as he places a cap on his fat head. “No more gallivanting.”
The iron rod is white between Gilbert’s tongs, and he’s in danger of it turning to liquid. “No, sir,” he says.
The man with the good head of hair brightens. “Wait—are you Gilbert Hunt?”
Gilbert closes his eyes, prays that whatever’s about to come out of this fool’s mouth is suitable for Kemp’s ears.
“I heard about you. Catching all those ladies. Such a feat!”
Twaits joins in. “Oh, this is him? Yes! What a hero you are. You could have been killed!”
Gilbert wants to tell them he’s fixing to be killed now if they don’t shut their mouths.
“You heard, I suppose?” Twaits says to Kemp. “Caught a dozen women, from a third-floor window. Like there was nothing to it.”
Gilbert is afraid to look at Kemp. He clears his throat, and says, “It was the second floor” in as quiet a voice as he can manage.
“Still,” says Twaits. “Bloody impressive.”
If Gilbert knows Kemp—and he thinks that he does—Kemp will play along and pretend he’s heard all about Gilbert’s adventures. But eventually, there will be hell to pay.
“He is an impressive specimen,” Kemp concurs, and it is only after he has waved the actors off, promising to be in touch, that he says another word about it.
“To think,” he blasts, as the men pretend to get down to work, “that we were living with a hero among us.”
Gilbert tries to explain. “Sir, you see—”
“No,yousee,” says Kemp, and Gilbert shuts his mouth.
“You cost me more than four hundred dollars at auction, and that was—what?—four months ago? Who, exactly, is going to pay my damages when you get clobbered by some old biddy?”
“Master Kemp, I was just trying to—”
“I am not finished!”
The men around him have stopped even pretending to work at this point.
“You listen and you listen good. You aremyproperty, and if I wanted you plucking ladies out of the night sky, I’d have sent you up to the theater green myself.”
SALLY
Sally allows herself to sleepfor exactly one hour.
