"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."
"And just what was it he wanted?" Matthew asked.
"It has taken awhile, but the next street laid down by our good Mayor French will be christened van Kowenhoven. It's already on the new map."
Greathouse said with a sneer, "Son of a-"
"Sir!" Berry told him sharply. "None of that!"
He glowered at her, but his storm ebbed and he scratched the back of his neck so hard Matthew thought he was going to draw blood.
"I presume that tears it," Matthew said, with a quick glance at Zed. The slave was now arranging the instruments into his master's toolbox, which had served many of the best deceased of New York's society as well as the lowest ex-lifes. It was a shame, really, that a man of Zed's abilities should spend his life hauling timbers and tar barrels, but this particular path had come to its end.
"Wait a moment!" said Greathouse, as if reading Matthew's mind. "How much money are we talking about? To buy him from van Kowenhoven?"
"Zed went from the block for thirty-two pounds and six shillings. More than half my salary for one year. Plus, knowing van Kowenhoven, he'd want a profit on his investment, if he could be induced to sell."
Greathouse's mouth was still hanging open. "Thirty-two pounds?" It was a tremendous sum to be paid in one offering.
"As I said, I certainly wasn't the only bidder and neither was van Kowenhoven. When men like Cornelius Rambouts and John Addison entered the fray, it became more of a personal competition than a business purchase."
Matthew was thinking what he could do with thirty-two pounds. Pay off all his debts, buy some new suits, and have a small fireplace built in his dairyhouse, since it appeared that Marmaduke wasn't going to spring for it before the first cold blow. Plus there'd be enough left for a few months of meals and ale at the Trot. How some people could throw so much money away astounded him.
"I could probably raise seven or eight pounds," Greathouse said, his brow furrowed. "Maybe ten, at the most."
"Your spirit and intention are commendable, sir," said McCaggers, with a slight bow. "There would be a further cost. Just last month Daniel Padgett applied for a writ of manumission from Lord Cornbury for his slave Vulcan, that the man might open a blacksmith's shop. It's my understanding that Cornbury demanded and received ten pounds for his signature."
"Son of a-" Greathouse paused. When Berry didn't speak up, he finished it: "Bitch!"
"I'm sorry," McCaggers told him. "But things are as they are."
Greathouse started to speak again, but Matthew saw all the wind and bluster go out of him, for there was simply no more to be said. Matthew assumed that Katherine Herrald had left him some money to run the office, of course, but that sum was certainly out of the question. He knew it, Greathouse knew it, and so did McCaggers.
At last Greathouse said, to no one in particular, "I suppose we'll be going." Then he tried one last time, as was his nature to beat against stone walls: "Do you think if van Kowenhoven knew what kind of talent Zed had, he'd listen to reason?"
"You can try," came the reply, "but it would probably just make him raise the price."
"All right. Thank you." Greathouse watched Zed at work for a moment longer and then abruptly turned toward the door.
Matthew was about to follow when Berry posed a question to the coroner: "Pardon me, but I'd like to know can Zed read or write?"
"Not English, but perhaps his own language. He's never had cause to either read or write in the work he does for me. All he does is follow instructions, given verbally and by handsigns."
"Then, if I may ask, how are you so sure of his intelligence?"
"Two reasons," said McCaggers. "One, he follows instructions precisely. And two, there are his drawings."
"Drawings?" Berry asked, as Greathouse stopped at the door and looked back.
"Yes. Here are some." McCaggers crossed the room and retrieved a few sheets of paper from atop the bookcase. "I don't think he'd mind if I showed them," he said, though Zed had turned around in his chair and was watching with what might be called intense scrutiny, so much that Matthew felt the flesh crawl at the back of his neck for fear the man might decide his drawings were not for the eyes of strangers.
McCaggers brought the papers to Berry, and she took them. Now it was Matthew's turn to look over her shoulder, and Greathouse walked back to them to also take a gander.
"He's done a score of them," McCaggers explained. "Using my black crayons. And broken them like tindersticks too, I might add."
It wasn't difficult to see why. Some of the strokes had actually torn through the paper. But now Matthew knew why Zed spent so much time on the roof of City Hall.
The first drawing was a view of New York and the Great Dock, as seen from Zed's vantage point. Only it wasn't exactly the town and the dock that Matthew saw everyday; those thick waxy black lines of buildings and canoelike shapes of sailing vessels appeared to be from a more primitive world, with the circle of the sun a line gone round and round until obviously the crayon's point had snapped to leave an ugly smear across the scene. It looked forbidding and alien, with black lines spouting from the squares of chimneys and-down below-stick figures caught in midstride. There was a nightmarish quality to the drawing, all black and white and nothing in between.