The Kingdom of Bones

FORTY-SEVEN

On Tulane Avenue, at the corner of Johnson Street, stood the Hotel Dieu. As often had to be explained to tourists, this was not a hotel at all, but a private hospital run by the Daughters of Charity. Begun with only five patients and growing until it occupied most of a city square, it had been the only institution of its kind to stay in operation throughout the Civil War. After a few more years of running it as a hospital for seamen, the Sisters had decided to expand the building further and had accomplished this by means of having the entire structure raised up on jackscrews with the patients still inside. It was a hospital used both by visitors to the city, and by citizens without homes. Charges for those who could pay ranged up to five dollars a day, but that included meals, medicines, and the price of medical care.

One of the city’s most eminent doctors had been present at the Centennial Ball and had been summoned to the fallen man’s aid. Sebastian had the cord off the fighter’s neck by the time the doctor had been located, but he was unable to find a pulse.

The doctor had served as a contract surgeon with the U.S. Army during the Spanish-American War. He’d once saved a man after a summary hanging. He checked Sayers’ windpipe for any crushing injury and got him upright. Sayers’ color immediately began to improve. The physician determined that a pulse was there, but it was weak. Pressure on the jugular veins had caused blood to back up in Sayers’ brain, causing rapid unconsciousness and then a slow decrease in respiration. Fatal asphyxia had been only minutes away. Already the damage might be too great.

A horse ambulance was sent for. Sayers was transferred to the Hotel Dieu and the doctor returned to the ball. Sebastian followed the ambulance to the hospital and waited around for a while, but it was late and the sisters made it clear they didn’t want him there.

He’d been through Sayers’ pockets and knew where he was staying. He went over to the furnished room and spent an hour going through Sayers’ clothes and luggage.

He found little there to guide him. And there was nothing left of his money, of course. But at least he now had somewhere to spend what remained of the night.

The next morning, Sebastian began his inquiries. In the afternoon, he returned to the hospital, jumping onto a Tulane car when he saw it coming to a stop on Canal Street. The car was full, and he had to stand next to a man in a grimy ice-cream–colored suit who lurched into him every time the car started out. Each time he begged Sebastian’s pardon, and every time the car moved he stumbled into him again.

As Sebastian climbed the public stairs to the male ward, two men were coming down. One had a gun in his belt and they seemed to have somewhere else to go. They were talking about horse racing.

Sayers was in a bed at the far end of the ward. He was propped up on pillows and looked as if he’d been exhausted by some enormous struggle that had left him unmarked, but almost drained of life. He showed no surprise when he saw Sebastian approaching.

One of the nurses explained his condition to Sebastian. He could drink, but not eat. He’d been given medicines to thin his blood and had been forbidden to speak above a whisper.

As soon as the nurse was out of earshot, Sebastian said, “I saw two men leaving. They looked like detectives. Were they here? Did they speak to you?”

Sayers nodded.

Sebastian pulled over an empty chair from beside the next bed and seated himself upon it. “What could you tell them?” he said.

Sayers shook his head, and raised his hand to make a flat-out gesture. Nothing.

Sebastian said, “She tried to throttle you and then left you for dead. Don’t protect her. It’s gone beyond that now. I realize there’s more to this than I can ever know. But you can’t draw it out any longer.”

Sayers looked down.

Sebastian said, “Last night. At the opera house. When we sat you up, I saw those old scars you’ve been keeping covered. I saw new ones that have barely healed. Were those things that were done to you? Or am I right in thinking that you inflicted them on yourself?”

Sayers didn’t look up.

“And then back at the room,” Sebastian said. “I looked in your bag. I’m sorry, but it seemed as if you might not survive. I found the razors.”

Sayers did not move.

“Tom,” Sebastian said. “Your business is your own. I can see that this is dark country. I will not pretend that I understand the half of what I’ve seen. But nor will I try to stand in judgment over you. Yours has been a hard road. I cannot begin to imagine what it must have taken to sustain you in your journey. What I am saying is that every road needs to reach its end.”

Now Sayers raised his head, and looked at him steadily. His were the eyes of a man who’d looked into darkness, and seen a place for himself out there.

“She checked out of the St. Charles Hotel this morning,” Sebastian said. “But I know where she’ll be going. She’s buying back furniture for the plantation house on the Patenotre estate.”

Sebastian got to his feet and looked down at Sayers.

“You had your shot with her,” he said. “Now she’s mine.”