The Queen of Bedlam by Robert R. McCammon

ruffians fighting in the streets. Look at the cases we’ve heard together, Matthew. Did any of them stand out, particularly?”
    Matthew hesitated, thinking. In truth, the majority of cases had involved small thefts or various petty acts of criminality such as vandalism and slander. The only two real cases that had intrigued him and gotten his mind working had been the murder of the blue beggar, the first year he’d come to work in New York, and the matter of the deadly scarecrow on the Crispin farm last October. Everything else, it seemed to him now, had been an exercise in sleepwalking.
    “As I thought,” Powers went on. “Nothing much to report except the usual humdrum details of human malfeasance, carelessness, or stupidity, yes?”
    “But…it’s those things that are usual in any pursuit of justice.”
    “Rightly so, and that is the nature of public work. I’m just asking you, Matthew, if you really wish to give your life to those-how shall I put it-mundanities?”
    “It’s suited you well enough, hasn’t it, sir?”
    The magistrate smiled faintly and held up his frayed sleeve cuff. “Let’s not speak of suits, shall we? But yes, I’ve been happy in my chosen profession. Well…pleased is the proper word, I suppose. But satisfied or challenged? Of those I’m not so sure. You see, I didn’t volunteer for this position, Matthew. In the course of my work in London I made some judgments which unfortunately secured me some influential enemies. The next thing I knew, I was pushed out of a position and the only avenue open to my family and myself was a sea route to either Barbados or New York. So I’ve done the best I could, considering the situation, but now…” He trailed off.
    Matthew had had the feeling that there was more to this line of thought than met the ear. He prodded, “Yes, sir?”
    The magistrate scratched his chin and paused, constructing his next comment. Then he stood up and walked to the window, where he leaned against the casement to look down upon the street. Matthew swiveled around to follow his progress.
    “I’m leaving my position at the end of September,” Powers said. “And leaving New York, as well. That’s what I’m speaking to Magistrate Dawes about today…though he doesn’t know it yet. You’re the first I’ve told.”
    “Leaving?” Matthew had received no inkling of this, and his first thought was that the man’s health demanded a change. “Are you ill, sir?”
    “No, not ill. In fact, since I made up my mind I’ve been feeling very perky lately. And I only did decide in the last few days, Matthew. It’s not something I’ve been keeping from you.” He turned from the window to give the younger man his full attention, the sunlight spilling across his shoulders and head. “You’ve heard me mention my elder brother Durham?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “He’s a botanist, I believe I’ve told you? And that he manages a tobacco plantation for Lord Kent in the Carolina colony?”
    Matthew nodded.
    “Durham has asked me to help him, as he wishes to concentrate only on the botanical aspects. Lord Kent keeps buying more land, and the place has gotten so large everything else is overwhelming him. It would be legal work-contracts with suppliers and such-and also managerial in nature. Not to mention three times the money I’m currently making.”
    “Oh,” Matthew said.
    “Judith is certainly well for it,” the magistrate continued. “The social harridans here have never exactly welcomed her with open arms. But there’s a town beginning to thrive near the plantation, and Durham has great expectations for it. I haven’t mentioned this to the boys yet. I expect Roger may travel with us, but Warren will likely stay, his job being so important. Abigail of course has her own family and I shall miss the grandchildren, but my mind is settled.”
    “I see,” was Matthew’s response. His shoulders slumped. He wondered if this was the personal calamity Cecily had smelled on