Death and the Arrow by Chris Priestley Page A

acknowledge their presence.
    The turnkey gave him a prod with the toe of his boot. “Visitors, you heathen scum,” he said. Tonsahoten turned and slowly rose to his feet. The turnkey shrank back toward the door. “Heathen scum,” he muttered from a safer distance. The Mohawk returned to his previous stance.
    Then, to Tom’s surprise, Dr. Harker began talking in the strangest way. Tom was about to ask if he was all right just as Tonsahoten turned and began to respond in kind. Something approaching a smile began to appear on his face.
    “You speak my language?” said the Mohawk.
    “A little,” said the doctor.
    “You speak it well, but for the boy’s benefit, we should speak English, I think.”
    “I am Dr. Harker,” said the doctor, offering his hand. “Tom here you already know.”
    Tonsahoten shook the doctor’s hand and got to his feet. Again Tom was struck by his size, especially in this confined space. “How do you come to know my language?” asked the Mohawk.
    “I traveled in your lands for some time in my younger days. How do you come to know ours?”
    Tonsahoten smiled. “The boy has no doubt told my tale,” he said. The doctor nodded. “Well, I vowed that I would avenge my family, my people. I left my home — the woods I had loved so much — and I became a seafaring man. The white men set great store by my head for heights and had me work at the top of the main-mast, looking for whales on the far horizon. When I saw one of those great beasts, I would shout out and then scramble down to the deck and into the longboats, ready for the chase. When my job as lookout was done, I turned harpooner, standing in the prow to do battle with those giant fish. It was dangerous work. I saw men snapped like tinder wood by a flick of their tails.” Tom’s eyes widened at every word the Mohawk spoke.
    “I learned your tongue and many others. The sea life is open to all, and I struck up friendships with men from all nations. Had I not vowed to search out my people’s killers, I would never have left that life. I might have been happy there.”
    “And how did you find them? Shepton and the others?” asked Dr. Harker.
    “By chance,” said the Mohawk. “I had made my mind up to come to London. I had a desire to see the great city I had heard so much about. I left my whaler in Nantucket and signed on as crew aboard a ship carrying tobacco, bound for England.
    “On reaching London, I quit my ship and set out to see the sights with two shipmates. We had not walked far when one of my companions pointed to a coffee house and said, ‘That’s the place for you, Tonsa!’ This on account of the golden arrow for its sign.
    “I smiled at his joke and would have thought no more of the Arrow coffee house if a man I recognized had not walked out of the door. It was one of the soldiers from the robbery. The one called Leech.
    “A rage welled up in me. I had sworn to myself that if ever I should see any of those men again, I would kill them on the spot. My friends saw the look on my face and asked me what the matter was. The one who had made the joke thought that I had taken offense. I told him that I had something I needed to do and that I would meet them later.
    “They parted company with me and I stood there, filled with violence. I followed Leech and had to stop myself from killing him there and then. But I knew that if I killed Leech, I might never see the others. And I wanted the others too.” The Mohawk’s voice had lowered as he spoke of the soldiers and he growled these last words out.
    “But I was not dressed for London. Even in this city of misfits I stood out, and people stared as I walked by. My head was still bare, for one thing, so my first stop was a wig shop. The man who served me looked a little surprised to have my business—as though I might eat him at any moment. But he took my money all the same.
    “And I had plenty of money. I had earned a great deal on the whaler, for I took a share in