No Good Deed 68

A judicious application of the toe of my boot to Ishmael's torso brought about the happy outcome of restoring him to relative calm. He got gingerly to his feet and mercifully declined to sing. The shiny-pated ostiary revealed himself to be Jacob Holzbein, and I asked him if he would help the Railroad. His face was lit by a most unexpected and incongruous smile, wherein the teeth were as white as those of one who had neither drunk coffee nor wine in his life, not even in the most infinitesimal amounts. He put a warty finger to his lips and beckoned with his other hand that we might follow him inside. We entered a high-ceilinged, cavernous vestibule. It was empty of furniture and people. Holzbein's footsteps echoed in trochaic metre as though he had indeed a deficiency of limb compensated for by a ligneous substitute. We followed him down a spur of corridor which led off to the east of the vestibule. The walls were half-panelled in walnut, the parquet of the floor was as dusty as a coffin in a crypt.; I shivered, unable to ascertain the reason for my disquiet.

Holzbein turned to look at us, showed the gleaming teeth, and observed,

'It's the noise, sir. The lack of it, I mean. The smelters and the Uhlhorn presses were switched off by my good self on January 26th.'

He seemed inordinately proud of this fact, but I made no comment, merely followed the hunch of his back down the long passage. He stopped short, I managed to evade colliding with him, but Ishmael was not so careful, so I cuffed him away after he had careered into my rear. Holzbein cocked his head on one side, as if listening for something. There was not sound to be heard, but the old man nodded his head as though convincing himself he had heard the music of the spheres.

'Do you want to see the presses, or..?' he asked me, a wistful note in his cracking voice.

'You know why I'm here, Holzbein.'

He scurried on, and we followed.

At the end of what seemed an exceedingly long passage way, we were greeted by the head of some stairs, down which the coiner scuttled with only a brief, backward glance. The stairs were of sandstone, and much worn as though the feet that had trodden them so belonged to bearers of heavy burdens. At the foot of the stairs, which numbered some twenty-three, was a huge metal door. Holzbein withdrew a large key from somewhere about his person and proceeded to open the door.

'Wouldn't keep out an Injun,' Ishmael declared, before falling silent under my eye.

'It doesn't have to,' said Holzbein.

The door would not have swung wide had all three of us put our shoulders to it. As it was it creaked and groaned its way ajar as if in sympathy with Holzbein's panting and grunting. We entered a huge vault, and the mint's man picked up a candle from a table to the side. He lit it after striking a vesta match at the third attempt. The feeble flame lit the gleam of silver bars piled two men high, for all the world as though awaiting the Spanish Silver Train from Peru to Panama.