Free City of Liars and Thieves by Eve Karlin Page A

navy jacket. “Is that Isaac Hatfield?” I asked, because the man had not stopped.
    “Do you know him?” He shook his head. “Of course you do, he’s sweet on your cousin.”
    “Elma?” I said, as if there were any doubt.
    “A pretty girl is like—” The vendor smirked, fanning gnats off the fruit.
    Downy feathers landed at my feet, and I turned to see an elderly woman with cloudy eyes plucking a headless chicken. Stalls away, flies swarmed moldering slabs of meat.
    Cannon fire pierced the air.
    I jumped, knocking the vendor’s stand, making berries spill and tomatoes roll. One hit the ground, bursting into pulp and seeds. “What on earth?” I asked, looking around the empty market for a place to seek cover.
    “Some magistrate thinks firing cannons to concuss air will chase the fever away.”
    Sick to my stomach, I bought a few potatoes and a handful of leeks and practically ran home.
    —
    An earthenware water jug sat in the corner of our doorway. It was not one of ours, and it was not filled with water. As I picked it up, I noticed a slip of paper plugging the spout.
    Liars and Thieves
was written across the top in stiff block letters. For the life of me, I did not know what to make of it. I turned to see if anyone was watching. Isaac Hatfield had been at the market. Was he watching me? I glanced up at our windows, but no one was looking out. Behind me, Greenwich Street, like the market, was deserted.
    Liars and Thieves.
The cryptic message was printed on a torn newspaper scrap. The ink had bled, obscuring most of the story beneath, but my eye caught a familiar name:
It gives us pleasure to learn that measures for supplying the city with water are going into immediate effect. A number of laborers are busily employed in clearing out the spacious well at Lispenard’s Meadows….
    “Mama!” Charles said, flinging the door open so that it banged on the hinges.
    “Charles,” I snapped, “it’s not safe out here.” The empty streets seemed stalked, haunted.
    “I thought Hamilton was for commerce,” Elias complained as I entered. “Closing the ports is bad business.” He and Levi sat at the dining table, exactly where I had left them an hour earlier.
    Elma stood over Levi. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as she gazed down at him. I was not insensitive to the affection between them. Nor did I consider it a small thing. I had lain awake every night since Elma’s recovery, worrying that he would hurt her, and she already had a fragile constitution. It felt frivolous, almost unlucky, for them to so intensely focus on their dalliance when an invisible killer was consuming the city outside.
    “There are those, including Hamilton’s own doctor, who believe the fever arrived on merchant ships,” Levi said.
    “Well, it’s here now. What’s the point of closing the ports?” Elias asked.
    “Perhaps we can prevent the scourge from spreading,” Elma said.
    Elias shook his head, making it clear he not only disagreed, he resented her input. “Without trade, we may all die of starvation.”
    While Elias’s habit of prioritizing business over practically everything else was a constant source of worry, in this instance I did not disagree. Closing the ports would only add hardship to heartache.
    Elma took my basket and began unpacking. “Were the streets very quiet?”
    “Empty. People are afraid to venture out. Everyone has an opinion about what causes the fever, and rumors are spreading as fast as the disease. A woman in the market blamed it on sin.”
    “It is polluted water that’s killing people,” Elma said, “but Levi’s going to fix it.” She spoke as if Levi could single-handedly destroy the menace beyond our walls. And Levi did not disagree.
    “Pipes have already been laid from Pearl Street down to Chapel,” he said. “In less than a month, homes there will have water.”
    “A month?” I said, recalling Burr’s plan to lay miles of pipes. “Surely it will take longer than that to