Dead Man's Reach (14 page)

“Aye. I'll probably be at the Dowsing Rod tonight.” Ethan stood. “It's good to see you, Henry.”

The cooper gave a gap-toothed grin. “And you, Ethan. Maybe now that you're not a Tory, I'll see more of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Henry sat a little straighter. “I've been going to some of the assemblies,” he said, pride in his voice. “It's mostly young fellas, but they made room for me. And there's bound to be more now, after what's happened. Word is Adams already has plans for something big.”

Ethan thought of his conversation with Hutchinson, a tight feeling in his gut. “Do you know what it is?”

“No. But I'll be there. You can count on that.”

“Well, be careful, Henry.”

“Oh, I will. Good evening, Ethan.”

Ethan forced a smile and let himself out of the cooperage. He paused by the door to scratch Shelly's ears before climbing the stairway to his small, cold room. Enough daylight still seeped in through his window to let him see without lighting a candle. He considered using a spell to light a fire in his hearth, but he didn't plan to stay long, and he had only a small supply of firewood remaining. He merely sat on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees.

He was working for the Crown. He hadn't given much thought to what this meant when he agreed to Hutchinson's proposal, but now he regretted their arrangement. What would Kannice think? And Diver?

True, he had only been hired to find the conjurer responsible for whatever spell was used against Richardson—if such a spell had even been cast. But still, it felt like a betrayal. What was more, Henry believed—as Hutchinson did—that Samuel Adams had it in mind to use the death of Christopher Seider as justification for further agitation against the Crown. Which meant that Ethan would have to speak with Adams on the lieutenant governor's behalf. Neither Kannice nor Diver would be happy about that.

But what was he supposed to do? He had stopped working for Lillie, for his own sake as well as for them, at significant cost to himself. Two nights before, he had lost yet another payment to Sephira. He needed to eat and to pay Henry for his room. Perhaps the Empress of the South End could afford to refuse those jobs she found distasteful or beneath her station, but Ethan couldn't.

“I'm a thieftaker,” he murmured in the gathering gloom. “This is what I do.”

Surely Kannice would understand. And still he sat, not yet ready to face her, unsure of when he would be. Ultimately, it was the wind and the cold, and the growling of his stomach, that forced him to his feet and out into the night.

Once outside, he beat a hasty trail to the Dowser, ignoring the pain in his leg, and shivering with every new gust of that cutting wind. As he crossed the city, a few flakes of snow fell, whipped along by the gale. Ethan remembered winds of this sort from his days as a sailor; usually they augured great and terrible storms.

When he reached the Dowser he found it far less crowded than usual. The great room smelled heavily of smoke, and Kelf knelt by the hearth, working a bellows, his face pink and his eyes watering.

Ethan joined him there. “Can I help?”

Kelf shook his head. “I don't think there's anything to be done. It's burnin' well enough, but every time the wind blows the smoke comes back down.”

“Where is everyone?”

Kelf dropped the bellows and stood with some effort. “At their homes, most likely. Word is, this is going to be a big one.”

Ethan gave him a sharp look. “Do you have that from Adams?”

“Adams?” Kelf repeated, eyeing Ethan as he would a madman. “You mean Samuel Adams? What in God's name would he know about it?”

“What are you talking about, Kelf?”

“The storm that's comin', of course. Word is it's a big one. What were
you
talkin' about?”

“The next…” He shook his head. “It doesn't matter. My mind's on other things.”

Kelf regarded him with a deepening frown. He gestured for Ethan to follow and lumbered back to the bar.

“There's chowder,” the barman said over his shoulder. “Do you want some?”

“Please. And an ale.”

As they reached the bar, Kannice emerged from the kitchen carrying a stack of bowls. Seeing Ethan, she smiled and leaned across the counter to kiss him. “I was afraid you wouldn't get back tonight; it's blowing something fierce out there.”

“Aye. Snow's starting to fall.”

Her expression grew more guarded. “How was it with Lillie today?”

“I only stayed long enough to tell him that I wouldn't be working for him any longer.”

She beamed. “Really?”

“Aye. There's blood on his money. I don't want it.”

“You did the right—”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “Before you say more, you should hear the rest.”

Her smile faded. She nodded for him to go on.

“The sheriff paid me a visit earlier today. Thomas Hutchinson wished to speak with me. It seems Greenleaf related to him what I thought I felt before Chris Seider was shot. Hutchinson wants me to find whoever was responsible.”

“So, you're working for Hutchinson?”

“I'm working for the Province of Massachusetts Bay.”

“But only to find…” She glanced around and leaned closer to him. “Only to find the conjurer, right?”

“Aye, to find the conjurer.” Perhaps he should have mentioned as well that he would need to speak with Samuel Adams, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her just then.

“Well,” she said, “if there's someone using spells to hurt children that way, he should be dealt with. And who better than you to find him?”

“So you're not angry with me?”

Kannice shrugged. “How much is Hutchinson—or rather the province—paying you?”

“Five pounds, if I succeed.”

“And how much of that will you be spending on me?”

Ethan laughed. “A good deal it would seem.”

“Then no, I'm not angry.” She grew serious once more. “You need to earn a living, Ethan. I understand that.”

He cupped a hand around her cheek. “Thank you.” They kissed again. “Will you be closing early tonight, Missus Lester? On account of the weather, I mean.”

Candlelight danced in her blue eyes. “That's my plan. On account of the weather.”

It was another late evening.

*   *   *

Throughout the night, the storm raged outside the Dowser, rattling the shutters on Kannice's bedroom window and filling the chamber with billows of smoke from the blaze in her hearth. Falling snow scratched at the shutters and every new gust of wind seemed to suck from the room what little warmth came from the low-burning fire.

Ethan woke often throughout the night, and knew that Kannice did, too. He knew as well, though, that in a storm such as this, there would be few people abroad in the streets. He had nowhere to be, and Kannice had no reason to open the tavern. Shortly after dawn, he fell into a deep sleep, only to be awakened again sometime later by a deep rumble of thunder.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, wondering if perhaps it had been a pulse of magic.

“Aye,” Kannice whispered. “I can't remember the last time we had thunder during a winter storm.”

He let out a breath, relieved that she had heard it, too. Thunder growled again, closer this time. From the frenzied scrabbling at the shutters, it seemed that the snow was falling harder than ever.

Kannice moved closer to him, her skin warm against his. “I think we're stuck here for the day.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and down over her back. “Now that,” he said, “is a shame.”

Hunger drove them from her bed some time later. They dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Ethan, savoring a rare morning of leisure, cooked them a grand breakfast of pancake, bacon, and eggs. Thunder continued to shake the tavern, and lightning flickered around the edges of the window shutters.

While they were eating, and sipping English tea that Kannice swore she had purchased months before the nonimportation agreements took effect, there came a pounding at the tavern door.

“Could that be Kelf?” Ethan asked.

Kannice stared at the door, a frown on her face. “I suppose. But he and I agreed last night that if the storm was as bad as some said it would be, he wouldn't come to the bar until late in the day, if at all.”

Ethan stood, drew his knife, and pushed up his sleeve. They approached the door together. Kannice drew the lock key from within her bodice.

Whoever had come hammered at the door a second time.

“Who's there?” Kannice called.

“Kannice?” came the reply. “Ethan? It's me, Diver. Derrey.”

Kannice looked back at Ethan and rolled her eyes. She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Diver stood before them, his coat, scarf, and Monmouth cap caked with snow. Beyond him Ethan could see that the entire city was blanketed in white. There must have been at least a foot of snow in the street, and it was still falling so hard that he could barely see the shops on the far side of Sudbury Street.

Diver made to enter the tavern, but Kannice planted herself directly in front of him.

“Don't you dare!”

“But, I'm cold!”

“And you can get warm as soon as you take off those boots,” she said, gesturing at his feet, which were completely covered in snow. “But you will not track all that snow into my tavern.”

Diver looked at Ethan, a plea in his dark eyes.

Ethan held up his hands. “I can't help you, Diver.”

“Well, at least give me a shoulder to hold on to.”

Ethan moved to the threshold, putting himself as close to Diver as he could without stepping into the snow himself. Diver gripped his shoulder with one hand and wrestled off his boots with the other.

“All right?” he asked Kannice when he was done.

She regarded him with a critical eye, then pulled off his hat and shook the snow off it. Still holding it, she brushed snow off his coat.

“Very well,” she said at last, stepping aside.

Diver hurried past them both to the hearth. Kannice and Ethan shared a smile. Kannice closed the door and Ethan joined his friend before the fire.

“What possible reason could you have for being out in such a storm?” he asked.

“You
haven't
heard then. I told Deborah that you wouldn't know.”

Ethan's pulse quickened.

“Know what?” Kannice asked.

“Samuel Adams is arranging a funeral for Chris Seider. It's to take place the day after tomorrow. He expects it will draw a crowd the like of which the lobsters have never seen.”

 

Chapter

E
IGHT

Ethan's conversation with Henry had prepared him for this, but still he didn't want to believe what Diver was telling them.

“He's going to use the boy's funeral to gather another mob?”

“No!” Diver said. “It's not like that. Not really.”

“Tell me how it's different.”

Diver opened his mouth, closed it again. “Well, what do you expect, Ethan? Richardson shot the lad while trying to defend Theophilus Lillie and the other importers, didn't he?”

Ethan shook his head. That wasn't precisely what had happened. But thinking about it he knew that for Adams's purposes it was close enough. “Go on.”

“So, it's like people are saying. Chris Seider died for the cause of liberty. He's the first, but probably not the last. And he deserves a hero's funeral.”

Kannice had joined them by the hearth. She slipped her hand into Ethan's. “You say this will be in two days?”

“That's right. Monday. We're to gather at the Liberty Tree.”

Ethan shuddered. The Liberty Tree had long been a symbol of Adams's cause, beginning back in 1765, when effigies of Andrew Oliver and other Crown officials were hung from its branches. But the tree was also significant for Ethan. That same summer, he was chained to its trunk and tortured by the conjurer who killed Jennifer Berson. He managed to win his freedom and kill his captor, although, ironically, only after Adams shot the man.

He gave Kannice's hand a quick squeeze and then released it. “I have to go,” he said.

She rounded on him. “Go? Go where?”

“I have to speak with Adams.”

“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Does this have anything to do with your new employer?”

She was as clever as anyone he knew.

“Aye, it does.”

“Who are you working for now?” Diver asked, looking from one of them to the other.

Ethan caught Kannice's eye and gave a small shake of his head.

“Ethan?”

“It doesn't matter, Diver. But I have to go.”

Kannice didn't look at all happy, but she said, “Come back when you're done.”

“I will.”

He retrieved his greatcoat from her bedroom, pulled on his scarf and gloves, and put on his hat.

“You didn't finish your breakfast,” Kannice said, as he came back down to the great room.

“Give it to him,” he said, waving a hand at Diver.

He stepped to the door, but halted and faced his friend again. “Is Adams at his home or at the Green Dragon?”

“I'm not sure,” Diver said. “The Dragon, I think.”

“My thanks.”

Ethan pulled the door open and squinted against the glare of the snow. The air was thick with flakes, and the wind still blew, though not as fiercely as it had. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ethan struck out southward on Sudbury.

The distance between the Dowser and the Green Dragon was not great. But the streets were choked with snow, which made for slow going. With every step, Ethan sank knee-deep, until his legs and feet were wet, heavy, and cold. Snow flew into his eyes and gathered on his shoulders and back. His bad leg ached, and though his face and hands were freezing, by the time he reached the Dragon, he was sweating within his greatcoat.