Dead Man's Reach (26 page)

He felt this conjuring as he had the others, but nothing happened. The men continued to fight. Had Ramsey once again found a way to keep him from casting spells, as he had months before? Every other spell Ethan had cast recently worked as he intended. Perhaps one of the conjurings he felt had been a warding intended to guard the journeymen and soldiers from his sleep spell. He had used such conjurings to great effect in recent days. Ramsey would have noticed.

He had no more time to ponder the matter. Bystanders had gathered to watch the confrontation, and now another journeyman emerged from the rope yard warehouse carrying two clubs. One he kept for himself, and the other he gave to one of the onlookers. Together, the two of them joined the other journeymen, turning the fight to their advantage. Outnumbered now, the soldiers tried to flee, but the workers would not let them go. One of the regulars took a blow to the head and collapsed in a heap. His assailant continued to beat him.

“No!” Ethan shouted. He bit down on his cheek again and cast the first spell that came to mind.

A wall of flame burst from the ground. The soldiers and workers fell back, breaking off their combat to stare wide-eyed at the flames.

Ethan allowed them to die away as he ran across the street, and helped the other two soldiers lift their injured comrade and retreat toward the barracks.

None of them said a word as they hurried away from the rope yard. The journeymen followed them down the street, but they didn't appear to be pursuing them in earnest. Rather, they shouted taunts for the entertainment of those who had gathered to watch the fight.

“Bastards,” muttered one of the soldiers, a red-haired man who spoke with a thick burr. He was breathless; dark bloodstains mingled with the bright red of his uniform.

“What was that fire I saw?” the other man asked. “For just a second, I thought it was lightning.”

His friend glanced at the sky, which was a clear, cold blue. “It wasn't lightnin'.” He looked Ethan's way. “We're grateful to you, but we can carry him from here.”

Ethan let go of the wounded man. The soldiers carried him on.

“There's a soldier I need to talk to,” Ethan said, walking after them. “A Private Fleming from the Twenty-ninth.”

“Jimmy?” the red-haired man asked.

“Aye. Do you know him well?”

“Well enough. What business have you got with him?”

“Nothing that he'd want me discussing with anyone else. Even a friend.”

The soldier regarded him sourly. “Most times I'd tell you to go to hell. But you helped us back there, and that's worth somethin'. You can follow us.”

“My thanks.”

They soon came to the barracks, and the men carried their wounded friend inside. Ethan walked in after them, wary now, fearful of another spell. The accommodations here were more cramped than those at Murray's warehouse. There was no huge central room, but rather a series of somewhat smaller ones. Still the stink and noise of so many men reminded him much of the other barracks. They passed two rooms filled with cots, and as they neared a third doorway, the red-haired soldier looked back at Ethan and then nodded toward the door. “He should be in there.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said.

He paused on the threshold of this third room and scanned it for a soldier who matched the description Louisa had given him.

He spotted the young man in the far corner of the room, playing cards with several other men. His hair was fiery orange, and a wine-colored birthmark covered much of his right temple and cheek.

Already Ethan had the sense that this was a bad idea. He would have been better off waiting outside the barracks. Fleming had to leave the building eventually in order to patrol. But that meant remaining in the vicinity of Green's Barracks and the rope yard for hours. He might even have to come back a second day and a third before he managed to speak with the man. He wasn't sure he could risk spending that much time in the area. How many more fights might he cause? How many more men would be wounded?

He entered the room and made his way back to where Fleming reclined on one of the cots. Ethan had almost reached him when another spell growled like distant thunder. He faltered in midstride. None of the soldiers seemed to have sensed the conjuring—there were no spellers here. But they had noticed him, and silence had enveloped the room.

“Who are you?” asked one of the men playing cards with Jimmy Fleming.

 

Chapter

F
OURTEEN

The soldiers regarded him the way a pack of street curs might an unfamiliar dog. Trapped under their hard glares, Ethan wasn't sure whether to proceed and interview Fleming as he had planned, or offer some excuse and hope that he could escape the barracks without getting himself killed. He expected that one of the soldiers who had led him here would mention him to Fleming, perhaps simply to ask what Ethan had wanted. If Fleming was in fact the thief who had cracked Charles Paxton's house, that might be enough to make him desert and flee the city. Or at the very least try to sell the goods he had stolen. Ethan's inquiry might well end in failure because of what he did in the next few seconds. And that was possibly the best outcome for which he could hope.

“I was hoping to have a word with Private Fleming,” Ethan said, flashing a smile that was as bright and disarming as he could manage under the circumstances. This would be, he decided, like trying to take honey from a bees' nest. The warding he cast in the Crow's Nest was still protecting him. This new spell had done nothing to rile the men. If Ethan could avoid provoking them, he might escape without a fight.

“Not until you answer my question,” said the man who had spoken. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ethan. I'm the brother of a girl he's been spending time with.”

Most of the men turned to look at Jimmy. Only Louisa's beau continued to gape at Ethan.

“She doesn't have a brother,” he said.

Ethan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“What have you been at, Jimmy?” asked another of the men. The others smirked; a few of them laughed.

“Is Jimmy in some sort of trouble?” the first soldier asked of Ethan.

“Not really,” Ethan said, keeping his tone light. “She could do a lot worse than finding a soldier. But my Da wanted me to check on whoever it was she's spending her time with.”

“She said your Da knew all about me!” Jimmy's gaze flicked from one of his comrades to the next. “I swear she did!”

“And so he does,” Ethan said, his heart pounding. “But only from her. Can a father be blamed for wanting his son to take care of his little girl? Surely the rest of you lads understand. Perhaps some of you have sisters of your own.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “You look a little old to be her brother.”

“More often than not I feel a little old, as well.”

“Talk to him, Jimmy,” said the first man. “There's no harm in talkin', is there?”

Fleming's mouth twisted. “Fine. Outside.”

“Of course.” To the others, Ethan added, “Thank you, gentlemen.”

He left the room without bothering to see if Fleming had followed him. As he limped toward the door he felt yet another conjuring, but still he walked, half expecting to feel a bayonet pierce the flesh between his shoulder blades.

Only when he reached the street did he glance back. And so he was ill prepared when Fleming threw the punch; he had no time to ward himself or even raise an arm to block the blow. Jimmy's fist caught him on the side of the face, just below his cheekbone. Ethan staggered, tasting blood, but he didn't go down. One blow from a pup like Jimmy Fleming was nothing compared with the beatings he had taken from Sephira's men.

Jimmy tried to hit him again. Ethan jerked his head back out of the way and then struck a blow of his own, hitting the soldier below his eye. Fleming shook off the clout and came at him again. Still bleeding, Ethan didn't need to cut himself.

“
Pugnus ex cruore evocatus,
” he whispered. Fist, conjured from blood.

This conjured punch did what Ethan's fist could not: Jimmy fell to the ground, dazed though still conscious.

Ethan pulled the mullein from his coat pocket and pulled out three leaves, which he held in the curl of his fingers so that Fleming couldn't see them.

“
Quies ex verbasco evocata.
” Calm, conjured from mullein.

It was not a spell he had attempted before, though he had once seen his mother use it on a frenzied dog near their home in Bristol back in England. He didn't know if it would work against the conjuring that had made Jimmy attack in the first place, but he didn't wish to hurt the lad if he didn't have to. With the hum of the spell still shaking the cobbles beneath them, Jimmy blinked once and looked up at him.

“I hit you,” the soldier said.

“Aye. I hit you back. Do you remember why you hit me?”

The lad sat up. “I don't … I was angry. I'm not even sure why. But I was as angry with you as I've ever been with anyone.” He stared hard at Ethan. “What did you do?”

“Nothing that I can think of. Do you remember anything else?”

“No. I … I felt that I had to hit you. I
knew
it.”

“You're not the first who's felt that way.” Ethan smiled, then winced. The pup might not have been as strong as Afton or Gordon, but his blow would leave a bruise if Ethan didn't heal it.

“What's all this about your sister?” Jimmy asked, sounding groggy. “That's what we were talkin' about, right? Before I mean.” He waved a hand absently at the door to the barracks. “Back in there.”

“Aye. It wasn't really about my sister, but rather about you pinching jewels from the Paxton house.”

Jimmy's eyes went wide. He tried to get to his feet, but Ethan placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him where he was.

“You lied to me,” Fleming said. “She's not your sister, is she?”

“No. I'm a thieftaker. I was hired by Mister Paxton to recover the items you stole. But I thought you'd prefer that I not mention your thieving in front of the other soldiers.”

“I didn't steal anythin'!”

Any doubt Ethan harbored as to the man's guilt vanished upon hearing this. Jimmy was a terrible liar. He didn't argue or challenge the soldier's denial, but instead continued to watch him and wait.

It didn't take long for Fleming to sag and drop his gaze. He glanced back into the barracks again, but he no longer appeared likely to bolt. “Did Louisa tell you?” he asked.

“Did she know you had done it?”

Jimmy's smirk was bitter. “She's better at this than I am. Of course she knew.”

Ethan rubbed a hand across his brow. “She gave me your name, but she never let on that you were a thief, or that she had any part in what you'd done. At first she protested your innocence, but after some time she did say that you had asked her about the location of different rooms in the mansion.”

A high, gasping laugh escaped the soldier. “I asked?” He shook his head. “I never asked her anything. She told me again and again, like a teacher giving a bloody lesson. I couldn't get her to stop talkin' about it until I could recite it all back to her. ‘The mistress's dressing room is on the south side of the house, past the master's bedroom.' That sort of thing.”

“Where are the jewels now, Jimmy? Do you have them in the barracks?”

Jimmy frowned. “Course not. That would be the worst place to keep them. Someone would find them in no time. One cove is always pinchin' somethin' from another.”

“Then where did you hide them?”

Fleming's smile was as thin as a blade. “I didn't. Louisa did. That was her idea, too. I break in, steal the jewels, and give them back to her for safekeepin'. She said the Paxtons would never think to look in her room. And by the time they did, she'd have taken them elsewhere.”

“Do you have any idea where?”

Jimmy gave a rueful shake of his head. “She didn' tell me, and I didn' think to ask. I trusted her; didn' see any reason not to.”

“Could they still be in the—?”

Ethan felt himself go white. He knew exactly where Louisa had taken the jewels.

Her parents live in the country,
Paxton had said.
She left yesterday to spend the evening with them; her father, it seems, is elderly and infirm.

Her father was probably as spry as a colt. She had gone to her parents' home to hide the stolen jewels.

“Where do her parents live, Jimmy?”

“How should I know? You're the one who claimed to be her brother.”

Ethan offered no response.

“They're in the country somewhere. She might have told me once, but I don't remember. None of the towns outside of Boston mean anythin' to me; their names all run together in my head. I think she said somethin' about the Middle Road to Dedham, but that's all I know.”

Ethan knew that he would have to speak again with the girl, which meant another visit to Paxtons' house. But already there were journeymen standing on the street in front of the rope yard, across the lane from the Paxton house. They were staring toward Ethan and Jimmy. And every one of them held a cudgel. Moreover, Paxton was probably at the Customs House by now, and he had made it clear he did not want Ethan visiting his home when he wasn't present.

“You should get back in the barracks.”

Fleming climbed to his feet, and following the direction of Ethan's gaze with his pale eyes, pulled himself up to his full height.

“I can get the others,” he said.

Ethan put a hand on his chest, stopping him from going inside. “No. Go back to where I found you, and play cards. The last thing we need is another fight.”

“They're the ones who have been causin' trouble.”

Ethan wasn't about to get in an argument over which group had been more to blame for the brawling he had witnessed in the last two days, especially since he knew that he himself bore as much responsibility as anyone.