Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (11 page)

“He had it out?” Ethan said, joining Senhouse beside the hammock.

“So it would seem.” The lieutenant handed the manifest to Ethan.

Ethan glanced through its pages. In addition to the names and ranks of soldiers, crew, and naval officers, the manifest also listed items of cargo, noted the date and time of the
Graystone
’s departure from Halifax as well as where these men had previously been posted, and recorded every encounter with other vessels along the route from Acadia to Boston.

“May I take this with me?” Ethan asked.

Senhouse winced. “I don’t have the authority to say you can. You’re welcome to remain on board and look at it here, but I’d have to ask Captain Gell before I allow you to remove it from the
Graystone.
”

“Gell?”

Senhouse walked out of the wardroom; Ethan and Geoffrey followed.

“He commands the
Launceston
and thus the fleet,” Senhouse said, as they climbed back above decks. “I can speak to him on your behalf. I need to return to the ship anyway. And in the meantime, you’re free to remain here and begin your investigation. I’m sure Mister Brower will be glad to stay with you and assist in any way he can.”

Ethan had seen plenty of corpses in his day. He had witnessed killings and on more than one occasion he himself had killed. Still, the idea of remaining aboard the
Graystone
, its hold and decks crowded with the dead, didn’t appeal to him at all. On the other hand, Geoffrey appeared terrified at the prospect, which made it a little easier for Ethan to bear.

“That will be fine,” he said. “I’m sure Geoffrey will be most helpful.”

Brower opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without saying a word, seeming to understand that this was not a duty he had any chance of avoiding. “Yes, of course,” he said at last.

“I can give you only so much time on the ship,” Senhouse said. “Before long, we need to gather the dead. In this sun they’re going to … well, they won’t keep for long.”

“Yes, of course,” Ethan said, squinting against the glare as he surveyed the deck again. “What will you do with them all?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “I don’t know. Usually we would give them burials at sea, but we can’t dump them all in the harbor. And I can’t imagine John—Captain Gell—will want to transport so many corpses into Boston.”

“Castle William, then,” Ethan said.

Senhouse considered this, gazing across the water toward the fortress. “Yes, perhaps. That’s an excellent idea. I’ll pass it along to the captain.”

He moved to the port gunwale, pulled out a white handkerchief, and waved it over his head several times. Returning it to his pocket, he faced Ethan and Geoffrey once more.

“We can’t keep you from speaking of what you’ve seen today. You’ve agreed to help us, and I have no doubt that before this is over you’ll take your inquiry into the city. You’ll have every opportunity to tell others what has happened. I beseech you not to tell anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to know. Word of this … this massacre could spread panic through the populace. And it could embolden those who seek to undermine the authority of the Crown.”

“I’m not sure that Ethan cares about that, Lieutenant.”

Ethan bristled.

Senhouse’s face fell. “Oh. I just assumed that since you…” He faced Ethan again. “Are you—?”

“Am I what?” Ethan asked, casting a dark look Geoffrey’s way. For someone who had all but forced Ethan to involve himself in this matter, Brower seemed awfully quick to cast doubts on his trustworthiness. He had spent too much time listening to Ethan’s sister cast aspersions on his character. “A rabble-rouser?” Ethan suggested. “A Son of Liberty?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not. But more importantly, for all intents and purposes, you’ve hired me, and that buys you not only my skills as a thieftaker, but also my discretion.”

Senhouse’s expression brightened. “Thank you.”

No one spoke again until a faint cry of “Ahoy, the
Graystone
!” reached them.

Senhouse looked back over his shoulder. “Ahoy!” he called back. “My transport is coming,” he told Ethan and Brower. “I’ll climb down and meet them; fewer questions that way. Until later, gentlemen.”

The lieutenant swung himself over the gunwale and began to climb back down the ratlines. When he had vanished from view, Ethan cast another glare at Geoffrey and started away, manifest in hand.

According to the papers, the
Graystone
left Halifax with a complement of fourteen crewmen, seventy-four regulars, and four army officers, plus the six naval officers and Lieutenant Waite. One regular had died, apparently of a fever, and had been buried at sea. That had left a total of ninety-eight men aboard the vessel.

Ethan paused and looked around once more. Two officers lay on the deck, and the other four were still in their quarters. The commander was accounted for.

“Geoffrey, would you mind counting the crew members?”

Geoffrey had settled himself on a barrel, his back against the foremast. “What? Count them? What for?”

“I would like to be able to account for every man who’s supposed to be here.”

Ethan felt certain that Geoffrey would refuse, but he heaved a sigh and stood. “Very well.”

“Thank you. Just the crewmen. I’ll count the regulars.”

Geoffrey scowled, but walked across the deck to the cluster of dead crewmen at the stern.

Ethan began to count the regulars.

“There are six of them,” Geoffrey called.

Ethan didn’t bother looking back at him. “There should be more below.”

“You want me to go back down there?”

At that Ethan did turn.

Geoffrey sighed again, sounding more like a spoiled boy than a customs agent. “All right,” he said, and climbed down into the hold.

With Geoffrey gone, Ethan turned once more to the soldiers. He walked the length of the deck on the starboard side and back the other way on the port side. All told he counted twenty-four regulars and one army officer.

As he started toward the hatch leading down to the hold, Geoffrey emerged once more, looking pale, his face covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

“There were eight more down there. That makes fourteen total.”

“That matches what’s on the manifest,” Ethan said.

“As I would have expected.”

Ignoring the comment, Ethan went below. It didn’t take him long to find the other three army officers in their hammocks. Satisfied that all the commissioned men were accounted for, he began to work his way through the hold, counting soldiers. But he knew that Geoffrey had been right: He was wasting his time. All the officers and crew were here on the ship. The regulars would be, too.

Except that they weren’t.

There should have been forty-nine soldiers belowdecks. He counted forty-eight. He counted them twice more and reached the same total each time. At last he went back onto the deck and counted the men up there a second time. Twenty-four. He read through the manifest again, searching for any other notations of soldiers lost in transit to Boston. But there were none.

“How many regulars do you see up here?” Ethan asked.

Brower stood and turned a slow circle. “Twenty or so, I’d say.”

“No, I need you to count them.”

Geoffrey made no effort to hide his displeasure, but he walked a swift circle around the deck, halting by Ethan.

“Twenty-four.”

“Please make a count below as well.”

“Now, see here, Ethan—”

“Do it! Or would you rather I mentioned to Lieutenant Senhouse how unconcerned you seem with the loss of life on this ship? I don’t imagine your friends at Customs would look kindly on such callousness on your part.”

Brower glowered at him, and Ethan glared right back.

Geoffrey was the first to look away. He went back to the hatch, muttering to himself and sending a filthy look Ethan’s way before vanishing from view.

While Geoffrey searched the hold, Ethan checked the wardroom and captain’s cabin again, just in case the missing regular had died in either chamber. He found only the officers he had seen earlier.

Geoffrey was waiting for him on deck when he stepped out of Waite’s cabin.

“Forty-eight,” Geoffrey said, his tone bitter. “Would you care to tell me what this is about?”

“One of the regulars is missing.”

Brower’s eyes went wide. “What? That’s impossible.”

Ethan held out the manifest. “Have a look yourself. The
Graystone
left Halifax with seventy-four soldiers. One died on the way here. That should leave seventy-three, but we can only find seventy-two. This may be why the purser had the manifest out in the first place. A man is missing.”

“Perhaps another man died and the commander and purser both neglected to make note of it.”

Ethan shook his head. “I’ve been at sea, and I can tell you that no commander worth his salt would fail to note the death of a passenger or crewman. Besides, look at that manifest. It’s as detailed as any I’ve seen. No, if another man had died before this morning, it would say so there.”

“So, are you suggesting that the missing soldier killed all these men?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that one of the regulars is missing.”

Geoffrey looked down at the nearest of the dead regulars. “Damn,” he muttered. “We have to tell Senhouse. And I expect he’ll have to speak with Gell.” He glanced Ethan’s way again. “I think you’ve just assured yourself of a late night.”

Ethan had no doubt that he was right.

*   *   *

Senhouse returned to the
Graystone
a short time later with a second naval officer and several crewmen. The naval officer, Dr. William Rickman, was the surgeon on board the
Launceston
and had been sent to certify the deaths of those aboard the ship. The crew had been sent to help Senhouse sail the
Graystone
to Castle William. In all likelihood, Senhouse had prepared the men for what awaited them on the ship because they managed in short order to hoist anchor, unfurl the sails, and get the ship under way. A few times, Ethan spotted one of them staring at the dead, but for the most part they kept to their work.

The doctor enlisted Ethan and Geoffrey’s help in arranging the dead at the stern; grim work to be sure, but neither of them complained.

After some time, though, Ethan excused himself and approached the quarterdeck to speak with Senhouse of the missing soldier.

The lieutenant managed to conceal his dismay at Ethan’s discovery although he did pull out his kerchief and mop his brow. His hand appeared to tremble.

“Well, this certainly complicates matters,” he said, his voice low.

He paused to mark the ship’s progress toward the island and to shout a command to the crewman at the wheel. “I’ll have to inform Captain Gell,” he went on. “But I expect he’ll want us to to identify all of the dead and compare their names with those on the manifest. He’ll want this other man found. Frankly, I want him found, too, regardless of whether he’s our killer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you stay on with us at Castle William?”

“Stay on with you?” Ethan said.

“I’d like you to work with Doctor Rickman. I don’t know yet if it will be possible to identify these men without making it known to every other soldier in their regiment that they’re dead. But I’m sure that the doctor will need every bit of help he can get.”

Ethan stared off toward Castle William, which loomed large before them. The fortress dominated the island, rising from a mound of stone, austere and formidable. The king’s colors flew above it, the blue, red, and white gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. Somehow, Ethan realized, as he watched the flag snapping in the wind, he had allowed himself to be drawn into a matter of the British navy, something he had vowed after Toulon never to do again. And yet ninety-eight men were dead—or at least ninety-seven were. How could he refuse Senhouse’s request?

“If you can feed and house me for the night, I’ll be happy to do what I can for the doctor.”

Senhouse actually smiled, looking so relieved that Ethan had to smile as well. “Thank you, Mister Kaille.”

A short time later, they docked at Castle Island. Soon Ethan, the soldiers, and even the officers were carrying bodies off the ship and up into the fortress. It was backbreaking, depressing work that grew ever more unsettling as the skies darkened overhead.

The fleet commander had ordered that the dead be kept as far from the barracks as possible, and so Ethan and the others carried the men from the island’s wharf, past the smith’s shop and garden sheds, to the underground vaults that were set aside for food and munitions storage in the unlikely event of a siege. By using the north entrance to the vaults they were able to avoid the barracks, which lay at the south end of the parade.

Stars had begun to appear in the sky when Ethan and Dr. Rickman carried the last of the bodies through the garden toward the vault. The air had turned cold, but still Ethan had sweated through his shirt and waistcoat. He and the doctor said little as they worked. Ethan could just make out faint strains of song in the distance, but he thought little of it until a sudden explosion overhead startled him so, he almost dropped the man he was helping Rickman carry.

“What in God’s name was that?” he demanded.

Before the doctor could answer, another blast illuminated the fortress grounds and was met with cheers.

“They’re celebrating the coming occupation,” Rickman said.

“Who are?”

“The soldiers out on the harbor. Haven’t you heard the singing?”

“I haven’t paid much attention to it,” Ethan said.

“Listen.”

They halted, still holding the corpse. A third rocket went off above them, brightening the fortress like summer lightning and drawing more cheers. Even after the singing commenced once more, it took Ethan a moment to make out the tune. When he did, he shook his head and chuckled. The men were singing “Yankee Doodle,” which British soldiers had been using to mock colonial militia since the Seven Years’ War.

Ethan couldn’t help thinking that the regulars seemed rather full of themselves. But he kept this to himself. He nodded once, signaling to Rickman that they should begin walking again. Rockets continued to burst overhead, and the singing and cheers drifted across the grounds from the harbor.