Dead Man's Reach (11 page)

He took her hand. “I'd like that.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I have work to do. Go sit with Derrey.” She stepped closer, raised herself onto her tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips. “And don't you dare leave again,” she whispered.

“Yes, ma'am.”

He released her hand and walked back to where Diver and Deborah were seated.

“It's nice to see you and Kannice getting on again, Ethan,” Diver said, sounding a bit too enthusiastic.

“Don't worry, Diver. I'm not angry with you.”

Diver exhaled, and smiled with relief. “Well, good. She made me tell her where you'd gone. I swear it. I don't know how you keep a secret from that woman.”

“Oh, it wasn't that bad,” Deborah said, a reproach in the words. “Honestly, Derrey, you didn't put up much of a fight.”

Diver's cheeks reddened. “What did you find out, anyway?”

“Very little. But I did get to put Sheriff Greenleaf to sleep with a spell, so the evening wasn't a total loss.”

“Now that's a story I'd enjoy hearing,” Diver said.

Deborah reached across the table and patted his hand. “Another time, perhaps. It's getting late, and you've work first thing.”

Ethan's friend looked as put out as a boy denied a sweet. “Aye, that I do.”

Diver and Deborah stood. As Diver stepped past Ethan's chair, he laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder. “It is good to see you two together again,” he said, his voice low this time. “I meant that.”

“I know you did. And the fact is, I don't like to keep secrets from her, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Diver bade him good night and followed Deborah out of the tavern.

Not long after they left, Kelf brought Ethan an ale. Ethan sipped it, his back to the wall, as the tavern crowd slowly thinned. He couldn't take his eyes off Kannice as she wiped the bar clean and bid good night to her patrons. She was willowy, yet strong, stubborn, yet quick to smile. He had never known another woman like her, and perhaps their time apart had the unintended benefit of reminding him that this was so.

Before long, only she, Kelf, and Ethan remained. She and the barman made short work of the night's last chores and then she let Kelf out, and locked the door.

She crossed the great room to where Ethan still sat, blowing out candles along the way. He reached for his empty tankard, but she said, “Leave it.”

She held out a hand to him. He grasped it, stood, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her deeply.

Wordlessly, she led him up the stairs and through the narrow corridors to her bedchamber. There they lit a single candle and kissed again. Ethan began to unlace her bodice; she unbuttoned his waistcoat and then his shirt. The chamber was cold, but neither of them cared. Kannice laid him down on the blankets and straddled him, her hair like spun gold in the candlelight, her skin soft and smooth and cool. It occurred to Ethan that he had forgotten just how lovely she was. After that he lost track of time, and later, of thought itself.

They made love with a fierce tenderness that was as urgent and intense as the nights Ethan recalled from the first months of their love affair. Fueled by grief and passion and hunger too long denied, they came together again and again, until at last, sated and exhausted, they fell into a deep slumber.

*   *   *

Ethan woke early, as the first silvery light of the morn seeped into Kannice's room around the shutters on her window. Usually she rose before he, but she still lay beside him, her breathing deep and steady, her body warming his.

Though reluctant to leave for any reason, much less an appointment with Theophilus Lillie, Ethan swung himself out of bed, making every attempt to move silently. But as he dressed hurriedly, shivering in the cold, he heard Kannice stir.

“Where are you going?” she asked, sounding sleepy.

“Mister Lillie is expecting me.”

She watched him, her brow furrowing once more, as it seemed to so often these days when they spoke of his work. There had been a time, only a few months before, when she had tried to convince Ethan to give up thieftaking and join her in running the Dowsing Rod. He had done little to encourage her hope in this regard, and it had been some time since last she even mentioned the possibility. But occasionally he caught her looking at him in a way that told him she still wished he would consider a change in profession. She regarded him in that manner now.

But all she said was “Be careful. It could be dangerous there today.”

“Aye, I will.” He finished dressing, and bent to kiss her.

“Are you sure you can't stay a while longer?”

“I'm sure that if I stay for a minute it will turn into an hour, and if I stay for an hour, I'll lose the entire day.”

She kissed him again. “You would consider such a day a loss?”

“Not at all. But I think that I had best leave now, while I still can.”

“But you'll be back tonight?” she asked. Her smile lingered, but he could tell that she had asked the question in earnest.

“I promise that I will.”

“Good. Then go on.”

He left her, took a bit of bread and butter from the kitchen and left tuppence in the till, and let himself out of the tavern. Gray clouds still covered the sky, but the air had grown warmer. Ethan thought he could smell a storm riding the wind.

His hands buried in his pockets, he followed his usual circuitous route past Murray's Barracks and into the North End. He found Middle Street largely deserted. Richardson's house appeared to have been abandoned; Ethan saw no sign that Richardson's wife and daughters remained within. The door had been propped up against the house, but the entryway was not secured. The broken windows had not been boarded. The fa
ç
ade of the structure bore stains from the eggs and pieces of rotten food thrown at it by the mob the day before.

Closer to Lillie's dry goods shop, the wooden effigies and the hand-shaped sign lay in the street, broken and trampled. The structure itself, though, was unmarred, save for the tar and feathers that still covered the windows.

Ethan did not see Lillie moving about within, and when he knocked no one answered. He stood by the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet to stay warm, and waited for the merchant.

He didn't have to wait long.

A few minutes later, Lillie turned onto Middle Street from Cross Street to the north. He halted upon spotting Ethan, and even took a step back; Ethan thought he might flee. But recognition flashed in his eyes and he came forward, glancing about as he did.

“I didn't expect to see you here, Mister Kaille,” he said.

“We have an arrangement, sir. I feel that I owe you the courtesy of an explanation before I terminate it.”

The words crossed Ethan's lips before he gave much thought to their meaning. But as soon as he heard himself speak them, he knew that this was why he had come.

Lillie scowled. “What makes you think that I have any interest in hearing your explanation?”

Ethan grinned, feeling better than he had in days. “Frankly, sir, I couldn't care less whether or not you wish to hear what I have to say. You will hear it. And then I'll be on my way.”

Lillie dismissed him with a wave of his hand and turned his back, fumbling with the keys to his shop. Ethan strode forward, grabbed the man by the shoulder, and spun him around so that they were face-to-face. The merchant shrank away, cowering like a cur expecting a beating.

“I just want to be left alone,” he said, his voice quavering.

“And so you shall be. But understand, you will listen to me first.”

“Why should I? To hear more insults? More threats? You're all the same, you riffraff. I am a simple merchant, trying to make an honest wage. I've done nothing wrong, and yet I'm bullied and beaten. My wares are stolen, destroyed.” He slapped his leg, the sound echoing across the empty street. “I have done nothing wrong!”

Ethan laughed, which only seemed to infuriate the man more. “You count me with those who were in the street yesterday? You're a bigger fool than I thought. They hate me because I've been working for you. What's more, I've refused to ally myself with the Sons of Liberty because I believe their tactics to be … irresponsible. They have too little respect for the sanctity of a man's property and too much confidence in their own righteousness. But you…” Ethan shook his head.

“Men like you and Ebenezer Richardson are worse by far than even the greatest fools in that rabble gathered here yesterday. Because you would dismiss their calls for liberty without a thought. Of course they're na
ï
ve. Of course they're blinded by their ardor for the ‘great cause.' I would even grant that many of them have been driven, at least initially, by parsimony, by their desire to avoid another tax. But they are, in the end, fighting for something other than the weight of their own purses.”

“You think me greedy?” Lillie asked, clearly outraged.

“I think you selfish and small.”

“You do me an injustice, sir!”

“
If he was in that mob, with the rest of the rabble, he probably deserved it.
”

Lillie paled at the repetition of his own words. His gaze, so angry a moment before, slid away. “I didn't mean that,” he said, his voice low. “Ebenezer is an idiot. He should never have fired into that mob. I didn't know at the time that the boy was so grievously wounded.”

“I told you he was.”

Lillie nodded. “You did. But I didn't believe you. I thought you were exaggerating, that your passions were inflamed by all that you had seen.”

“They were,” Ethan said. “They still are.”

Lillie looked him in the eye, though this simple act seemed to take a great effort. “So, you no longer wish to work for me?”

“No, sir. I don't.”

“I can make matters difficult for you, you know. I may be hated by the rab—” He licked his lips. “By those who support Samuel Adams and his kind. But I'm still an influential man. There are families who, at a word from me, would never deign to hire you.”

“Aye, I'm sure there are. Fortunately, crime cares not at all whether a man is Whig or Tory. There are plenty who will hire me. There are some who will be more inclined to do so if they hear you speak ill of me.”

Lillie didn't argue. He stared at Richardson's house, taking in the damage. “They're threatening us all, you know. I stayed last night at the home of a friend. My wife and children are there now. To be honest, I expected to find my shop in ruin this morning. I expect that one of these morns I will.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm considering leaving Boston. My wife believes we would be safer in the country, and I'm inclined to agree with her.”

“She may well be right, sir.”

Lillie's expression soured. “Very well, Mister Kaille. I suppose matters are settled between us. You worked for the wages you received, and I owe you nothing more.”

“That's my reckoning as well.”

“Fine. Off with you then.”

Without another word, Lillie turned back to his door, his keys jangling once more. This time Ethan left him, relieved to be done working for the man, and, he had to admit to himself, embarrassed by his own outburst. Lillie had spoken true: He hadn't done anything wrong, at least not in a legal sense. He bore no responsibility for Richardson's crime. But change was coming to Boston, to all the colonies. Legalities were fast being overtaken by politics, and Lillie was on the wrong side of the looming conflict. Of that much, he was certain.

Ethan intended to make his way back to Cooper's Alley, where he rented a room above the cooperage of Henry Dall. But his thoughts still churned with memories of the previous day, and with fears born of the previous summer. He walked northward from Middle Street, crossing through the heart of the North End, skirted the base of Copp's Hill, and soon reached the waterfront near Drake's Wharf, where he, Janna Windcatcher, and Mariz had their final confrontation with Nate Ramsey. He could almost smell the smoke from the blaze Ramsey started that summer day in his attempt to escape.

He scanned the wharves arrayed before him, looking for the
Muirenn
, Ramsey's pink. The night before he had almost suggested to Greenleaf that he do the same, but Ethan trusted no one with this task but himself. If Ramsey's ship was hidden with a conjuring, the sheriff would walk right past it. Ethan wanted to believe that he would sense the conjuring, or would recognize signs of a concealment spell that others might miss.

Or maybe he was misleading himself. The truth was, as soon as it occurred to him that Ramsey might be alive and back in Boston, he had known that he himself would have to search the waterfront. Because even if the entire British army were to take on this task, and even if the king's soldiers could sense the lightest touch of a spell, Ethan would want to look anyway. He feared the captain too much to place trust in anyone else's assurances.

Most of the harbor was frozen. Few ships could have docked in the past week or two. But still Ethan resolved to search for the captain's ship. He followed Lynn Street from Ruck's Wharf to Thornton's Shipyard. At North Battery, the street name changed. It did so again at Hancock's Wharf, and at Lee's Shipyard. But Ethan maintained a slow, steady gait, ignoring the cold and the freshening wind, and the pain radiating up his bad leg into his groin. He stared hard at every moored vessel, his eyes watering in the frigid air, tears running down his cheeks and into the raised collar of his greatcoat, where they formed a rimed edge that rubbed against his chin. His fingers grew numb with the cold, and his cheeks, nose, and ears ached.

After crossing the creek back into Cornhill, Ethan turned onto Merchant's Row so that he could scan the wharves of the South End. He turned at Long Wharf, and walked the length of the dock into the very teeth of that wind. At the wharf's end, he turned back and then followed the lanes past the point where he usually would have turned to go to Cooper's Alley and past Fort Hill, so that he could view the wharves along Belcher's Lane and Auchmutty Street, which jutted out into the water like spines on a sea urchin. He continued onto Orange Street, so that he could see the piers located along Boston's Neck, and didn't conclude his search until he had walked all the way to Gibbon's Shipyard near the town gate. He had never known Ramsey to moor his ship at any of these wharves, but he refused to take anything for granted.