Dead Man's Reach (15 page)

The tavern was housed in the basement of a plain, two-story brick building that was owned by the Freemasons. A cast-iron dragon sat perched over the entryway, its wings raised, tongues of sculpted flame issuing from its open mouth. Ethan paused in the doorway to shake the snow off of his hat and coat before descending a dim stairway to the tavern.

The storm might have kept much of Boston's citizenry at home on this day, but the Green Dragon overflowed with people, their voices raised in a din of conversations. A few drank ales or ate from plates of oysters. Most however, appeared to be there to talk and plan. Ethan threaded his way through the patrons, searching for Adams and moving in the general direction of a small room at the back of the tavern where he last had encountered the man.

Reaching the door, he knocked once.

Immediately the door opened, revealing a chamber as crowded as the great room, its air hazed with pipe smoke.

Ethan didn't recognize the young gentleman who blocked his way.

“Who are you?” the man asked, sounding more harried than threatening.

“Ethan Kaille. I'm looking for Samuel Adams.”

“You and half of Boston. He's busy right now.”

The man started to close the door. Ethan put out a hand to stop him.

“Now see here—”

“Mister Adams and I have had dealings before. And today I bear a message from Thomas Hutchinson.”

The man's expression turned cold. “And why should any of us care what he has to say?”

“Because like him or not, he is the acting governor.”

“Aye. Fine. Give me your message. I'll see that it reaches Samuel.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I'm to give it to him personally.”

“I don't think so.”

A second man, one Ethan recognized, appeared at the shoulder of the first. He was young as well, tall, with expressive dark eyes.

“What is this, John?” Joseph Warren asked.

He glanced at Ethan, looked a second time. Recognition flashed in his dark eyes, though his expression was no more welcoming than that of the first man.

“Mister Kaille, isn't it?”

“Aye, Doctor Warren. It's a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

“He wishes to see Samuel,” John said. “He claims to bear a message from Hutchinson himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “I know that Mister Adams has more important things to do than treat with me. But I need a moment of his time.”

Warren looked over his shoulder at the throng, leading Ethan to believe that Adams stood at the center of it. He faced Ethan again, and Ethan was certain that the doctor would send him away. But he said, “Yes, very well. Wait here, Mister Kaille.” He patted the other man on the shoulder. “It's all right, John. Thank you.”

Warren wandered back into the crowded room, leaving John to guard the door. He made no effort to shut it in Ethan's face, but he did seem determined that Ethan would not, under any circumstances, enter the chamber.

After several minutes, Ethan saw Warren detach himself from the cluster of men in the room. He was followed by a shorter figure wearing red breeches and a matching waistcoat. This man had gray, plaited hair and penetrating dark blue eyes.

Samuel Adams was but a few years older than Ethan, but, as with Hutchinson, the occupation of the city had taken its toll on him. His face, while still pleasant and open, appeared somewhat sallow. The palsy that had afflicted him all his life was more pronounced than Ethan remembered; his head and hands shook noticeably. Nevertheless, he smiled as he proffered a hand.

Ethan grasped it. Adams still possessed a firm grip.

“Mister Kaille,” he said, speaking softly and yet managing to make himself heard over the voices of the men around them. “It's good to see you again.”

“And you, Mister Adams. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I know how busy you are right now.”

“More than at any point in our struggle. But perhaps that is why you're here.” He turned to Warren. “Joseph, Mister Kaille and I require a few moments alone. I believe we'll find a bit of privacy upstairs. In the meanwhile, you should continue with the arrangements.”

“Of course.”

“With all the snow that has fallen today, it will be more difficult than usual to communicate our intentions to those most likely to attend the funeral. We'll need to use the
Gazette
and other sympathetic papers. Have James and Paul work on an announcement.”

“Very well.” Warren's gaze flicked toward Ethan. “Don't keep him long,” he said.

Before Ethan could answer, Adams chuckled and said, “He'll keep me no longer than I wish to be kept, and no shorter either.” He gestured toward the great room. “This way, Mister Kaille. To the stairway.”

Ethan and Adams began to wend their way through the packed room, but progress came slowly. At last, Adams stepped past Ethan and said in a ringing voice, “Please make way, gentlemen.”

He might as well have been Moses with his great staff. The crowd parted as by divine intervention, allowing Adams to lead Ethan to the stairs.

By the time they reached the top of the stairway, Adams was breathing hard and his face was flushed.

“Do you need to rest, sir?” Ethan asked, masking his alarm.

Adams waved off the question with obvious impatience, and led Ethan down a corridor to what appeared to be a small office.

“This belongs to the junior warden of the Freemasons,” Adams told Ethan over his shoulder. “Usually I wouldn't presume, but he won't be coming today, and I doubt he'll mind.”

He shut the door behind them and went to the glazed window that looked out onto the building's grounds. The snow was piled so high on the outer sill that the bottom half of the window was obscured.

“It's still falling,” Adams said. “Perhaps God doesn't wish for us to go ahead with our plans.” He turned to look at Ethan. “I know the lieutenant governor does not. Is that not why you've come? To tell me that Hutchinson requests our forbearance?”

“I've come for a number of reasons, sir.”

“Including that one. I'm disappointed in you, Mister Kaille. There was a time when I thought you might join our cause, when I saw in you a man who would come to embrace the notion of liberty. And now here you stand: a messenger for the greatest enemy of liberty in all of Boston. How did this happen?”

Ethan bristled. “You mistake me for a servant of the Crown, sir. I am not. I remain, as I have always been, a subject of the British Empire. Beyond that, as you well know, I'm a thieftaker and a conjurer, and it is in those capacities that I stand before you.”

A small smile played at the corners of Adams's mouth. “You have some fire in you, Mister Kaille. One need only stir the coals a bit to see it.”

Ethan tried to maintain a hard glare, but before long he had to look away. He allowed himself a small breathless laugh. “Since the day we met, you've reveled in provoking me. Why is that?”

“It is, as I've said, because of the potential I see within you. I still hope that someday you'll join the patriot cause.”

“You and everyone else,” Ethan muttered.

Adams quirked an eyebrow. Ethan wished he had kept that thought to himself.

“In recent months, a friend has joined your cause. And there is … someone else as well who would like to see me a … a patriot, as you put it.”

“A woman.”

Ethan laughed again, openly this time. “Is it so obvious?”

“Always,” Adams said.

“In truth, sir, I can imagine a day, not long from now, when I'll be willing to join you and the Sons of Liberty. But this is not that day. We have other matters to discuss.”

“Very well, Mister Kaille. Proceed.”

“First, you should know that I was on Middle Street two days ago when Christopher Seider was shot. I had been working for Theophilus Lillie.”

Adams's expression clouded. “Had been working?”

“Aye. After Richardson shot the boy, I told Lillie that I would no longer take his money.”

“I suppose that's admirable, though I believe you should have scrupled to take his coin when first he offered it.”

Ethan swallowed the first retort that came to mind. “Times have been hard,” he said instead. “I make no apologies for trying to earn a living.”

Adams appeared to think better of a reply of his own. “So you were there when it happened.”

“That's right. And before Richardson fired, I felt a conjuring.”

“A conjuring.” Adams said, his eyes widening. “Magick, you mean? Do you think that's why he did it? Are you saying that some form of witchery forced him to kill the lad?”

“I believe it's possible. Beyond that, I can say nothing with any confidence. But I have to ask you—”

“No! I know full well what you wish to ask, Mister Kaille, and the answer is no! Think what you will of me, but I am no murderer, nor would I ever countenance an act of such savagery!”

“Then allow me to offer my most sincere apologies for even suggesting as much.”

“Is this what Hutchinson sent you to do? Does he believe that we are responsible?”

“No, sir. Never in my conversation with him did he suggest that you or anyone else in the Sons of Liberty wished to see Christopher Seider killed. And please let me be clear. I don't believe that you would ever sanction the murder of anyone, much less a child. In fact, I defended you to the lieutenant governor—that, as much as anything, is why I'm here. But I need to know if, to your knowledge, there are conjurers among the men downstairs.”

Adams did not appear mollified, but after considering the matter he shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. But really, Mister Kaille, how would I know such I thing? I know that you're a conjurer because you tell me so, and because once, some years ago, I saw things that to this day I don't fully comprehend.”

“I understand, sir. In that case, with your permission, when we're done here, I'll accompany you downstairs so that I might determine for myself if there are conjurers among your brethren.”

“Yes, all right.” Adams rubbed a palsied hand across his brow. “If this … this conjuring that you felt is what made Richardson fire into the crowd—”

“I don't know that for certain.”

“But if it did, then he would not be guilty of murder, would he?”

“He pulled the trigger. Hundreds saw him do it. He will be charged with murder, and though I'm no attorney, I find it impossible to imagine that he won't be found guilty.”

“That's not really what I asked,” Adams said, a haunted look in his eyes. “In the eyes of the law, he may be guilty, but you're suggesting that he may not have acted of his own volition.”

“Aye.”

“In all of our dealings—yours and mine—I have tried to accept that your ability to conjure does not make you a devil in the eyes of God. But it seems to me that whenever we speak, it is to discuss some new atrocity committed with these same powers that you possess. Forgive me for saying so, but I fear your witchery.”

“Many feel as you do, sir. I can only respond by telling you that I've done great good with my spells. I've healed wounds, saved lives, and discovered the perpetrators of crimes who might otherwise have gone unpunished.”

Adams nodded, but said nothing.

After a brief, uncomfortable silence, Ethan said, “I should allow you to return to your friends downstairs.”

“Not so fast, Mister Kaille. There is still the matter of Hutchinson to discuss. You've indicated that he doesn't think me a murderer, at least not yet, for which I am grateful. But you also said that you defended me in his presence, which is why you're here. I would like you to explain that.”

Ethan's cheeks burned. He fixed his eyes on the floor in front of him. “The lieutenant governor suggested that while you might not kill a child, you would not be above using the lad's death to your advantage and that of your cause. I disagreed, and told him that you would never make use of tragedy in that way. Mister Hutchinson is paying me, in his capacity as leader of the province, to find the conjurer who cast this spell, assuming that the spell was directed at Richardson. And we agreed to a bit of a wager. If I was right about you, and you made no effort to turn Christopher Seider's murder to your purposes, he would pay me extra. And if I learned that he was right, I was to come to you on his behalf and try to convince you not to organize yet another assembly.”

Adams said nothing at first, but turned and walked back to the snow-covered window.

“And here I've been speaking of being disappointed in you.”

“Mister Hutchinson fears that another gathering like the one on Middle Street will lead to more bloodshed.” Ethan paused. “Truthfully, sir, I fear that as well.”

Adams turned. “So do I. So does every man downstairs. But what are we to do? Even if Hutchinson's expressions of concern are sincere, his solution, essentially, is for those of us who agitate in defense of liberty to surrender. The lieutenant governor stands on the side of angels and exhorts us simply to give up. And if we refuse, then we are cold-blooded and self-seeking. I'm sorry, Mister Kaille. We must carry on with our plans.”

“As I told him you would.”

“Do you think so ill of me?” Adams asked through a brittle smile.

“I don't think ill of you, sir. I know that the cause of liberty is the foundation of your life's work. And I know as well that Hutchinson's request was as much a political calculation as it was an attempt to prevent further violence.”

Adams grinned. “Indeed. Are you sure you won't join us, Mister Kaille? We could use a man who thinks so clearly.”

“Thank you, sir, but no. I will be there on Monday, however, at whatever sort of assembly you have in mind. I wish I could have saved the boy's life, but I was as powerless against his wounds as the surgeons who treated him. I want to pay my respects to the lad.”