Dead Man's Reach (46 page)

While his spell was still humming in the floor and walls, he heard footsteps behind him. He looked to see who had come, fearing that Ramsey's men had returned. But it was Mariz.

“I sensed your conjuring. What are you doing?” He halted at the sight of the man. “
Ah, meu Deus!
What happened to him?”

“Ramsey was using his blood for spells. I couldn't bring myself to leave him here. So I'm healing him.”

“I can help you, if you would like.”

“I'd be grateful.”

Mariz joined him beside the man, cut himself, and cast a healing spell. And for the next hour or more, Ethan and Mariz cast spell after spell, until the worst of the man's wounds had been mended. When they were done, Ethan took the bloodstained blanket off of the bed and draped it over the man.

“He'll wake eventually,” Ethan said. “And hopefully he won't remember too much from this ordeal.”

He covered Ramsey's body and head, so that they wouldn't be the first things the man saw upon opening his eyes.

He and Mariz walked outside into the brilliant sunlight; Ethan blinked against the glare and shaded his eyes.

“What will you do now?” Mariz asked.

“I need to speak with Samuel Adams, and also with Thomas Hutchinson.”

Mariz's eyebrows went up. “These are important men. They will speak with you?”

“I hope so.” Ethan proffered a hand, which the conjurer gripped. “My thanks, Mariz. Without your help, and without your warding, I would never have survived my battle with Ramsey.”

“I am glad to have helped you, Kaille. And though I know that you did not wish to kill Ramsey, I am pleased that he is dead.”

“So am I,” Ethan said. “More than I can say.”

 

Chapter

T
WENTY-FIVE

As it turned out, Adams and Hutchinson were together by midafternoon. Those who first met at Faneuil Hall had dispatched Adams, along with several other delegates, to the Old South Meeting House, where they presented to Hutchinson their demand that General Gage's soldiers be removed from the city and sent to Castle William, a fortified island in Boston Harbor. The meeting had been intended for the Town House, but the crowd that followed Adams, Hancock, and the others was so huge that the discussion had to be moved to a building that could accommodate all who wished to attend.

This time, Ethan was not able to push his way through the mob, and so had to be content with hearing of the encounter from others, who, no doubt, had themselves heard of it from those fortunate enough to be present.

It seemed that Adams had not been the only man to speak with eloquence of the dangers of keeping the soldiers in the city. If the regulars did not leave, Royall Tyler was said to have warned, ten thousand men from the countryside would descend upon the city and kill them all, “should it be called rebellion—should it incur the loss of our charter, or be the consequence what it would.”

Unable to see either Adams or Hutchinson, Ethan waited in the street for word of what was to be done with the billeted soldiers. When word came that Hutchinson and Colonel Dalrymple, who was in command of the men in Boston, had capitulated and would be sending the soldiers out of the city, he surprised himself by shouting his approval with the others, and, like so many standing with him, wiping a tear from his eye.

As night fell and the air grew cold he retreated to the Dowsing Rod, where the celebration had been fully joined. As he entered, Tom Langer, one of Kannice's regulars, was standing on a table slurring a toast to Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty.

Kelf spotted Ethan and his expression darkened. Undaunted, Ethan stepped to the bar.

“How is Kannice?” he asked.

“She's restin',” the barman said, not meeting his gaze. “She was asking after you. But she doesn't need to be cookin' and servin' and she definitely doesn't need you … gettin' her all worked up, if you catch my meaning.”

“I do,” Ethan said. “She's in her room?”

Kelf scowled. “Aye.”

“My thanks.”

The barman turned away without a response.

Eventually, the two of them would have to find some way to repair their friendship, but for now Ethan was more concerned with seeing Kannice. He climbed the stairs and followed the corridor to her room. There he knocked on the door—he couldn't remember the last time he had done so.

“Come in,” Kannice called. Her voice sounded strong. Once more, his eyes welled.

He pushed the door open and was greeted with a radiant smile.

“I was wondering when you'd come to see me.”

He crossed to the bed, sat, and kissed her brow.

“I would have come sooner. I'm sorry. I've been…” He shook his head. “It's been a long day.”

“Ramsey?”

“Ramsey's dead. I killed him.”

“No doubt?”

He smiled. “No doubt.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank God.”

Ethan took her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“My chest is sore—it hurts if I take a deep breath. But other than that, I'm fine.”

He nodded. “Good. Let me see the scar.”

She pulled down the front of her nightgown, exposing the wound. It was an angry shade of red, but the skin around the wound did not appear to be swollen or fevered.

“You'll be fine in another day or two,” he said. “As long as you rest.”

“Aye,” she said, her tone arch, “like you always do when you've been hurt.”

He grinned and took her hand once more. She smiled as well, but not for long.

“What happened between you and Kelf?”

Ethan looked away. “Why? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing. Just that you had saved my life. But there was something in the way he spoke of it that made me wonder. And when I told him that I wanted to see you, that he should send you up here as soon as you reached the tavern, he grew sullen.”

Ethan faced her again. “He knows I saved your life.”

“Well, of course, but that's—” She stopped, her eyes going wide. “Oh, Ethan. I'm sorry. I should have understood.”

He shook his head. “It's not your fault. It's not Kelf's either. But I don't know if he'll ever accept … what I am.”

“He'll have to. He works here, and you're going to be coming around for a good while longer. At least I hope you are.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “I am.”

“Then, Kelf will have to get accustomed to it.”

Ethan wasn't convinced that it would be quite that easy, but he kept his doubts to himself.

“Did you hear about what happened on King Street?”

He had to smile. Only someone who had been confined to her bed all day could even ask such a thing. “I was there. I saw it all, and felt the spell from Ramsey that made it happen.”

“He did that, too?”

“Aye. Diver was shot.”

She paled. “Is he all right?”

“I assume he's still alive. I haven't seen him today. But I kept him from bleeding to death, and then I carried him to the home of Doctor Warren. He … he lost an arm.”

“Dear God. Ethan, I'm so sorry.”

He nodded, unable to speak.

She scrutinized his face. “When was the last time you slept?”

A small laugh escaped him, sounding more like a sob. “It's been some time.”

“You should lie down.” She started to slide over and make room for him.

Ethan gave her hand a squeeze, stopping her. “I'll sleep, but in my room at Henry's. You need rest even more than I do.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“Well, I am. And I think that if I dare spend the night, even if just to sleep, Kelf will have my head.”

She gave a small pout. “All right.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then allow me to bring you some chowder and a bit of Madeira. I'll even sup with you.”

Her face brightened. “I'd like that.”

He left her and descended the stairs to the tavern. Kelf was being run ragged serving all the drinks and taking care of the food as well. And it seemed to Ethan that the barman took some satisfaction in making him wait. But eventually Ethan managed to buy two bowls of the fish chowder, a cup of Madeira, and a tankard of ale. It took him two trips to carry all of this to Kannice's room, but soon he was sitting with her once more. To his pleasure, Kannice made short work of her chowder, prompting Ethan to get her a second bowl.

When he returned, he again joined her on the bed, and for several moments he kept silent, searching for the best way to say what was on his mind.

“So, I have a question for you,” he began at last.

“Hmm?” Kannice said, intent on the chowder.

“Are you still willing to have me as a partner here at the tavern?”

She nearly dropped her spoon, and she did manage to spill a good deal of stew onto her blanket, though she hardly noticed. “Are you serious?”

“Aye. This business with Ramsey … I've had enough. I'm too old to be making my living in the streets, risking my life day and night. And I would much rather pass my days with you than with Sheriff Greenleaf and Sephira Pryce and Thomas Hutchinson.”

“We've been talking about this for a long time, Ethan, and all along you've resisted the idea. Even the other day when you said that you would consider it, you were soon gone again, back in the lanes looking for Ramsey. Thieftaking is in your blood, as running a tavern is in mine. Don't get me wrong: It's still what I want. But I think perhaps you're saying this because of what you've been through these past weeks, and because of what was done to me. I don't want you waking up in a month's time and realizing that you've made a terrible mistake.”

“I woke up last night,” he said. He took both of her hands in his. “I watched that man stab you in the heart, and I woke up. I'm not saying that it will be easy; I'm sure I'll miss it now and then. But I want this, and I'm ready to give up my room on Cooper's Alley, and live here with you. As … as husband and wife, if you'll have me.”

She made a small sound—half laugh, half gasp. “You're full of surprises tonight, aren't you?”

“I should have asked long ago.”

She shook her head, her eyes shining with tears. “No,” she said. “You needed to come to it when you were ready.”

“Does that mean you'll marry me?”

She grinned, eyes dancing. “Well, I'll have to think about it, won't I?”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “I don't want you waking up in a month's time and realizing that you've made a terrible mistake.”

Kannice threw her head back and laughed. Then winced and raised a hand to her chest.

Ethan leaned forward and kissed her; she returned the kiss hungrily.

“I should go,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because we both need rest. And because you have a good deal to ponder.”

“No, I don't! Ethan, I was—”

He touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Yes, you do. Think about it, Kannice. The Dowser is yours; yours and Rafe's. Before you accept me as a partner, and as a husband, you should think about whether you'll be happy working and living with me for the rest of your life.”

“I will be,” she said. “I've no doubt. But go, and we'll speak of it again tomorrow.”

“Aye, we will.”

He kissed her again, stood, and stepped to the door. There he paused, though, and looked back at her. “In all honesty, I'll be in the lanes again tomorrow morning. Ramsey may be dead, but there are still matters to which I must see. I thought you should know that.”

“I assumed as much. It's all right, Ethan.”

He nodded, and let himself out of the room. He left the Dowser and made his way to Pudding Lane. Despite the late hour, he wished to pay a visit to Diver so that he might see how his friend was faring. Upon reaching the small byway, he saw that a light still shone in his friend's room. He climbed the stairs and knocked.

Deborah answered, looking young and pale.

“Mister Kaille!”

“Ethan.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Ethan. Please come in.”

He removed his hat and entered the room. It was warm within and the air smelled of spermaceti candles. Diver lay in bed, his shirt off, a fresh bandage on his shoulder, as bright as newly fallen snow. His face was ashen and gaunt, and at the sight of Ethan he averted his gaze.

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, approaching the bed.

His friend didn't answer.

“Diver, I was … I did everything I could.”

“What happened?” Diver asked, still not looking his way, his voice flat.

“What do you remember?”

“I remember being on King Street when the soldiers started shooting, and I have a vague memory of being hit, of you being there and telling me that you had stopped the bleeding and were going to take me to a surgeon. But after that I don't recall a thing.”

“I carried you to Warren's home. You passed out along the way. He removed the ball from your arm, and we both tried to heal the artery and the bone. We couldn't.”

“So, you were there when he…”

“Aye.”

“Doctor Warren said you saved his life.”

Ethan glanced back at Deborah. “I kept him from bleeding out, but I … I couldn't do more. And before I saved him, I got him shot. Again.”

At her questioning look, Ethan related to them both all that had happened with Ramsey over the past several days, concluding with their confrontation in the warehouse.

“It's not your fault he was shot,” Deborah said when he finished. “You can't blame yourself for the spells this man Ramsey cast. I don't understand much about conjuring, but I do know that much.”

Ethan nodded. He would have preferred to hear this from Diver, but his friend remained silent, still staring at the wall.