Dead Man's Reach (47 page)

“My thanks.” He traced a finger along the brim of his hat. “I should go. I didn't wish to intrude, but I did want to see how you were doing.” He crossed back to the door, Deborah trailing behind him.

“I'm grateful to you, Mister Kaille. Derrey is, too. He just needs time.”

Ethan found it hard to speak. He had come breathtakingly close to losing the two most important people in his life. And though he felt confident that Diver would live, he knew that this wound would be a long, long time in healing.

“How is Kannice?” Deborah asked.

He swallowed. “She's better. Thank you for asking.”

“And he's really dead? Ramsey, I mean.”

It seemed a common question where the captain was concerned.

“Aye. I killed him myself. You have my word.”

*   *   *

The next morning, following the first decent night of sleep Ethan had enjoyed in more than a fortnight, he returned to the Green Dragon, and after some wrangling with several different men, managed to gain entrance to the small chamber off the rear of the great room. There he found Joseph Warren, Paul Revere, James Otis, and, most important, Samuel Adams.

Adams greeted him with more warmth than Ethan had expected, gripping Ethan's proffered hand and placing his other hand over it.

“Joseph told me that a friend of yours was wounded on King Street. I'm terribly sorry.”

“Thank you, sir. He's recovering, and for that I'm deeply grateful.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Would that others had been as fortunate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What can I do for you, Mister Kaille?”

“I come bearing tidings, sir. When last we spoke, I told you that a conjurer had used a spell to cause the shooting of Christopher Seider. That conjurer is now dead.”

Adams gazed toward the chamber's small window, his head shaking with his palsy. “I would never claim to take pleasure in any death, but I'm relieved to hear that this man can't trouble us further.”

“Yes, sir. You should know, though, that he also played a role in the events of March the fifth. His spells might have influenced the behavior of the soldiers who fired and the men who provoked them.”

“Provoked them?” Otis repeated, his voice sharp. He took a step in Ethan's direction. “You dare suggest that—”

“That's enough, James,” Adams said, casting a quick look toward his friend. He shifted his gaze to Warren and nodded once.

The doctor approached Otis and spoke to him in a low voice. Ethan could not make out what was said, but after a moment the two men left the room.

“You do seem to have a knack for angering James,” Adams said, staring after them.

“I assure you, sir, it's not my intention.”

Adams faced him. “I believe you, Mister Kaille. James is not a well man.” He took a breath. “The fact is, the soldiers
were
provoked. I don't condone their use of firearms—I want to be perfectly clear about that. Moreover, I do not believe that armed soldiers should have been in Boston at all. Ultimately responsibility for this … massacre rests with those who garrisoned those men here in the first place. What happened the other night was both tragic and utterly predictable. The soldiers were provoked, and they in turn provoked that mob. Their mere presence here is a provocation.”

“I understand that they are to leave.”

“Yes,” Adams said. “I hesitate to claim that any good can come of such terrible events, but they'll be sent to Castle William, and that is a small blessing.”

“Yes, sir. As to the conjurer, I feel that I must emphasize the importance of his role in what occurred. If those soldiers are to be charged with murder, as I hear some of them will, I must bring this information to the attention of the proper authorities.”

“Of course you must, Mister Kaille. But you're speaking to the wrong man.”

“Well, sir, I expect that you'll be advocating for their punishment.”

“No, I won't. I intend to play no role in their trial. I'm well known as a champion of liberty. Any part I play in the legal proceedings will distract attention not only from the actions of the soldiers, but also from the ill-conceived policies that lay at the root of these events.”

“I see,” Ethan said. “Well, I had planned to speak with the lieutenant governor as well. Perhaps I should see him now.”

Adams smiled. “When I said that you were speaking to the wrong man, I didn't mean Hutchinson. Perhaps I should have said that you're speaking to the wrong Adams.”

Ethan frowned. “I don't understand.”

“My cousin, John Adams, has consented to represent in court Captain Preston and the soldiers he commanded.”

Ethan had no idea what to say.

“You're surprised.”

“To say the least, sir. Do you approve?”

“My approval or disapproval is of little consequence, but yes, I do. John is a man of great integrity. The soldiers will get a fair hearing, and in so doing may convince those who doubt our motives and tactics that we believe in justice for all, foe and friend alike. My point, though, is that of all people, John most needs to know of this conjurer and his role in the shootings.”

“I've never met Mister Adams.”

“With that, I can help you.” Adams stepped to a desk against the near wall of the small room. He found a piece of parchment, dipped a quill in a well of ink, and penned a short missive. He then folded the parchment and placed it in an envelope, which he sealed with wax. “Here you are, Mister Kaille. Present this to John when you see him. He will speak with you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ethan crossed to the door.

“Do I dare even ask if you're now ready to join us?” Adams asked before Ethan could let himself out of the room.

“I think I may be, sir.”

Adams looked every bit as amazed as Kannice had the night before. “Because of what happened on King Street?” he asked.

Ethan shook his head. “Because of the woman I mentioned the last time we spoke.”

Adams was still laughing when Ethan pulled the door shut.

*   *   *

The law office of John Adams stood on Queen Street, directly across from the gaol and the Court House, and adjacent to Murray's Barracks. Ethan had no desire to go anywhere near the soldiers' quarters, but he had little choice in the matter.

Upon entering the office, he was greeted by a young, well-dressed man who introduced himself as William Tudor. When Ethan requested a word with Mr. Adams, the young attorney demurred.

“I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time. Mister Adams is quite busy at the moment.”

“I've no doubt that he is,” Ethan said, pulling the envelope from the pocket of his greatcoat. “But I carry a letter of introduction from his cousin, Mister Samuel Adams. I believe Mister Adams will wish to speak with me.”

He handed the missive to Tudor, who took it into a second chamber, off the main room. As Ethan expected, he soon returned.

“Mister Adams will see you, Mister Kaille.”

Tudor held the door open as Ethan entered this smaller chamber, and then closed it, leaving Ethan alone with the gentleman standing at a polished wood desk.

John Adams bore little resemblance to his cousin. Where Samuel was handsome, even a bit dashing, John was odd in appearance. He was several inches shorter than Ethan and portly, with a weak chin and dark eyebrows over expressive hazel eyes. He wore a gray wig, and a black silk suit.

He greeted Ethan solemnly and indicated a pair of chairs beside the hearth.

They both sat.

Adams held up the message from his cousin. “Samuel informs me that you have information pertaining to the recent events on King Street.” He spoke in a strong, rich baritone that belied his undistinguished appearance.

“Yes, sir.”

“He also indicates that I am to accept as truth whatever you tell me, no matter how fanciful, even preposterous, it might sound.”

Ethan smiled, silently thanking Samuel Adams for his foresight. “Aye, sir. What I have to say may well seem to stretch the bounds of credulity.” Speaking slowly, his voice low, Ethan then explained all that had happened in the past fortnight, beginning with the shooting of Christopher Seider.

Long after Ethan had finished, Adams remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fire. When at last he stirred and regarded Ethan, it was with the same even expression he had maintained since Ethan's arrival.

“You tell a most remarkable tale, Mister Kaille.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Am I to assume then that you believe Captain Preston and the men under his command should be acquitted?”

“I'm neither a lawyer nor a judge, sir. And I have no idea if what I've related to you can even be spoken of in a court of law. But I thought that you should know.”

“I'm grateful to you. It may be that I will need to call on you before the trial; perhaps even during it. But to be honest I have every confidence that these men will be acquitted, even if I never mention witchery and conjurings.”

“You do?” Ethan said, unable to mask his surprise.

“That surprises you. I suppose that's to be expected. But already I have spoken with many who were there that night. These men were abused most foully. They were taunted and insulted, pelted with snowballs and rocks. A club was thrown at them. Many of those in the mob shouted for the men to fire. Most in Boston would like to see them convicted; I know this. And there can be no doubt that by their actions, they caused the deaths of four men. But facts are stubborn things, and the facts tell us that these men acted out of fear for their own safety. Who among us would have behaved differently?”

Ethan had heard men speak of the brilliance of John Adams, but until then he had not understood fully what they meant. An hour before, he would have wagered every pence he had that Preston and the others would be found guilty. No longer.

“I fear I've wasted your time, sir,” he said, getting to his feet. “You require no aid from me.”

For the first time since Ethan's arrival, Adams smiled. “You're kind, Mister Kaille. And I'm grateful to you for coming here. Many men, particularly those who keep company with my cousin, would have kept such information to themselves rather than give aid of any sort to these soldiers.”

Ethan didn't bother to gainsay the man's assumption that he supported the Sons of Liberty. He allowed Adams to escort him to the building entrance and bid him farewell.

Adams's office was but a short distance from the Town House, and so Ethan next paid a visit to the chambers of Thomas Hutchinson. He had expected that he would have some difficulty convincing those who worked for the lieutenant governor to grant him admittance to the man's office. He was wrong.

Within moments of his arrival, he stood before Hutchinson. Recent events had left him looking even more weary than he had during their previous encounter. Ethan doubted that he had slept in the past two days.

“Sheriff Greenleaf tells me that the conjurer of whom we spoke—the one you thought responsible for the Seider boy's death—is dead,” Hutchinson said. “Moreover, he tells me that you killed him.”

“Yes, sir, that's right.”

“The sheriff suggests that we owe you our gratitude.”

This was the last thing Ethan had expected him to say. “Mister Greenleaf is too kind, sir.”

Hutchinson gave a wry grin. “I think we both know better. I think as well that the province owes you five pounds. I assume that is why you came.”

“I came to inform you that before he died, Ramsey cast spells that may well have caused the shootings on King Street.”

Hutchinson's mouth fell open. “What?” he said, breathless.

“He used his conjurings against the mob and the soldiers, as he did the day of the shooting on Middle Street. I have just now informed John Adams of this, so that he might make use of the information in his defense of the men.”

“Thank you, Mister Kaille. That was most fair-minded of you.”

“You may find this hard to credit, sir, but the idea was not my own. It came from Samuel Adams.”

Hutchinson pondered this, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes, I'm sure it did. Whatever else he might be, there can be no doubt that he's canny.” The lieutenant governor stood unmoving for some time before returning to his desk and retrieving a purse that rang with coins. “Your five pounds,” he said, untying the drawstrings and pouring out the contents of the purse. He counted out Ethan's payment and then glanced his way. “And what of our arrangement, Mister Kaille? Do I owe you an additional three pounds? Did Samuel Adams's motives prove to be as pure as you believed?”

“You know they didn't, sir. You owe me five pounds and nothing more. I spoke to Adams on your behalf and tried to dissuade him from organizing more assemblies like the one outside Ebenezer Richardson's house. I failed, as we both knew I would. But I did fulfill my part of our wager.”

“Very well,” said the lieutenant governor, holding out the coins to Ethan.

Ethan took his payment and pocketed it without bothering to count the coins.

“Thank you, sir. Good day.”

“Thank you, Mister Kaille. As you well know, I have no love for your kind. Witchery is a scourge on this province and has been for more than a century. But the sheriff is right: You've done us a service, and I'm grateful to you.”

Ethan could think of nothing to say. He nodded once to the man and left the chamber, grateful to be done with Hutchinson, at least for a while, and grateful as well for the coins jangling in his pocket. Upon reaching the street, he paused. He owed a visit to Janna; she would want to know that Ramsey was dead. But all he wished to do was sit with Kannice. He walked back to the Dowsing Rod, taking care to avoid the barracks of the Twenty-ninth Regiment.

Only when he entered the tavern, however, did he remember that he would have to face Kelf before he could see Kannice.