Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

Still uncertain, Duncan lifted one of the cork spiders by the thread glued to its back and held it over the brass rod extending from the jar. The legs began to move as they approached the jar, jerking up and down when he placed it directly over the rod.

"When it is cold and dry you can rub fur or wool together to much the same effect," Marston said.

Duncan stared at the little spider in fascination, moving it in and out of the invisible flux field. But as he did so a vision of Johantty sprang into his mind, Johantty somberly, desperately, playing his graveside drum, followed by an image of Stone Blossom weeping over her ruined island shrine.

He lowered the spider and took a seat in a chair beside Marston. "Did you first meet Skanawati at his village or at Shamokin?"

Marston's head jerked up, and he stared suspiciously at Duncan. "Who are you?"

"Friends of the Iroquois. They have too few in Philadelphia."

Marston pursed his lips, then slowly nodded. "I met him at Shamokin." His voice trembled as the scientist spoke of the Onondaga chieftain. "He was fascinated by my work, brought several of his clan to watch. He beseeched me to return with my equipment to his village."

"Did you.

"It was full of smallpox," Marston explained. "He thought if I ran electrical charges through the infected it might help them. I knew there was no hope, but I couldn't say no. He wanted to pay me in furs, but I refused. They all had such desperate hope in their faces when I touched them with my jars. Beautiful children. Old men and women, even some warriors built like bulls who had lost all their strength. Eight out of ten weren't going to survive the week. I didn't argue any more with the French bear. Not long after, I packed up my equipment and came home."

"But Skanawati knew how to find you."

"I gave him a piece of paper with my address on it, then placed the Iroquois signs on my door. His people moved me. I had seen too many Indian drunks and beggars on our streets. The city becomes like a trap to them. The missionaries fill them with grand ideas about the equality of all men, the tavernkeepers fill them with rum. Some are kept at the alehouses to perform tricks like tamed bears, throwing tomahawks, shooting arrows and such. Most die of drink, or of some European disease. I wanted to do what I could…. "

Townsend and Marston, in their own peculiar way, had been friends of the Iroquois, Duncan realized. It was perhaps not so great a coincidence that Townsend's partner had appeared at the Broken Jug tavern, for that was where the two had met in the first place, nor too great a coincidence that Marston had recognized Conawago and gone to help him.

As his guests digested his troubling words Marston seemed to reflect on Duncan, his brow knitting. "At the tavern, McCallum, it wasn't Conawago who seemed to be in danger, but you."

"There is a gentleman now residing here who seems to think I am in bond to him. A man who knows my face was unexpectedly in the tavern tonight."

Marston frowned. "The law is not sympathetic to those who flee from indenture."

"The bond was transferred to his daughter. She takes a liberal view of my obligation. But he has sworn otherwise in an affidavit. He is a vindictive man, and I caused him much shame last year."

"Might I know his name?"

"Ramsey."

Marston's jaw dropped. "Bestowed with the title of Lord? Cousin to the king?"

"A distant cousin."

The scientist sagged. "You pick your enemies well. Since he arrived last year Ramsey has bought his way onto the council of the city, has the governor's ear. His house is like a palace, he is one of Philadelphia's self-declared royalty. If he knows you are in the city he will have men on every street."

"We will flee soon," Conawago said. "We only seek a Shawnee named Red Hand here."

Marston shook his head. "As I said, the Indians come and go. And when in the city most stay in the shadows."

"We can linger but a day," Conawago cast an apologetic glance toward Duncan. "Our real business waits in Lancaster."

Marston cocked his head. "Lancaster?"

"The treaty conference. Where Skanawati awaits trial. We mean to keep the rope from his neck."

Marston's face darkened with the news. He opened his mouth several times but seemed unable to find words. Finally he rose, pulled a news journal from a table under the window, and dropped it onto Duncan's lap. It was an edition of the Pennsylvania Gazette, dated the day before. The first page was nearly filled with notices of ships arriving and departing, listing their cargos and ports of call. There was only one headline. Treaty Conference Adjourned to Philadelphia for Hanging of Iroquois Murderer.

When he spoke, Marston's voice was tight with emotion. "He dies as soon as a Philadelphia judge hears the evidence and confirms the sentence. A formality. He has two, maybe three days."

Duncan stared numbly at the paper and did not see Marston leave, only saw him return, carrying glasses and a bottle, which he wordlessly uncorked. "Let us have full explanations, all around," Marston offered solemnly as he poured out the claret.

Duncan and Conawago told their story first, starting with their discovery of Captain Burke and proceeding through their tour that afternoon of watchmakers, interrupted only by the appearance of a serving woman in a dark blue dress and apron who left a tray of ham and bread. As he listened Marston ate, then cleaned his spectacles on a napkin, looking up with a worried expression as they finished.

"The governor of the province had demanded a treaty," he observed, "and convinced the general that the success of the British military in the north would be meaningless without a settlement of the many issues around the western lands. When Magistrate Brindle reported that the Indian delegations threatened to decamp over the imprisonment of Skanawati, the governor then invited all the delegations to Philadelphia. There he could personally court the Indians, attempting to repair the damage they say Brindle has done. The governor this very night has hosted a dinner for the chiefs in the state house. But the Virginians worry him as much as the tribes. They still thirst for vengeance."

"The governor understands the tribes. Surely he will arrange for appropriate condolences for Skanawati to be freed," Conawago said.

"And break with the Virginians? It will be a hollow accord indeed if that is the price. As bad as that Virginia land company may be, they are private owners. If they do not succeed, the Virginian governor will press official claims, in the name of the crown colony. Do not forget Pennsylvania is but a proprietary colony, while Virginia is held in the name of the king."

Duncan pushed down his bile. He was well-acquainted with the way men's lives could be ruined when those in power invoked distant kings and proprietors. "Magistrate Brindle is a reasonable man," he offered. "If only I could speak with him."

"It is all out of his hands now. And were he to be seen speaking with you, a fugitive from justice, his own office would be jeopardized. He may be an honored judge, but Ramsey is on the council that reigns over Philadelphia and has the governor over to dine frequently."

"Operating in the shadows, you mean, like the Indians," Duncan shot back.

Marston sipped at his claret. "You speak of codes on trees," he said with the scientist's curiosity. "Tell me of them." He listened in rapt attention to Duncan's description, then brightened. "The pigpen code!" he exclaimed. "Boxes and three-sided squares? Open triangles and dots?"

Duncan leaned forward excitedly. "You know it?"

Marston's enthusiasm ebbed. "Know of it. Called the pigpen because it is a matrix onto which the alphabet is overlaid, like a mass of pens, some enclosing empty spaces, some dots. But I don't know the arrangement, nor the details of the code."