Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

"Hired by someone else," Duncan snapped. "If I had known of Burke's connection to Philadelphia I would have looked here sooner, before so many bounty hunters were breathing down my spine."

"Surely his presence here had nothing to do with the killings. There were Indians," Van Grut repeated.

"Are you certain? You wager your life on that slender belief."

"Duncan, I never… " the Dutchman began, then Duncan's words seemed to register. "My life? But the killers are on the survey line."

"Every instinct tells me otherwise. The treachery on the line is being orchestrated from Philadelphia. If someone in Philadelphia wanted all the Virginian surveyors dead, what do you suppose they will do when they find one walking the streets here?" There was a rustling of linen at the door. The taciturn maid had been listening, but now disappeared.

For a moment, looking at the stricken Dutchman, Duncan almost felt sorry for him. He did not believe Van Grut was one of the plotters, only trying to keep open all his options for a livelihood. The odds that Duncan would ever get to the truth were slim, and Van Grut wanted to be able to take money from whichever land company emerged successful in the treaty negotiations.

"No," the Dutchman said woodenly. "This is Philadelphia," he added, as if trying to convince himself. "The streets are safe. There are constables." He looked up with new energy. "I will help you, Duncan, I swear it. Tell me what I can do."

Duncan frowned. "That merchant from Shamokin. Waller. See if you can locate him." He hesitated, then reached into his pocket and produced the glass ball taken from Red Hand. "Two of the killers had these. Not beads. Not made by Indians. Not common even in towns." He dropped the ball into the Dutchman's hand. "If you want to help, tell me its story."

"Fine work," Van Grut said with an uneasy glance at Duncan, as he rolled the ball between his fingers. "Flint glass, without a flaw. American made, I wager. Instrument makers here will recognize the work, know the fabricator."

Duncan left Van Grut staring at the glass ball and again stole within hearing distance of the three elders who conferred by the library fireplace. He watched as worry grew on Brindle's face, marking how Conawago, and sometimes even Old Belt, cast wondering glances at the scores of books on Brindle's shelves. Inching closer, he strained to catch the low voices.

"Surely you do not suggest the governments of Virginia or Pennsylvania have been corrupted!" Brindle protested.

"It is not the governments that benefit most directly from the land depositions," Conawago pointed out. The words seemed to wound his host. When the magistrate pressed his point no further, Conawago relayed the final chapter of his tale, ending with the events in the barn an hour earlier.

"Philadelphia is the lair for miscreants of all colors," Brindle stated. "It means nothing that this man you seek fled to Philadelphia."

"That can be determined when he is caught. Meanwhile, as I explained, he means to slay the young girl in your custody."

"I shall alert the constables immediately."

"No. He is too clever to be caught by your constables."

"There is nothing more I can do." Brindle studied the two Indians. "Surely you are not suggesting I become a player myself in this drama."

"You already are, as your brother-in-law was."

"Do not presume I will bend the laws of my province!"

Duncan stepped into the light. "Then Skanawati's death will be on you." They were harsh words, brutal words, but they seemed to tear at something in the magistrate as he turned to see who had spoken them.

"You!" Brindle gasped. "How dare you, McCallum! A fugitive of the law in my household! You give me no choice but to send for the constables."

"It is the constables we must speak of."

Brindle's face was a storm of emotion as he rose from his chair. "I am obligated to inform the courts of your appearance, to tell the one who swore out the warrant against you."

Old Belt stepped to Duncan's side. "Answer me this, my friend. Until the treaty is concluded do you not have the Virginian runaways in your-" he turned and leaned toward Conawago with a whispered question.

— your custody?" Conawago finished the question.

As if on cue the muffled cry of a hungry baby came from somewhere in a room above them. "I do."

"Then I shall keep McCallum in my custody," replied the Mohawk chief.

Brindle winced. "Mr. McCallum is answerable to a much more powerful authority."

"In the end of this affair," came Conawago's quiet voice, "that will be the conundrum, will it not?"

Brindle's brow wrinkled. "Sir?"

"In the end there is an authority supreme even over the great houses of Philadelphia."

The Quaker dropped back into his chair and gazed into the flames of the fireplace.

Duncan stepped close enough to read the documents on Brindle's table. "The documentation for the Susquehanna Company," he observed, studying the magistrate with new interest. Companies were only formed by act of the government. Brindle had removed the documents from the court records. "Why, amidst a crisis in the treaty negotiation, would the lead negotiator be investigating the ownership records of a Philadelphia land company?"

Brindle grimaced. "Do not be fooled by appearances, you told me once.

"Even in the Old Testament there were wolves in sheep's clothing," Conawago observed.

"This company has become the largest, the most active of the land ventures," Brindle said. "If the Virginia land claims are defeated, it will mean Pennsylvania will be in line for those lands."

"And if Skanawati hangs for killing a Virginian, there is no way the Iroquois will ever cede land to the Virginians. Meaning the Susquehanna Company will have the most to gain from the hanging of Skanawati," Duncan concluded. As he saw the tormented way Brindle stared at the documents he realized the magistrate had already reached the same conclusion.

Brindle sighed. "Great things doeth he which we cannot comprehend."

"If I am not mistaken," Duncan said, "those words were written about Lord Jehovah, not Lord Ramsey."

Brindle fixed him with a level stare. "Your bitterness over your indenture clouds your vision, sir."

Duncan gestured to the papers. "Who are they?" he asked. "Who are the owners?"

"The records are incomplete. I can find only the initial promoters and owners of the company," Brindle explained. "Good solid citizens. Old Philadelphia families. Leading merchants. Christians all."

"Shares get sold," Conawago suggested. "Especially when new wealth arrives."

Brindle glanced at the doorway. "Be careful what you say, sir."

"This is America," Duncan shot back, "not the fiefdom of a few aristocrats."

"I daresay not all aristocrats agree," came Brindle's quick reply. The Quaker grimaced, as though regretting his words. "The company was formed before Lord Ramsey arrived in our city, yes." He gathered up the documents into a pile. "It is beyond my powers to learn more."

"Officially," Duncan said.

Brindle did not reply. "Even if I do not call the constables down on you, Mr. McCallum, I am not sure I do you any favor. There are handbills with your name on them at every corner."

Duncan paused, studying the Quaker a moment. "I encountered your nephew tonight."

"He is idle while the treaty delegation lingers in the city."

"Of all the bounty hunters, he is the only one who knows my face."

Brindle gazed into his folded hands and sighed. "He is a proud lad, trying to make a good start in life. It is no sin to assist the law."

"A good start? Is he not already gainfully employed?"

"He wishes to buy a stake in a commercial enterprise on the frontier."

"He tried to convince me to flee into the wilderness instead of going to Shamokin."