Eliot Pattison - Bone Rattler

“I am suggesting the bones could represent those who died at Stony Run, the salt a sign of the salt lick near the battle site. The claw and eye could say that something powerful is still watching, still at work, set on determining the outcome. The buckle might indicate the soldiers who fell. The feather was that of a warrior, representing the Indians who died. Someone was saying the battle for Stony Run is not over. Someone was warning of retribution. Someone,” he suggested, “who had been there, at Stony Run.”

Lord Ramsey, strangely, closed his eyes for a moment, clutching the arms of his chair. “You can’t know that. You don’t know that. The feather could not have been from an Indian. The ship was coming from England, not America. And you fail to mention the bloody heart.”

“I thought it prudent not to dwell on the heart. It was a different kind of statement, against the Ramsey Company.”

“Ridiculous!” snapped Arnold.

Duncan reached into his pocket and dropped the smashed pendant on the papers in front of Ramsey. “This was stuffed in an artery.”

Arnold seemed about to protest when Ramsey picked up the piece of mangled silver and dropped it into his palm, staring at it forlornly.

“Captain Woolford would confirm it,” Duncan added, “and my words about the feather.”

The statement seemed to snap Ramsey out of his sudden melancholy. “Surely you did not tell Woolford all this.”

“Not yet. But Reverend Arnold did request that I report to both him and the captain.”

“That was when we were still on board ship,” Arnold quickly amended. “The troubles began with the death of Professor Evering,” he observed. “He had no possible connection to the events at Stony Run.”

“You’re mistaken. He knew about it, knew of its secrets.”

“Impossible.”

Ramsey, pacing again, stopped at the north-facing window, gazing resentfully at the red-jacketed men now walking along his street as if on patrol.

“He wrote about it,” Duncan explained. “There was a journal.”

Arnold’s face went as stiff as his starched collar, and he advanced on Duncan, leaning so close Duncan could feel the vicar’s breath. “What journal?”

“It was not just scientific notes he kept.”

“I must have it!” Arnold demanded.

“It was left in the city,” Duncan said. “But I shall append a statement to the report. I will sign a witness oath, attesting that Professor Evering had an informant. A member of the Company gave him a secret about the army at Stony Run, then not long afterwards the professor was killed. We would be remiss not to recall that half the men in the Company served in the army.”

“We will need your real report,” Arnold interjected. “We cannot embark onto this dangerous ground on such a capricious basis. And you have neglected to reference the seditious statements of the Scottish prisoners.”

“But this is the report that serves the Company best,” Duncan urged, “one that above all you want the military to glimpse. It concludes the murders relate to military intrigue, not a concern of the Company. It allows the Company to avoid a scandal. The army has failed to explain what happened that day at Stony Run. There was a battle, but they failed to report any traces of the enemy. One could suggest they have obscured the truth. The Company is victim as much as those who have died. Someone seeks revenge for what was done there, or to correct a wrong committed there, someone with secret knowledge of what happened that day. Someone,” Duncan added, “with cause to seek out the shaman Tashgua.”

In the stillness that suddenly seized the room, Duncan heard the distant bellow of an ox. Ramsey rose, stepped to the window, staring at the forest a moment, then turned toward Duncan with an expectant look.

“We will direct the report only to the governor,” Duncan continued. “If you sent it directly to the general he would be suspicious. The governor will want Calder to secretly see it, both to put the general in obligation for the favor and to gauge his reaction to it. They must both be aware that what happened at Stony Run is unresolved. We will suggest the murderers’ work is not complete, that the intrigue begun at Stony Run has not run its course, that someone apparently seeks to stop the Ramsey Company’s work on the frontier, and that the only reason must be that they do not want an English victory in the war. The governor will have to thank you for bringing this to his attention. The general will have to volunteer that the army will address the matter. The military has its own courts, private courts. The weight of a hanging is lifted from the Company.”

“What if Lister is the killer after all?” Ramsey asked in a tentative voice. “You have directed attention away from him. Yet you have not proven he is innocent.”

“It is not the role of a court to prove the innocence of every man, only the guilt of one. Mr. Lister had no real evidence against him except his unexplained appearance in Evering’s cabin. A sworn statement with the report explains he was there at someone else’s request.”

“Your statement. Your request,” Arnold pointed out.

“The statement of your scientific expert, saying he was there to assist with the science of Evering’s death. You cannot accept my statements for one purpose and reject them for another. I would pledge my life on his innocence.”

“Or at least your liberty,” Arnold rejoined in a smoldering tone. The vicar turned to Ramsey. “Surely this is too inflammatory, my lord. To incite the army unnecessarily serves no purpose.”

But Ramsey was staring again at the red-coated trespassers past his barn. “Why would the army dance to your song?” he asked. His eyes were working fast now, studying Duncan one moment, Arnold the next.

“The proposal only succeeds,” Duncan said, silently thanking the patron for providing the opening he had been longing for, “if the general does indeed know a black deed was hidden at Stony Run. Then he knows that continuing to obscure it will cloud his political aspirations. Calder thought he would intimidate the Ramsey Company by suggesting that I would trip over the events at Stony Run, as if we, too, had something to hide. But we are not so frightened by the truth as he should be. He will never expect the Company to be so bold as to shift the play back to him. As the ancient Greeks showed us,” Duncan declared, his sober gaze on Ramsey, “in war, surprise is everything. This is a shrewd and defiant move declaring to those who matter in this colony that the Ramsey Company shall be neither subordinate nor beholden to the army.”

Ramsey leaned back into his chair with a distant expression as he gazed out the window toward the dark forest beyond the river. Arnold stepped to the tea tray and hastily poured himself a cup.

“You have reason to resent the army, if I am not mistaken,” Ramsey observed in a tentative tone. He rose and slowly paced along his bookshelves.

“I will not shy from embarrassing them.”

“But what you suggest could be construed as practicing trickery on the army.” A dangerous smile grew on Ramsey’s face. “The governor may wonder about our motives.”

“You will provide proof of the army’s motive by pointing out that the war hinges on the loyalty of the Iroquois, that the death of so many of them at Stony Run needs to be resolved. The obvious conclusion is that secret French agents were at work. It would not be exaggeration to suggest a traitor is at work. It would be motive enough for the army to lie, to keep their actions in shadow, clearly motive enough for more lives to be taken.

“You will prove your loyalty,” Duncan continued, “by pledging that you will not speak publicly of this embarrassment to His Majesty’s government, by assuring him that you would never openly suggest someone in Calder’s command is capable of hiding traitorous activity. It takes a powerful man to keep a powerful secret.”