D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“Nevertheless, Mister Kaille,” Adams said, drawing Ethan’s gaze once more. “We know that you served in the British navy, and that your family is firmly tied to the Crown.”

“What else do you think you know about me?” Ethan asked. He tried to sound indifferent, but he wondered if they knew how he came to be working for Berson.

“That you were a prisoner for many years. That you’re a thieftaker.” Adams paused, glancing at Otis and Darrow. “And that thus far, your inquiry has taken you to those who wish my colleagues and me ill.”

Ethan looked at each man. “Well,” he said, “if you’re willing to cast your lot with men like Ebenezer Mackintosh, you shouldn’t be surprised to find others treating you like rabble.”

“You go too far, sir!” Otis said. “We have no more cast our lot with that charlatan than you have!” He waved a shaking finger in Ethan’s face. “And for you to say so-”

“It’s all right, James,” Darrow said, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Otis’s other arm. “They blame Mackintosh for the Berson murder?” he asked Ethan.

“Shouldn’t they? Mister Hutchinson believes that he incited that mob to riot. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right. With everything else Mackintosh and his mob did that night, it’s not so great a leap of logic to believe the rest. You know what kind of man Mackintosh is.”

“Yes, we know,” Adams told him. “Better than most, actually. Peter here won his release after the Brown boy was killed on Pope’s Day last year. He also defended Mackintosh at his trial.”

Darrow frowned. “Samuel-”

“ You defended him?” Ethan could scarcely believe it. “You know this man-you see the way he incites his South End rabble-and still you choose to associate yourself with him?”

“The charges brought against him were for disturbing the peace,” Darrow said. “He was never charged in the matter of the Brown boy’s death. And with good reason. The child was killed when he was run over by a cart carrying one of the effigies. And Mackintosh wasn’t anywhere near the cart or the boy when it happened. You may not approve of the man’s tactics-neither do I-but he didn’t deserve to hang for the boy’s death.”

Ethan was less sure of this than was Darrow. But he kept to himself his doubts about Mackintosh as well as his knowledge of what really killed the child.

“So you’ll tolerate vandalism and violence from your allies,” he said instead. “Just not murder. Is that it?”

Otis bristled. “Again, sir, you speak of matters you don’t understand.”

“Don’t I? Two weeks ago, Mackintosh and his mob destroyed the property of Andrew Oliver for no other reason than because Oliver happens to be distributor of stamps. Where was your outrage then, Mister Otis? Where were your cries for justice?”

Otis’s face reddened and his eyes widened, so that he looked apoplectic.

But it was Adams who responded. “The assault on Oliver’s house, while regrettable, was necessary to convey to Parliament, and to the Crown’s representatives here in the colonies, that we are not their slaves, but rather their loyal subjects. Perhaps you’ve heard men speak of ‘liberty and property.’ That is what we are trying to protect. You have to understand, Mister Kaille, that we colonists hold a unique place in the Empire. We are subjects of His Majesty the king, but being remote from England, and having no representation in Parliament, we have the right-nay, the responsibility-to decide for ourselves what taxes and fees are appropriate for this land. The attempts by Parliament to burden the people of America with fees like this new stamp tax, and to ignore our rights as a free and self-governing people, cannot and shall not go unanswered.”

Ethan had heard some of this before, and he wasn’t sure he believed that Adams and his friends had the right to define for themselves what it meant to be British subjects, particularly if their definition was this self-serving. “And what of Oliver’s liberty and property?” he asked. “What of his right to live free and unmolested?”

Adams shrugged, his head and hands still shaking. “As I say, the attacks on his home and office were regrettable. Still, he is but one, and I speak of the liberties of every man in the colonies.”

“I assume then, that you justify the attacks on Hutchinson, Story, and Hallowell the same way.”

“Hallowell and Story, perhaps,” Adams said. “But Hutchinson?” He shook his head. “Not at all. What happened two nights ago was something entirely different. There was no control, no discipline. I believe in liberty, not lawlessness, not licentiousness. And I have no desire to see all of our labors undone by a mob of ruffians and fools.”

“You see, Mister Kaille,” Otis said, his voice calm, at least for the moment, “we have no desire to protect Ebenezer Mackintosh. Far from it. The man is a scourge upon our cause. He’s been placed in gaol, and I, for one, hope he remains precisely where he is. If I could see him hanged tomorrow for the injuries he and his rabble inflicted upon Thomas Hutchinson, I would.”

Ethan stared for a moment at Otis, then at the other two. They weren’t working with Mackintosh. They wished to use the man as their sacrificial lamb.

“You think he killed Jennifer Berson,” Ethan said.

Adams and Otis looked at Darrow.

“We doubt he killed her himself,” Darrow said. “But as you say, he led the mob that doubtless was responsible for her death. And unlike the death of the Browns’ child on Pope’s Day, this might well have been a deliberate act of murder. That’s what Abner Berson is saying, anyway. And what’s more, this mob, also unlike the one in November, engaged in other violent and aggressive acts against innocents. He might well swing for this killing.”

“And that would please you,” Ethan said. “All of you.”

“It will please us to see justice done,” said Otis.

“Do you know that you sound exactly like Hutchinson? And Berson? And Derne? All those who you dismiss as Tories, they want the same thing you do. Somehow, you’ve all decided that Ebenezer Mackintosh is guilty of murder, and that your lives would be easier if he were to be arrested, convicted, and executed.”

“That’s nonsense!” Otis said, his voice rising, his mood as changeable as a summer afternoon in New England.

“It’s true,” Adams broke in. Otis glared at him, but Adams kept his eyes fixed on Ethan. “You’re right: We’ve decided precisely that. James here called Mackintosh a scourge. That’s about right. He is a threat to all we hope to accomplish. In one night, his rabble did more to damn the cause of liberty than Parliament has managed in the last two years. And that is saying something.” He shook his head. “It’s our fault, really. We enlisted the man as an ally some while ago, hoping that he and his followers could help us.”

“Help you how?” Ethan asked.

“The Sons of Liberty,” Darrow said. “The Loyal Nine-whatever you wish to call those of us who oppose the Acts-we’re lawyers, craftsmen, shopkeepers, even merchants, though few of us are as well fixed as the Bersons of the world. But we also need the support of laborers, wharf workers, seamen-precisely the kind of men Mackintosh leads in the South End. We’ll never win the support of the wealthy-their ties to the Crown and Parliament remain too strong. But if we have the men in the street and those of us who, like Samuel and James and myself, work at crafts and at the law, we just might prevail. We need Ebenezer and his friends. We need them in the streets. We need their help with non-importation, we need-”

“Wait,” Ethan said. “What was that?”

“Non-importation,” Adams said. “Agreements among tradesmen, merchants, and others to stop buying goods made in England. It began after the Sugar Act was passed. Mackintosh spoke of ending his feud with the North Enders and uniting in support of the non-importation movement. But that didn’t last long.