D. Jackson - Dead Man's reach

When he returned, he again joined her on the bed, and for several moments he kept silent, searching for the best way to say what was on his mind.

“So, I have a question for you,” he began at last.

“Hmm?” Kannice said, intent on the chowder.

“Are you still willing to have me as a partner here at the tavern?”

She nearly dropped her spoon, and she did manage to spill a good deal of stew onto her blanket, though she hardly noticed. “Are you serious?”

“Aye. This business with Ramsey … I’ve had enough. I’m too old to be making my living in the streets, risking my life day and night. And I would much rather pass my days with you than with Sheriff Greenleaf and Sephira Pryce and Thomas Hutchinson.”

“We’ve been talking about this for a long time, Ethan, and all along you’ve resisted the idea. Even the other day when you said that you would consider it, you were soon gone again, back in the lanes looking for Ramsey. Thieftaking is in your blood, as running a tavern is in mine. Don’t get me wrong: It’s still what I want. But I think perhaps you’re saying this because of what you’ve been through these past weeks, and because of what was done to me. I don’t want you waking up in a month’s time and realizing that you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I woke up last night,” he said. He took both of her hands in his. “I watched that man stab you in the heart, and I woke up. I’m not saying that it will be easy; I’m sure I’ll miss it now and then. But I want this, and I’m ready to give up my room on Cooper’s Alley, and live here with you. As … as husband and wife, if you’ll have me.”

She made a small sound-half laugh, half gasp. “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“I should have asked long ago.”

She shook her head, her eyes shining with tears. “No,” she said. “You needed to come to it when you were ready.”

“Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

She grinned, eyes dancing. “Well, I’ll have to think about it, won’t I?”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “I don’t want you waking up in a month’s time and realizing that you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Kannice threw her head back and laughed. Then winced and raised a hand to her chest.

Ethan leaned forward and kissed her; she returned the kiss hungrily.

“I should go,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because we both need rest. And because you have a good deal to ponder.”

“No, I don’t! Ethan, I was-”

He touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Yes, you do. Think about it, Kannice. The Dowser is yours; yours and Rafe’s. Before you accept me as a partner, and as a husband, you should think about whether you’ll be happy working and living with me for the rest of your life.”

“I will be,” she said. “I’ve no doubt. But go, and we’ll speak of it again tomorrow.”

“Aye, we will.”

He kissed her again, stood, and stepped to the door. There he paused, though, and looked back at her. “In all honesty, I’ll be in the lanes again tomorrow morning. Ramsey may be dead, but there are still matters to which I must see. I thought you should know that.”

“I assumed as much. It’s all right, Ethan.”

He nodded, and let himself out of the room. He left the Dowser and made his way to Pudding Lane. Despite the late hour, he wished to pay a visit to Diver so that he might see how his friend was faring. Upon reaching the small byway, he saw that a light still shone in his friend’s room. He climbed the stairs and knocked.

Deborah answered, looking young and pale.

“Mister Kaille!”

“Ethan.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Ethan. Please come in.”

He removed his hat and entered the room. It was warm within and the air smelled of spermaceti candles. Diver lay in bed, his shirt off, a fresh bandage on his shoulder, as bright as newly fallen snow. His face was ashen and gaunt, and at the sight of Ethan he averted his gaze.

“How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, approaching the bed.

His friend didn’t answer.

“Diver, I was … I did everything I could.”

“What happened?” Diver asked, still not looking his way, his voice flat.

“What do you remember?”

“I remember being on King Street when the soldiers started shooting, and I have a vague memory of being hit, of you being there and telling me that you had stopped the bleeding and were going to take me to a surgeon. But after that I don’t recall a thing.”

“I carried you to Warren’s home. You passed out along the way. He removed the ball from your arm, and we both tried to heal the artery and the bone. We couldn’t.”

“So, you were there when he…”

“Aye.”

“Doctor Warren said you saved his life.”

Ethan glanced back at Deborah. “I kept him from bleeding out, but I … I couldn’t do more. And before I saved him, I got him shot. Again.”

At her questioning look, Ethan related to them both all that had happened with Ramsey over the past several days, concluding with their confrontation in the warehouse.

“It’s not your fault he was shot,” Deborah said when he finished. “You can’t blame yourself for the spells this man Ramsey cast. I don’t understand much about conjuring, but I do know that much.”

Ethan nodded. He would have preferred to hear this from Diver, but his friend remained silent, still staring at the wall.

“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-”