D. Jackson - Dead Man's reach

For the first time since Ethan’s arrival, Adams smiled. “You’re kind, Mister Kaille. And I’m grateful to you for coming here. Many men, particularly those who keep company with my cousin, would have kept such information to themselves rather than give aid of any sort to these soldiers.”

Ethan didn’t bother to gainsay the man’s assumption that he supported the Sons of Liberty. He allowed Adams to escort him to the building entrance and bid him farewell.

Adams’s office was but a short distance from the Town House, and so Ethan next paid a visit to the chambers of Thomas Hutchinson. He had expected that he would have some difficulty convincing those who worked for the lieutenant governor to grant him admittance to the man’s office. He was wrong.

Within moments of his arrival, he stood before Hutchinson. Recent events had left him looking even more weary than he had during their previous encounter. Ethan doubted that he had slept in the past two days.

“Sheriff Greenleaf tells me that the conjurer of whom we spoke-the one you thought responsible for the Seider boy’s death-is dead,” Hutchinson said. “Moreover, he tells me that you killed him.”

“Yes, sir, that’s right.”

“The sheriff suggests that we owe you our gratitude.”

This was the last thing Ethan had expected him to say. “Mister Greenleaf is too kind, sir.”

Hutchinson gave a wry grin. “I think we both know better. I think as well that the province owes you five pounds. I assume that is why you came.”

“I came to inform you that before he died, Ramsey cast spells that may well have caused the shootings on King Street.”

Hutchinson’s mouth fell open. “What?” he said, breathless.

“He used his conjurings against the mob and the soldiers, as he did the day of the shooting on Middle Street. I have just now informed John Adams of this, so that he might make use of the information in his defense of the men.”

“Thank you, Mister Kaille. That was most fair-minded of you.”

“You may find this hard to credit, sir, but the idea was not my own. It came from Samuel Adams.”

Hutchinson pondered this, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes, I’m sure it did. Whatever else he might be, there can be no doubt that he’s canny.” The lieutenant governor stood unmoving for some time before returning to his desk and retrieving a purse that rang with coins. “Your five pounds,” he said, untying the drawstrings and pouring out the contents of the purse. He counted out Ethan’s payment and then glanced his way. “And what of our arrangement, Mister Kaille? Do I owe you an additional three pounds? Did Samuel Adams’s motives prove to be as pure as you believed?”

“You know they didn’t, sir. You owe me five pounds and nothing more. I spoke to Adams on your behalf and tried to dissuade him from organizing more assemblies like the one outside Ebenezer Richardson’s house. I failed, as we both knew I would. But I did fulfill my part of our wager.”

“Very well,” said the lieutenant governor, holding out the coins to Ethan.

Ethan took his payment and pocketed it without bothering to count the coins.

“Thank you, sir. Good day.”

“Thank you, Mister Kaille. As you well know, I have no love for your kind. Witchery is a scourge on this province and has been for more than a century. But the sheriff is right: You’ve done us a service, and I’m grateful to you.”

Ethan could think of nothing to say. He nodded once to the man and left the chamber, grateful to be done with Hutchinson, at least for a while, and grateful as well for the coins jangling in his pocket. Upon reaching the street, he paused. He owed a visit to Janna; she would want to know that Ramsey was dead. But all he wished to do was sit with Kannice. He walked back to the Dowsing Rod, taking care to avoid the barracks of the Twenty-ninth Regiment.

Only when he entered the tavern, however, did he remember that he would have to face Kelf before he could see Kannice.

Kelf stood at the bar, polishing the wood with a cloth. A few patrons sat at tables eating oysters and drinking flips, but the tavern was mostly empty. When the barman spotted Ethan, he dropped his gaze and rubbed at the wood with enough force to strip it of its finish. Ethan approached the bar.

“We’re going to have to talk eventually,” he said.

“I thought I told you to keep away from me,” Kelf said, running his words together in an angry jumble.

“Aye, you did. But that’s not going to happen, and you know it. So we need to talk.”

“I’ve nothin’ to say to you.”

“Why, Kelf? Because I saved her life?”

“Because you’re a witch!”

The patrons looked their way. Ethan stared back at them, daring them to say something. Before long, they returned their attention to their flips.

“Keep your voice down,” Ethan said, facing the barman once more.

Kelf muttered an apology.

“I’m a conjurer, not a witch, and I have been for as long as you’ve known me. In what way does this change me?”

“I don’t know, but it does. It’s … it’s not natural.”

Ethan chanced a smile. “Actually it is. I was born this way, as were my mother and both of my sisters.”

Kelf did not respond.

“I’m going to marry her, Kelf. I’ll be living here, helping the two of you run the Dowser. You and I have to be able to work together.”

“Maybe she won’t want to keep me. She doesn’t need both of us.”

“Of course I do.”

Kelf looked past Ethan toward the stairs. Ethan turned. Kannice stood at the foot of the stairway, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She had more color today, though she still looked pale.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Ethan said.

Kannice crossed to the bar, ignoring him for the moment. “The Dowsing Rod wouldn’t be the same without you, Kelf, whether or not Ethan is here.”

The barman wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“But you have to accept that he’s a speller,” she went on, dropping her voice. “If you can’t do that, we have a problem.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Kelf asked. “Truly?”

“No, it doesn’t. He’s a good man, as you well know. And thanks to his conjuring, I’m alive.”

“He used blood.”

“Aye, I did,” Ethan said. “I can also conjure with leaves, with fresh wood, with grass. For some simple spells I need no more than air or water. But to save Kannice’s life I needed to cast a powerful spell, and blood works best.”

“Have you ever spelled me?”

“No, I’ve never had cause. But if I needed to cast in order to save your life, I would.” He grinned. “There was a time though, some years ago, when I used a spell on the door, and in the morning you couldn’t get in.”

“I remember that,” Kelf said, a smile creeping over his features. “I almost broke down the door.”

“Aye, but I removed the spell before you did.”

Too soon, Kelf appeared to remember what it was they were discussing. His smile faded. He eyed Ethan and then Kannice, frowning once more. “Wait. Did you say that you’re goin’ to marry her?”

Ethan glanced her way. “I will if she’ll have me.”

Kannice took his hand. “Aye, we’ll be married before long. And we want you there with us.”

The barman ducked his head. “I’m happy for you both. But I need some time to get used to this-to get used to you, Ethan.”

Kannice’s expression hardened. “What time-?”

“That’s fine, Kelf,” Ethan said. “There’s no hurry. I plan to be around here for a long while.” He turned to Kannice, who still glared at Kelf. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m done lying in bed,” she said, in a tone he had learned long ago not to challenge. “I want a bite to eat, and then I want to work in my kitchen.”