D. Jackson - Dead Man's reach

Ethan and Kelf shared a grin. “I’ll fetch her some food,” Kelf said. “And then I’ll clear out of her way.”

He lumbered into the kitchen.

“You were more understanding than I would have been,” Kannice said, once she and Ethan were alone.

“He’s trying,” Ethan said. “I can’t ask for more than that.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. “I’m glad to see you up and about, even if you should be in bed.”

A coy grin touched her lips. “The next time I’m in bed, I won’t be alone.”

“Well then, you should definitely be in bed.”

“Later,” she said, laughing as she pulled away from him. “Right now, I want to cook. It’s been too long, and this place will be filling up soon enough.”

Ethan said nothing, but gazed back at her, reliving for an instant the terror he’d known upon seeing her with a knife in her chest. How would he have gone on without her?

“Ethan? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “More than fine. I’m glad you’re well enough to be making chowder again; I’ve no doubt Tom Langer will be, too.”

She smiled, though her brow remained creased.

“I love you,” he said.

Her brow smoothed. “Good.”

Late in the afternoon of the next day, March 8, nearly every shop in the city closed, church bells began to peal, and a crowd of mourners that most agreed numbered more than ten thousand converged on King Street to honor the memories of Crispus Attucks, James Caldwell, Samuel Gray, and Samuel Maverick, the four men who died as a result of the shootings there.

At least one of the other victims, a young Irish laborer named Patrick Carr, remained grievously wounded; few expected him to survive.

Men and women came to the city from Roxbury, Charlestown, and other nearby communities; the resulting procession dwarfed that which accompanied Christopher Seider to his final resting place. Walking six abreast through the city streets, the mourners bore the coffins from King Street to the Liberty Tree and finally to the Granary Burying Ground.

Though Ethan tried to remind himself that Ramsey’s spells had caused these deaths, he could not help but feel that he, too, was responsible in some small way. Had he discovered sooner the secret to warding his power from the captain’s influence, he might have saved these lives.

He was flanked on the icy lanes by Kannice and Diver, Kelf and Deborah. Kannice held fast to his hand. Deborah supported Diver, who had insisted upon taking part in the procession despite Ethan’s and Deborah’s misgivings.

It was as solemn and momentous an occasion as Ethan had ever witnessed. There were no incidents, no confrontations between mourners and soldiers. But it seemed to Ethan that he and the others participated not merely in a funeral, but in a demonstration of the growing might of Samuel Adams’s movement for liberty. The next time British soldiers take up arms against Boston’s citizenry, they seemed to say by their mere presence in the streets, this is what they will face.

The honored dead were interred in a single vault, beside the grave of Chris Seider. After, Ethan, Kannice, and the others returned to the Dowser and drank a solemn toast to the fallen men.

“I’d like to drink a toast to Mister Kaille as well,” Deborah said, as they stood by the bar. “Were it not for him, Derrey would have been buried today, along with the rest.”

Diver kept his eyes lowered, but nodded as she spoke. Kelf and Ethan shared a glance as the barman said, “Hear, hear,” along with the others.

“Thank you, Deborah,” Ethan said. “But I did it out of selfishness. Diver owes me for more ales than I can count, and I have every intention of collecting.”

Most of them laughed-even Diver managed a faint smile-but once more Ethan’s breath caught, this time at the thought of how close he had come to losing his dear friend.

He was not a religious man, nor a vindictive one. But at that moment he hoped with all his heart that Nate Ramsey was burning in the fires of hell.

Ethan left his room on Cooper’s Alley a few days later, bidding a fond farewell to Henry, and promising to visit the cooper whenever he had the opportunity. On March 18, the day after Samuel Adams arranged another massive funeral, this one for Patrick Carr, Ethan and Kannice were married in a humble ceremony before a magistrate at the Town House. Diver and Deborah were there as witnesses, as were Kelf, Henry, and even Janna, who made a point of telling anyone who would listen that she could have seen them wed years earlier if only Ethan had paid her for one of her love spells.

In the days that followed, Ethan tried to make himself useful around the tavern. He certainly was not as fine a cook as Kannice, nor was he as strong as Kelf. But, it turned out, he had some skill with woodwork, and he soon took it upon himself to repair all the uneven tables and squeaky chairs in the great room, which was no small task.

While working on one such chair in the middle of a warm, sunny afternoon later in the month, he heard the tavern door open and close, and then the soft scrape of boot leather on the wooden floor.

“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Ethan stood and turned. “Good day, Sephira.”

She had come alone, or perhaps she remembered that Kannice had ordered her toughs from the Dowser the one other time she came to the tavern, and so left Nap, Mariz, Afton, and Gordon in the street.

She looked as lovely as always, her cheeks flushed, her dark curls shining.

“I heard a rumor that you’ve given up thieftaking. Is it true?”

“Aye,” Ethan said. “I’ve given up my room on Cooper’s Alley as well. I live here now. Kannice and I are married.”

“Why, Ethan, how quaint.” Her smile was overly sweet. “You’ve been domesticated.”

“Is there something I can help you with? Or did you come here just to mock me?”

“The latter,” she said, strolling around the great room, eyeing the bar, the tables and chairs, the hearth. “I’m not sure I see the appeal. I suppose it’s a nice enough place; a bit on the shabby side, but charming nevertheless.” She halted not far from where he stood. “But this is not the life for a man like you.”

“I disagree.” He said the words forcefully enough, but he found it difficult to meet her gaze.

“No, you don’t. You know as well as I that you’ll be bored before long. You’ll miss the search for thieves, the fights in the lanes, the satisfaction of finishing a job.” She stepped closer. “You might even miss me.”

He laughed. “You think I’ll miss being beaten to a bloody mess by your brutes? Having my life threatened time and again? Being hounded by Sheriff Greenleaf? You’re mad.”

“So you say now. But mark my word: You’re not the type to be penned and saddled. You’ll be chafing at the halter before long, looking for any excuse to be back in the streets.”

“I don’t think so,” came a voice from behind them.

Sephira’s gaze shifted, and a cruel smile curved her lips. Turning, Ethan saw that Kannice had emerged from the kitchen and now stood behind the bar.

“Congratulations, Missus Kaille,” Sephira said. “Having not been invited to the wedding, I wanted to come by and wish you both great happiness.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Kannice said. “That’s not how it sounded.”

Sephira’s smile deepened. Facing Ethan again, she said, “Though I’m loath to admit it, I know there may be times when I’m presented with jobs that lie beyond my … talents. On those occasions, I may seek you out.”

“What about Mariz? You’ve been boasting for more than a year now that you can match me conjuring for conjuring. Why would you need me?”