“I understand, sir. In that case, with your permission, when we’re done here, I’ll accompany you downstairs so that I might determine for myself if there are conjurers among your brethren.”
“Yes, all right.” Adams rubbed a palsied hand across his brow. “If this … this conjuring that you felt is what made Richardson fire into the crowd-”
“I don’t know that for certain.”
“But if it did, then he would not be guilty of murder, would he?”
“He pulled the trigger. Hundreds saw him do it. He will be charged with murder, and though I’m no attorney, I find it impossible to imagine that he won’t be found guilty.”
“That’s not really what I asked,” Adams said, a haunted look in his eyes. “In the eyes of the law, he may be guilty, but you’re suggesting that he may not have acted of his own volition.”
“Aye.”
“In all of our dealings-yours and mine-I have tried to accept that your ability to conjure does not make you a devil in the eyes of God. But it seems to me that whenever we speak, it is to discuss some new atrocity committed with these same powers that you possess. Forgive me for saying so, but I fear your witchery.”
“Many feel as you do, sir. I can only respond by telling you that I’ve done great good with my spells. I’ve healed wounds, saved lives, and discovered the perpetrators of crimes who might otherwise have gone unpunished.”
Adams nodded, but said nothing.
After a brief, uncomfortable silence, Ethan said, “I should allow you to return to your friends downstairs.”
“Not so fast, Mister Kaille. There is still the matter of Hutchinson to discuss. You’ve indicated that he doesn’t think me a murderer, at least not yet, for which I am grateful. But you also said that you defended me in his presence, which is why you’re here. I would like you to explain that.”
Ethan’s cheeks burned. He fixed his eyes on the floor in front of him. “The lieutenant governor suggested that while you might not kill a child, you would not be above using the lad’s death to your advantage and that of your cause. I disagreed, and told him that you would never make use of tragedy in that way. Mister Hutchinson is paying me, in his capacity as leader of the province, to find the conjurer who cast this spell, assuming that the spell was directed at Richardson. And we agreed to a bit of a wager. If I was right about you, and you made no effort to turn Christopher Seider’s murder to your purposes, he would pay me extra. And if I learned that he was right, I was to come to you on his behalf and try to convince you not to organize yet another assembly.”
Adams said nothing at first, but turned and walked back to the snow-covered window.
“And here I’ve been speaking of being disappointed in you.”
“Mister Hutchinson fears that another gathering like the one on Middle Street will lead to more bloodshed.” Ethan paused. “Truthfully, sir, I fear that as well.”
Adams turned. “So do I. So does every man downstairs. But what are we to do? Even if Hutchinson’s expressions of concern are sincere, his solution, essentially, is for those of us who agitate in defense of liberty to surrender. The lieutenant governor stands on the side of angels and exhorts us simply to give up. And if we refuse, then we are cold-blooded and self-seeking. I’m sorry, Mister Kaille. We must carry on with our plans.”
“As I told him you would.”
“Do you think so ill of me?” Adams asked through a brittle smile.
“I don’t think ill of you, sir. I know that the cause of liberty is the foundation of your life’s work. And I know as well that Hutchinson’s request was as much a political calculation as it was an attempt to prevent further violence.”
Adams grinned. “Indeed. Are you sure you won’t join us, Mister Kaille? We could use a man who thinks so clearly.”
“Thank you, sir, but no. I will be there on Monday, however, at whatever sort of assembly you have in mind. I wish I could have saved the boy’s life, but I was as powerless against his wounds as the surgeons who treated him. I want to pay my respects to the lad.”
“Very well,” Adams said in a solemn voice. “Shall we return to the Dragon? I have a good deal of work to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
They left the warden’s office and descended the stairs once more. Before they reached the tavern’s great room, Ethan whispered in Latin, “Veni ad me.”
Uncle Reg appeared beside him, gleaming like the moon in the dim light.
“Did you say something, Mister Kaille?” Adams asked.
“No, sir.”
Reg watched him as they emerged from the stairway, an avid look in his bright eyes.
I need to know if there are any conjurers here, Ethan told him silently. And if there are, I don’t want them to know that I’m aware of their powers. Can you search the tavern without allowing yourself to be seen, even by those who can cast spells?
Reg nodded and vanished, though not before grinning like a thief in a rich man’s home. Ethan assumed that the ghost followed as Adams led him to the small room at the back of the tavern.
Because Ethan was accompanied by Adams, no one tried to keep him from entering. John, the man who first greeted him at the door, eyed him with obvious mistrust, as did James Otis, whom Ethan had met on several occasions.
Ethan lingered in the room for a few minutes, which he hoped would be enough time for Reg to conduct his search. Then he approached Adams and bid the man farewell.
“Have you found … anyone?” Adams asked in a whisper.
“Not yet, sir. Perhaps in the great room.”
“Very well, Mister Kaille. We will meet again soon.”
They shook hands and Ethan left the small room for the main part of the tavern. He stood beside the door for some time, scanning the great room for any sign of Reg. Before long, he saw the image of the ghost flare beside the bar for no more than the blink of an eye.
Ethan pushed through the crowd to the bar. Reg appeared again beside a small man who stood drinking an ale, speaking to no one.
This one? Ethan asked.
Reg nodded.
Anyone else?
No.
Can you tell how powerful he is?
Reg shook his head again.
Before Ethan could ask the ghost anything more, the man let out a gasp. He had spotted Reg-as the lone conjurer in the tavern other than Ethan, he was the only person who could see the shade.
“He’s with me,” Ethan said.
The man turned with such haste that he slopped ale onto the bar and down the front of his own waistcoat.
“Who are you?”
“Ethan Kaille.” He held out a hand, which the man gripped with some reluctance.
“Are … are you with the Sons of Liberty?”
“No. I’m a thieftaker. I’m wondering if you would be so kind as to summon your spectral guide. Just for a moment.”
“Why should I?”
“As a courtesy to me.”
“What? I have no-”
Ethan silenced him with a raised finger. “As I said, I’m a thieftaker. I’m conducting an inquiry and would like very much to see your ghost. If you refuse, I’ll have little choice but to assume you do so out of fear that your role in the crime will be discovered.”
“This is outrageous! What crime?”
Ethan shook his head. To Reg he said, “He leaves us no choice. I’m sure the sheriff will be eager to speak with him.”
“Now, wait a second. There’s no need to involve the sheriff.”
“I quite agree,” Ethan said. “Your ghost?”
The man placed his tankard on the bar and whispered, “Veni ad me.”
A glowing figure appeared beside him: a woman dressed in finery, who glowed with a pale orange hue. She was rather homely, with curled hair and a haughty expression. She regarded Reg with unconcealed hostility.