Morrison might not have done anything to convince Ethan that he had power enough to cast these spells. But wasn’t it more likely that he was responsible for the spells cast in recent days, than that Nate Ramsey had returned to Boston unnoticed?
With all of this to ponder, he left his room and again walked the length of Boston’s waterfront, from Gibbon’s Shipyard to Hudson’s Point. As before, he did not find the Muirenn among the vessels in and around Boston’s wharves. When he had finished, cold and exhausted, his bad leg screaming, he went to the Dowsing Rod, giving the barracks on Hillier’s Street a wide berth as he left the North End.
He arrived at the tavern before most of Kannice’s regular patrons, and took a seat in the farthest corner of the great room. Kelf placed before him an ale and a bowl of fish chowder. Ethan was ravenous, and was soon working on seconds of each. But as he ate, he brooded on how little he had learned this day.
Relieved as he was that he hadn’t found Ramsey’s ship, he wasn’t entirely certain what he ought to do next. Chances were that Morrison wouldn’t be leaving Boston any time soon. He was stuck here with his regiment, and unless he deserted, which didn’t seem likely if he was plotting to sow conflict with these spells, Ethan would know where to find him. But while Ethan wanted desperately to question the soldier, he didn’t think it wise to do so quite yet. Nor did he expect that a request made of Morrison’s commanders for more information about the soldier would yield any results. The one person who might be able to learn something of Morrison was the sheriff, but as weary as he was, Ethan could not face a conversation with Greenleaf this night. With some reluctance, he vowed silently that he would seek out the sheriff come the morning.
The evening passed without incident. Diver and Deborah came in and sat with Ethan for a short while, but they seemed to be in the midst of a spat, and neither of them said much. Ethan was relieved when, earlier than usual, they left the tavern. He retired early as well, and did not hear Kannice when she joined him in her bed.
By the time Ethan awoke the following morning, she was already gone from the room; he could hear her moving around downstairs. He dressed and joined her there.
Seeing him, she came out from behind the bar and kissed him. “Good morning.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “You slept; I’m glad.” She glanced at his greatcoat, which he had carried down with him. “Where are you off to now, without any breakfast?”
He smiled. “I need to speak with the sheriff. And after that I’ll probably search the waterfront again.”
Concern furrowed her brow. “You’re going to make yourself sick, walking so much in this cold. And if Ramsey is here, and has been since you felt that first spell, don’t you think that you would have found his ship already?”
“I think that I’ll find his ship when he’s ready for me to find it, and I don’t know when that’s going to be.”
If anything this made her look more worried. “Will you be back later?”
“Aye, I promise.”
He left the tavern and walked once again to West Street and the stately home of Stephen Greenleaf. The sheriff was emerging from the house as Ethan arrived. Seeing him, Greenleaf scowled.
“What are you doing here?”
“I need information about a man, a soldier with the Twenty-ninth.”
“And what in God’s name made you think that I would be willing to help you? In case you hadn’t noticed, Kaille, I work for the Crown, just as this soldier does. I’m not going to tell you-”
“He’s a speller.”
Greenleaf blew out a long breath, vapor billowing in the chill morning air. “And how would you know that?”
“His family name is Morrison. I don’t know his given name. He speaks with a burr, so I assume he’s a Scotsman. And I have cause to believe that he was on Middle Street when Christopher Seider was shot.”
“Why do you need me? Why can’t you find out whatever it is you want to know?”
“I’d need to speak with a commander in the army, and I don’t think there are many British captains who would wish to share with a thieftaker information about the men under their command. But it may be that the sheriff of Suffolk County can get answers to questions I cannot.”
Greenleaf made a small, impatient gesture, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “You didn’t answer me, Kaille.”
“I’d have thought you were used to that by now.”
“What makes you think this man is a witch?”
“The devil came to my room last night and told me he was.”
“I see. So, you’re asking a boon of me, for the second time in less than a week, and once again you refuse to tell me what I wish to know. Why should I help you?”
“Because, Sheriff, I’m trying to help you do your job, and you’re trying to have me hanged as a witch. I’m not sure the two are comparable.”
“You’re trying to help me do my job?” Greenleaf laughed. “It seems to me you’re trying to make me do yours.”
“That’s not-This man, Morrison, he might well be responsible not only for the Seider boy’s death but for a confrontation that nearly led to a second murder the night of the lad’s funeral. And he might be-” He broke off, uncertain of how much he ought to tell the good sheriff.
“He might be what?”
Ethan shook his head. “He’s a dangerous man, Sheriff. I’m sure of it.”
“He might be what?” Greenleaf demanded again, enunciating each word.
Ethan didn’t answer and after several moments, the sheriff turned and started away down West Street. “Good day, Kaille.”
“He might be working with Nate Ramsey.”
Greenleaf halted and whirled on his heel. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
The sheriff glanced up and down the lane before walking back to where Ethan stood. “I heard you speak of a ghost,” he said, his voice low. “Ramsey’s dead. You’ve said you don’t believe he is, but I’ve seen no proof otherwise and it’s been months.”
“He’s not dead. And I believe he’s back in Boston, though as of yet I have no evidence to prove it.”
“Of course you don’t. It’s rather convenient for you, being able to sling Ramsey’s name around when you want to alarm me, or get me to do your bidding, or divert my attention from other things.”
“What other things?” Ethan asked, his voice rising.
“I don’t know. That’s for you to tell me. We can start with this Morrison fellow: What makes you think he’s a conjurer and why didn’t you mention before that you saw him on Middle Street?”
“I heard from someone else that he was on Middle Street. I didn’t see him myself.” My spectral guide saw his spectral guide. The mere thought of saying this nearly made Ethan laugh aloud. “As for Morrison’s conjuring abilities,” he said, pressing on, “he … he did things that raised my suspicions.”
“What things?”
Ethan threw his arms wide. “What does it matter?”
“I thought as much,” the sheriff said with a smirk. “You ask for my aid, but you’re so concerned with keeping your neck out of a noose that you won’t tell me what I want to know.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think there was any conjurer on Middle Street but you. I don’t think there was any conjurer at that damned funeral but you. I’d wager every coin in my pocket against every one in yours that you were responsible for those spells.”
Ethan wanted to gainsay the man, but Greenleaf’s guess had struck too close to the truth for comfort.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Greenleaf said, leaning closer to him. “But I won’t be your dupe, and I won’t waste my days chasing after witches and wraiths. If you truly believe that Ramsey’s back you shouldn’t be here, troubling me. You should be scouring the city.”