Eventually, hunger drove him out-of-doors. He went to the nearest grocer and bought a small round of cheese and some bread. While he was there, he also took a copy of the week’s Boston Gazette, which bore this day’s date, 5 March 1770. He had thought he might learn more of what had happened to the soldiers and journeymen who fought at Gray’s Rope Works. But the newspaper offered no details on the confrontations, except to say, “The particulars of several encounters between the inhabitants and the soldiery the week past we are oblig’d to omit for want of room.”
Much of the paper was taken up with descriptions of Christopher Seider’s funeral, and further denunciations of Ebenezer Richardson and George Wilmot. Apparently discussions of one tragedy caused by Ramsey and by Ethan’s power had taken up so much room that the paper could say nothing more about the other victims of the captain’s scheme. Ramsey would have though it an amusing paradox.
Ethan returned to his room, ate his meal, and scoured his mind for answers. None came to him.
But late in the day, as the sky darkened and another clear winter’s night settled over the city, Nate Ramsey used a second illusion spell to appear in Ethan’s room.
“Still here, eh?” the figure asked. “Still playing with your books and your leaves.”
“What do you want, Ramsey?”
“It’s time for you to choose.”
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“That’s because you spend too much time alone. I worry about you, Ethan. You need to get out and mingle with the people of Boston.”
“Aye, you’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?”
“My enjoyment is irrelevant. But perhaps you’ve met a friend of mine, a soldier.” The illusion watched him, avid, expectant.
“What are you playing at?”
“I’m not playing. I’m only pointing out that I don’t need for you to be in the streets to do what I have to.”
“Morrison,” Ethan said in a breathless whisper.
“His name is Daniel. He’s a fine lad and a decent conjurer. Not that he’ll have to do a thing. I can use his power-I can use anyone’s really-the same way I’ve been using yours. I won’t even have to worry about those irksome wardings you’ve been casting.”
“Then do it,” Ethan said. “Why should this bother me? As long as you’re not using my power again, I don’t care.”
Ramsey’s illusion flashed a delighted smile. “But you do! That’s what makes you such a wonderful adversary, Kaille. You do care. You care that innocent people might be killed. You care that one conflict might lead to bloodier ones. But mostly you care about your friends, including that young man who has cast his lot with Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty.”
Diver. Somehow Ethan was on his feet, a rigid finger leveled at the figure like the barrel of a musket. “If you do anything to hurt him, I swear to God, I’ll spend my last breath hunting you down.”
“It seems Adams and his rabble have something planned for this evening. I assume that your friend will be there. I know that I’ll have friends there.” Ramsey’s image began to fade. “Time to choose, Kaille.”
He still didn’t know what Ramsey meant by that last, unless he referred to the choice between remaining in his room while Diver was in peril and putting others at risk by venturing out into the streets to find his friend and protect him. But the captain had made that choice for him. If Morrison would be in the streets, thus allowing Ramsey to cast his spells, then it didn’t matter if Ethan was there, too. And he couldn’t allow Diver to be hurt or killed.
Ethan decided to go first to the Dowsing Rod. Perhaps he could find Diver before his friend ventured into the lanes to attend whatever assembly Adams had planned for this night.
He paused long enough to cast another warding, this time using more of the herbs than he had the previous night. He held out little hope that the spell could stop Ramsey, but it was worth the attempt. Then he rushed out into the night, throwing on his greatcoat as he dashed down the wooden stairway and into the street.
Ethan didn’t bother with side streets and byways on this night. Ramsey had plans for him and Ethan could do nothing to distract or dissuade him from whatever that larger purpose might be. He walked through crowds and past clusters of soldiers, and for the first night in more than a week, he did not fear the touch of a spell.
Nor did he hesitate to enter the Dowsing Rod when he reached Sudbury Street. The tavern was crowded with Kannice’s usual patrons and some whom Ethan did not recognize, but he made his way through the great room without faltering, stepping first to the bar.
“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Kannice said, favoring him with a brilliant smile.
“I know. But an old friend paid me a visit today.”
She heard the catch in his voice, and her smile slipped.
“I use the word ‘friend’ loosely.”
“He came to your room?” she asked in a whisper.
“He used an illusion spell to speak with me. But there’s no doubt as to who it was.”
“And so it’s safe for you again?”
“Not really. He told me that Diver’s life is in danger. I’m not sure what twisted game he’s playing now, but I need to find Diver and warn him. Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We’ve been so busy. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. If he’s here, I’ll find him.”
She nodded, fear in her eyes. Ethan gave her hand a quick squeeze, and waded into the crowd, away from the bar.
He searched for Diver at the rear tables, and when he didn’t find his friend there, searched the rest of the tavern. But Diver was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Deborah.
Convinced that Diver must be abroad in the city somewhere with the rest of Samuel Adams’s followers, Ethan started back toward the tavern door. Kannice had emerged from the kitchen with Kelf, a large tureen of chowder held between them. Ethan caught her eye again and gave a small shake of his head. She frowned, but was then distracted by one of her patrons. She responded with a forced smile before looking at Ethan again. He raised a hand in farewell, and she did the same. Her brow creased once more, and Ethan sensed that she wanted to ask him something, perhaps whether he would be back later in the evening.
She never got the chance.
A powerful conjuring vibrated in the floor of the tavern. Abruptly, Reg was next to him, his eyes as bright as the flames in the tavern’s hearth. But Ethan barely noticed the ghost.
Ahead of him, two men started to grapple with each other, one of them shouting curses, the other saying nothing. This second man threw off the first, but then advanced on him again. Another patron shouted a warning. Ethan tried to get to the men before they could hurt anyone. But by now, of course, others in the tavern were crowding around them, eager to get a clear view of the fight.
Another conjuring rumbled and the shouts from in front of him grew more strident, more urgent.
Ethan pushed at the throng, desperate to see what was happening.
Kannice yelled for the men to stop their brawling. Ethan swayed, his heart seeming to stop.
“No!” he shouted. “Kannice get away from them!”
But he had little hope that she could make out his warning above the din.
More shouts echoed in the great room: Kannice’s voice once more, and then Kelf’s thundering baritone. Ethan clawed through the crowd, pulling men out of his way, pushing between others, ignoring their protests and threats.
At last he could glimpse the combatants ahead of him, though there still were men blocking his way. The silent man remained at the center of it all, and though his first foe was nowhere to be seen, others had stepped in to take his place. Kannice still ordered the men to stop, but to no avail. And she was far too close to the fight for Ethan’s comfort.
“Kannice, get away from them!” he called to her again.
She heard him this time. Her gaze flew to his, and her eyes widened. At last it seemed to dawn on her that this was more than a simple tavern brawl.