He nodded again, bile rising in his throat. He took hold of Diver’s arm where Warren had indicated and stared at the wall opposite where he stood. A portrait hung there: a young woman, pretty, dressed in a blue satin gown. Ethan wondered if this was Warren’s wife. Whoever she was, he refused to tear his gaze from her.
Still, keeping his eyes averted helped only so much. He could hear it all. The quiet ring of metal tools, the soft shudder of a blade carving through muscle and skin, and worst of all, the horrific rattle of that sawblade on bone. Tears slid down his cheeks and his pulse pounded in his ears. The procedure seemed to take forever, and yet it ended abruptly, sooner than Ethan expected.
“Don’t look yet,” Warren said, though out of the corner of his eye Ethan saw him take up the bandages. “But you can release the arm.”
Doing so felt like the most evil of betrayals.
Forgive me, Diver.
And then another thought: Ramsey, you will pay for this in blood and torment.
“Why don’t you step outside, Mister Kaille. I’ll join you there shortly.”
Without speaking a word, Ethan left the house. The cold air was a mercy, and he took a long, unsteady breath. Church bells continued to peal, echoing up and down the deserted lane. Ethan listened for musket fire, but heard none. He glanced up at the sky, bright with stars and moonlight, and tried to summon a prayer for Diver and for Kannice, tried to feel the Lord’s presence, just as he had when he was a boy in Bristol, standing with his parents and sisters in the cathedral there. But he felt naught but anguish and fury and heartache.
He stood thus for a long time, until at last the door opened behind him and Warren joined him on the ice-covered walk that led from the house.
“He’s resting. I don’t imagine he’ll wake for some time. My wife and children won’t be home this evening. Samuel feared violence this night, and suggested that our families lodge elsewhere. So, he can remain here, but if he does wake, he’ll probably be alone. I’d like to move him, but I dare not so soon after the surgery.”
“I understand. He lives near here, on Pudding Lane. Perhaps tomorrow we can see him back to his room.” If I survive the night.
“That would be fine. I’ll check in on him when I can.” The doctor hesitated. “What you did in there-earlier, I mean … I know that we didn’t save his arm, but your powers are most remarkable. I heard you say something as you … as you conjured.”
“It was Latin,” Ethan said, weary beyond measure. “Roughly translated, it means ‘healing conjured from blood.’”
“I have others to whom to attend this evening. I could use your help.”
Ethan took another long breath. “Diver is a friend, Doctor Warren. He’s known me for many years. He trusts me, and the power I wield. And you’re a learned man who is more accepting of … phenomena with which you are unfamiliar than most would be. There are some who would rather die or lose a loved one than be healed by what they consider witchery.”
“I doubt that.”
“I assure you it’s true. I know as well that there are many who would see me hanged before they allowed me to cast a healing spell.”
Warren grimaced. “That I believe.”
“Will you also believe that I have other matters to which to attend this night that are every bit as important as healing the wounded? I seek to prevent more deaths and injuries.”
“Very well, Mister Kaille,” the doctor said, but he sounded disappointed.
“You have my deepest thanks for all that you did for him.” Ethan dug into his pocket. “I have a pound or two-”
“No,” Warren said, his tone brooking no argument. “Not for this wound, not on this night. There will be a price to pay in blood and death before all is said and done. But I’ll not make coin from it.”
“Again, my thanks.”
“We should move him back to the sofa. He’ll be more comfortable there.”
Ethan followed the doctor back into the house, his legs leaden. Reaching the dining room, he faltered in midstep, his gaze falling to the bandage that covered what was left of Diver’s arm. It was stark white, save for a small circle of crimson staining the center, like a target.
“He’s better off now than he was when you brought him here,” Warren said. “Please believe that.”
Ethan didn’t answer. They moved Diver to the sofa, and Warren laid a blanket over him. Ethan didn’t want to leave, but he knew as well that there was nothing more he could do. And what he had done had been woefully inadequate.
You saved his life. Kannice’s voice.
I cost him his arm.
He thanked the good doctor one last time and let himself out of the house.
Glancing once more at the night sky, Ethan headed back toward the Dowsing Rod to see how Kannice fared. He knew that he couldn’t remain there long, but he had to see her. And after that, he had other places to go.
This deadly night was far from over.
Chapter Nineteen
Church bells pealed all across the town-not only at the Brattle Street and Old Brick churches, but, it seemed, from every sanctuary in Boston. Ethan saw others hurrying through the city streets, their heads lowered, their expressions uneasy, their gazes darting furtively. But no one spoke a word, not of vengeance or resistance or even mourning. Aside from the tolling of bells, a strained silence had settled over the lanes and shops and houses. Grief and rage, apprehension and anticipation-the emotions of thousands seemed to hang like a low storm cloud in the chill air.
As Ethan trudged along the icy street from Warren’s house back toward the Dowsing Rod, he began to tremble, his mind reeling, his chest tight.
For the second time in as many weeks, people had died in the streets of his city. Diver has lost his arm.
And once again the spell that caused all of this had been sourced in his power. Never mind that Ramsey was responsible; the captain was wielding him as if he were nothing more than a weapon, insensate, without will of his own. He was too weak, too ignorant of the conjuring Ramsey was using. Due to his failure people had died, just as had Christopher Seider on Middle Street.
Ethan halted in the center of Queen Street, swaying, his hands covering his face. A sob escaped him, but no tears fell from his eyes. He took several quick, deep breaths, trying to compose himself, knowing that he could not afford to give in to his frustration and sense of helplessness.
Because not only had he allowed Ramsey to use him to kill, he had also allowed the captain to strike at Kannice, and at Diver. And, he knew, Ramsey would make the attempt again. He would see to it that everyone Ethan loved died, and then he would kill Ethan as well. The man was mad, cruel, brilliant, and bent on revenge.
“Where are you, Ramsey?” Ethan bellowed at the sky.
Others on the street halted and gaped at him. Ethan didn’t care.
“Show yourself, you son of a bitch! Come out in the open where I can see your face before I kill you!”
The echo of his words died away, leaving only the murmur of lowered voices and the muffled beat of footsteps. Ethan glanced around. Those who still watched him averted their eyes at the touch of his gaze.
He started walking again, his hands shaking, his heart beating like a war drum. But with each step he took, his pulse slowed, and his hands stilled. There would be time later to mourn and reflect on all that Ramsey had done with his power. For now, he needed to see that Kannice was all right. After that, he would resume his hunt for the captain.
When he reached the Dowsing Rod, he found that the door was locked. He pounded on the wood with a gloved fist and waited.
He heard heavy footsteps and the click of the lock. The door swung open, revealing Kelf, implacable and huge, his cleaver in hand. The barkeep glared at him and didn’t move.