“I used it.”
Janna shook her head, scowling at him. But then she sat down on the grass beside him. “Go ahead and cut yourself.”
His eyes darted toward the sheriff and then back to hers: a warning. Janna twisted around and looked back at Greenleaf, then dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “He’s gonna need more than three men if he wan’s t’ take me in.”
Ethan would have laughed had he not been so weary and in so much pain. He caught Pell’s eye and beckoned him over. The minister eyed Janna warily, but handed Ethan Otis’s knife. And after Ethan cut his forearm, Janna dabbed blood on his shoulder and began to heal his broken bones.
She didn’t speak her spell aloud, or indicate in any way that she had cast. But the ground began to hum, and the pale blue ghost of an old African woman appeared at her shoulder, her face a mirror image of Janna’s. Cool healing power flowed over Ethan’s tender shoulder like spring rain, and after several moments, the pain began to abate. He took a long breath and exhaled slowly.
“Better?” Janna asked.
“Much.”
She had him cut himself again and poured still more healing power into his shoulder before turning her talents to his shattered knee. By the time she had finished with that, Ethan’s forearm was raw and sore, but he could walk again.
“Thank you, Janna,” he said. “Again, I’m in your debt.”
She got to her feet, moving stiffly. “Yeah, you are,” she said, and walked off into the night, back toward her tavern.
Pell stood nearby, speaking with the sheriff, as did Adams, Mackintosh, and Otis. The men of the watch spoke in low tones among themselves, eyeing Ethan from a distance. Ethan stood slowly, wincing at the pain in his joints. Janna’s healing spells had taken the edge off his pain, but his shoulder and knee still throbbed, as he had known they would. His bad leg didn’t feel much better, and his entire body ached from all that Darrow had done to him this night and earlier in the day. He felt older than his age. Much older.
Seeing that Ethan was up, Pell and the others joined him in the firelight.
“Are you all right?” Pell asked.
“I will be. Thank you.” Ethan looked at Adams, Mackintosh, Otis, and even Greenleaf. “All of you. He would have killed me if you hadn’t come.”
“All the credit goes to your young friend here,” Adams said, indicating Pell with an open hand. “He came to us saying that you were in trouble.”
Pell flushed. “I only did what Ethan told me to. I lingered by the Green Dragon, looking for the two of you and for Darrow. When I saw him, he was acting strangely, so I followed. Eventually I realized that he had you, Ethan. Once I figured out where he was taking you, I went back for Mister Adams and Mister Otis.”
“Well,” Ethan said, “I think you’ll make a fine thieftaker if you ever decide to give up the ministry. Wouldn’t you agree, Sheriff?”
“I suppose,” Greenleaf said. He still looked shaken and unsure of himself. Ethan had never been the object of a controlling spell-though he had come close in the past day. He could only imagine how disconcerting it would feel.
“I should have listened t’ you, Mister Kaille,” Mackintosh said. “You tried t’ warn me about him.”
“Did you warn him about us, too?” Adams asked.
Mackintosh glared. “Wha’s tha’ mean?”
“We were ready to let you hang for the Berson murder,” Adams told him. “And for what had been done to Hutchinson’s house. We feared that your actions would do irreparable harm to our cause.” He nodded toward Otis. “As James said, we had no idea that Darrow was making you do these things. He sought to divide us, and so to weaken the cause of liberty. And he nearly succeeded. You have my sincere apology, Ebenezer.”
Mackintosh didn’t answer. Darrow’s fire had burned low, but still Ethan could see that the cordwainer’s jaw had tensed and his gaze had hardened. After a moment, he turned to Ethan.
“Good nigh’, Mister Kaille. If you ever have need o’ anything at all, you come see me. I’ll take care o’ you.” He glared once more at Adams and Otis, and stalked away.
“Peter may have succeeded after all,” Otis said, watching him go.
But Adams shook his head. “He’s angry now, as he should be. But he’ll come around. He understands the importance of what we fight for.”
Ethan wasn’t so certain, but he kept his doubts to himself.
Adams extended a hand, which Ethan gripped. “You have our gratitude, Mister Kaille. I wonder if you wouldn’t reconsider joining our cause. You know now that what happened the night of the twenty-sixth was not what it appeared. We could use a man of your talents and courage.”
“I’m a subject of the British Empire, Mister Adams.”
“As am I, sir. But I also recognize that our relationship with Parliament and the Crown cannot continue as it has. Mark my word, matters will only get worse.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll see to that.”
Otis bristled. Ethan thought Adams might, too. But the man seemed unaffected by what Ethan had said.
“Our liberties are sacred. They’re a gift from God. And if Grenville and King George refuse to recognize this, I can hardly be blamed for holding them accountable.” He pocketed his pistol. “In any case, you will always be welcomed as a friend in our struggle, even if you don’t yet understand that it is your struggle as well.”
“Darrow called you a visionary,” Ethan said, before Adams could leave.
The man smiled sadly. “Did he?”
“What did he mean?”
Adams shrugged. “I would guess he meant that I see where all of this will lead.” He glanced at Otis, but then faced Ethan again. “Few speak of separation now.”
“Separation of the colonies from England, you mean?”
“That’s right. People aren’t ready to hear of it. But it is coming; we’re merely laying the foundation, working out what liberty might mean in a new nation. Peter knew this as well as I. I suppose he didn’t approve.”
“And he betrayed you because of it. Don’t you worry that others will do the same?”
“No,” Adams said. “I know for certain that they will. What should I do? Give up?” He shook his head. “Any noble cause will encounter its share of setbacks. The strength of that cause is measured in how the men who fight for it respond. We refuse to give up, which is why we will prevail eventually.” Adams smiled once more. “Good night, Mister Kaille,” he said, and walked away.
Otis nodded to Ethan and Pell, and followed Adams.
Ethan wanted to leave as well, but Greenleaf still had questions for him; he should have expected as much. He was more weary than he could ever remember, and wanted only to sleep. But he beckoned the man over and told him what he could of all Darrow had done. He skirted around the edges of the truth at times, taking care not to say too much about conjuring. He sensed that his answers served only to frustrate the sheriff more, but in the end there was little Greenleaf could do to him. Pell and the others had already made it clear that Ethan had been tortured; Darrow’s death could hardly be seen as anything other than self-defense.
“What do we do with his body?” the sheriff asked at last, as Ethan started to leave.
“What?”
“His body. He was a witch, wasn’t he? That’s what I gather from all you’ve said. Do we cut off his head or something?”
Ethan looked back at Darrow one last time. “No, nothing like that. Just bury him.” He turned to the minister. “Come on. I’ll walk with you back to your church.”
“Are you well enough?” Pell asked.
“I think so.”
They didn’t say much as they walked along the moonlit street. Ethan’s legs ached, and he was too weary to make conversation. Pell seemed to understand. But when they reached King’s Chapel, the minister slowed, his expression troubled. He pulled up his sleeve and examined the bloodless gash on his forearm.
“Does it hurt?” Ethan asked.
The minister shook his head. “No. It did when I cut myself, but then you cast your spell and… It felt odd.” He glanced at Ethan. “I’m not sure I liked it.”