He ate two bowls and though he still wondered about the spell he had felt, he also had to admit that it was better to be inside by the fire than out in the rain and wind. He shifted his chair closer to the hearth and sipped a glass of Madeira that Kelf had poured for him. Kannice had given him the chowder, as she so often did, but Ethan insisted on paying for his wine. He rarely allowed himself such luxuries, but the drink warmed him, calmed his head.
Having spoken with Geoffrey, he felt for the first time in days as though he had the advantage on Simon Gant. He might not have been able to find the man again on his own, but soon Brower would have the sheriff looking for Gant as well. During their few encounters, Gant had not exactly distinguished himself with his intelligence; he wouldn’t be able to evade capture for long. Ethan had to hope that the Crown’s men found the smuggler before Sephira did.
But this new spell gave him pause. Perhaps he had been wrong to get Diver involved in his affairs. Sephira was dangerous enough. But sending Diver out to do business with a conjurer had been damned stupid, even if that conjurer felt more comfortable with a pistol in his hand than with blood on his arm. He would tell Diver so tonight, as soon as his friend came in from the wharves.
As he sipped the wine and stared at the flames, he heard the tavern door open behind him. He glanced back and saw a British officer shaking the rain off his cloak and hat. Turning once more to the fire, he settled back into his chair and stretched his legs out before him.
It was only when he heard the officer speaking to Kannice, and asking for him, that Ethan turned again.
“Mister Kaille!” the man said.
Ethan stood. “Doctor Rickman.”
The surgeon crossed the great room in three long strides and shook Ethan’s hand.
“I hadn’t thought to see you again,” Ethan said. He pulled a chair away from the nearest table and set it opposite his own. “Can I buy you a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you,” the doctor said, lowering himself into the chair. “You’re a most difficult man to find. I’ve been to your home, and was sent here by the cooper.”
“Well, I’m glad you found me.” He allowed a conspiratorial smile to touch his lips. “I spoke yesterday with a friend of yours.”
Rickman looked puzzled. “Oh?”
“He claims you as a friend, anyway. Although, I don’t think you would want anyone in military uniform to hear him do so.”
The doctor’s face went white. “He should know better,” he said in a whisper.
“He did his best to be discreet,” Ethan said. “I guessed that he referred to you, based on our conversations at Castle William.”
Rickman exhaled through his teeth, calming himself with a visible effort. “Well, I suppose I ought to blame myself as much as Samuel.”
“I didn’t mean to trouble you so.”
The doctor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve come about something far more important.”
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I have questions for you first. Using your-” He glanced back toward the bar. “Your abilities,” he said, whispering again, “could you bring a dead man back to life?”
Ethan shuddered, as if someone had dripped icy cold water down his spine. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t, and I don’t know of any conjurer who could. I’ve seen conjurings used to take lives, but never to restore them.”
“Well, could one of your kind use witchery to mimic death, to make himself appear dead, so that he might revive himself later?”
“Doctor, tell me what’s happened.”
“A second body is missing from among the dead of the Graystone. He was there when last I visited Castle William two nights ago, still in the vaults with the others. But by this morning he had vanished.”
“Who?” Ethan asked. But of course he knew already.
“One of the conjurers you pointed out to me. Caleb Osborne.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Did someone come to the island?” Ethan asked. “Is it possible that Simon Gant was there?”
“Who is-?”
“The man who was missing. The first one,” Ethan added. “Was he there, perhaps with a group of regulars, so that no one would notice him?”
“I don’t think so,” the doctor said. “The regulars are all garrisoned in the city, at least for now.”
“Has anyone else visited the island? Anyone at all?”
“Naval officers, the commissioners from the Customs Board, the governor and lieutenant governor. But really that’s all.”
“Assuming that Osborne could feign death as you suggest, could he have left the fort? Did any boats leave during the night?”
“Not that I know of. But if he was capable of the rest, surely he could have swum from the island. The distance to Boston is great, but it’s less than a mile to Dorchester Point.”
Ethan dragged a hand over his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that a man might escape Castle William in that way, but of course the doctor was right. The air had turned cold, but the Atlantic waters held their warmth well into autumn, even this far north.
“Damn,” he muttered. He had never heard of a conjurer faking his or her own death in this way, but he couldn’t say for certain whether it was impossible. He could think of only one person in the city who knew spellmaking well enough to tell him that. “I need you to come with me to the Neck,” he said to the doctor.
“Why?”
“There’s a woman there-another conjurer. She’ll be able to tell us if any of this is possible. And she might have questions for you that I can’t answer.”
Rickman nodded. “Yes, all right.”
Ethan stood and reached for his waistcoat and coat. They were still damp, though the fire had warmed them.
“Where are you going?” Kannice asked, coming out into the room from behind the bar.
“We have to get to Janna’s,” Ethan told her.
“What’s happened?”
He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. That’s why I need to speak with her.”
Kannice glanced at Rickman, her expression wary, even hostile. “He’s with the army?” she asked.
“He’s a ship’s surgeon in the navy. Do you remember who I went to see first thing yesterday morning?”
Kannice’s brow creased. “You mean Mister A-”
“Yes,” Ethan said. “The doctor is a friend of his, though few know it. Do you understand?”
She regarded Rickman again, considering him anew. “Yes, of course.”
“I’ll be back. If Diver comes in, tell him to wait for me.”
“I will,” Kannice said.
Ethan took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“I don’t like the places this job is taking you,” Kannice whispered. “Be careful.”
He nodded, then led Rickman out of the tavern and into the cold rain.
They walked in silence for some distance, both with heads bowed. Ethan hunched his shoulders against the elements, his hands buried in his pockets. Rickman held his black tricorn hat in place with one hand, and secured his collar with the other. The sky had darkened, and a chilling mist had settled over the city, shifting constantly, swept along streets and alleys by gusts of wind. The smell of wood fires mingled with the cool scent of rain and the mustiness of fallen leaves: autumn in Boston.
They passed the Manufactory, where all was now quiet. A few of the second-floor windows glowed with candlelight, and the building’s brick exterior glistened with rain, so that the stone itself seemed to be bleeding. But most of the regulars had withdrawn and the crowd had dispersed. A small company of soldiers still stood nearby, eyeing the Manufactory, their uniforms sodden and their expressions sullen. Ethan wondered how long Brown could hold out before the British returned in greater numbers and resorted to more forceful means of taking the building.