While the soldiers held him up, the officer removed Ethan’s gag and tossed it aside.
“Who are you?” Ethan asked, his voice sounding like steel scraped across stone.
“Lieutenant Colonel William Dalrymple,” the man said. “Until General Gage arrives, I command the British army here in Boston.”
Ethan nodded, though even that hurt. He remembered at last. The officer he had seen at the Manufactory the day before, the one who had spoken to Elisha Brown.
“I saw you yesterday,” Ethan said. “You were trying to find quarters for your soldiers.”
Dalrymple glowered. “I still am.”
“And why are you here?”
“That’s a fine question, Mister Kaille. I have no earthly idea. But it seems that you have more powerful friends than one might expect of a man who just spent the night in Boston’s gaol.”
“So, I’m free to go?”
Dalrymple shook his head. “Not yet you’re not. The lieutenant governor would like a word with you.”
Ethan knew that he should have been prepared for this, but still he sighed, closing his eyes against another wave of pain in his back and chest.
“Help him out, lads,” Dalrymple said to the soldiers.
“No.”
Ethan got his feet under him and straightened, gently trying to pull his arms from the soldiers’ grasp. The men looked to the lieutenant colonel, who nodded once. They released him, and Ethan swayed, but remained upright. He staggered to the foul-smelling hole beneath the window and relieved himself at long last. When he had finished, he buttoned his breeches, turned, and walked out of the cell, the two soldiers ahead of him and Dalrymple behind.
The Town House stood less than a city block from the prison. But to Ethan the walk seemed interminable. Every step was agony and though he had hoped that his muscles would loosen as he walked, they didn’t. He hardly saw where he was going and took little note of those who watched him stumble past with his impressive escort. He entered the building in a haze of pain, and somehow managed to climb the marble stairs to the second floor.
Dalrymple and his men escorted him to Hutchinson’s courtroom, pausing just outside the oaken door. The colonel slipped into the chambers, leaving Ethan and the soldiers in the corridor. Ethan said nothing, and the men avoided his gaze. Sooner than Ethan expected, Dalrymple opened the door once more.
“This way,” he said, beckoning Ethan inside.
Ethan hobbled into the courtroom.
Hutchinson looked much as he had a few days earlier. He wrinkled his nose at Ethan’s appearance and then waved Dalrymple toward the door.
The colonel hesitated, glancing toward Ethan before letting himself out of the chamber.
“You’ve been the subject of a good many conversations this morning, Mister Kaille,” Hutchinson said, regarding Ethan over steepled fingers. “I’ve heard from Geoffrey Brower of the Customs Board, as well as Captain Preston, and one of his men-a Jonathan Fowler? — and the ship’s surgeon from the Launceston. Doctor Ricker, I believe.”
“Rickman, sir.”
Annoyance flickered in the man’s eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Rickman. I’ve even had a written message championing your cause from no less a personage than the Reverend Henry Caner. Perhaps you’d care to tell me why all these people should be so interested in the arrest of one thieftaker.”
“I think you can answer that question yourself, Your Honor. We’ve spoken of my inquiry; you know the work I’ve been doing on behalf of the Crown.”
“Indeed. I also know that all this ‘work’ has yet to yield any results of consequence.”
“That’s not-”
“In fact,” Hutchinson went on, “as I understand it, another man is dead. Is this true?”
Ethan knew in that moment that he hadn’t been brought here as a precursor to his release. Hutchinson meant to follow through on the threats he had made a few days before. As far as he was concerned, Ethan had already failed.
“Well?” the lieutenant governor said.
“Aye, Your Honor. Simon Gant is dead.”
“And do you know who killed him?”
“I believe he was killed by a man named Caleb Osborne, but I can’t prove that yet.”
“No,” Hutchinson said, his tone dry. “Of course you can’t. As I’m sure you know, Sheriff Greenleaf is quite certain that you are the guilty party.”
“Sheriff Greenleaf is wrong.”
“Sheriff Greenleaf gets results. He speaks of evidence, of motive.” Hutchinson’s glance fell to the fading bruises on Ethan’s jaw. “You have nothing to show for the time I’ve given you. Nothing, that is, save for one more corpse. I’m afraid you’re out of time.”
“No!” Ethan said. “You gave me five days! I still have two in which to find Osborne!”
“Not anymore.”
“You gave me your word!”
“This city is under occupation!” Hutchinson said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “I haven’t the luxury of two days! Already soldiers are deserting, and the Lord knows what Samuel Adams and his mob have in store for us! I need to billet Gage’s men and ruffians continue to occupy the Manufactory! And all the while men are dying, victims of all manner of devilry! You dare to speak of me keeping my word? Damn your two days!”
“And so your solution is to mete out punishment on a whim! To hang men and women who have done nothing wrong, and whose deaths will do nothing to end these killings!”
“What choice do I have? You’re asking me to place my trust in a witch!”
“It is not witchcraft! It is spellmaking-I’m a conjurer-and the mere fact that you don’t understand what I do doesn’t make it wicked! Killing me would be foolhardy. Killing Janna and the others would be criminal!”
Hutchinson’s face had turned crimson. No doubt he was unaccustomed to having people speak to him so. Ethan couldn’t have cared less.
“Well, if not them, perhaps you can give me someone else,” the man said, his voice tight.
“What do you mean?”
“Think, man. What else would I mean?”
Ethan was slow to understand, though once it dawned on him what the lieutenant governor was saying, he realized that he should have guessed right away. “You want Adams and Otis,” he said, a sick feeling in his gut. “That’s who you’ve wanted all along.”
“Brower tells me that you met with Samuel Adams the morning the occupation began.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re in our employ. Agents of the Crown came to you seeking your help with this matter of the Graystone. And I would like to know why you felt it necessary to seek out the one man in Boston most likely to be behind it all.”
“You’ve answered your own question, Your Honor. How could I not speak with Adams about this, knowing as I did how concerned he would have been about the presence of the fleet in Boston Harbor?”
Hutchinson frowned at this, but he didn’t argue the point. Instead he asked, “And what did you learn from your conversation?”
“That he had nothing to do with what happened to your ship.”
“I think you mean our ship. As I recall you were once a navy man yourself, and we are all subjects of His Majesty King George the Third.”
“Of course,” Ethan said.
“So, Adams told you he had done nothing wrong and you took him at his word.”
“Aye. I believe he told me the truth.”
A bark of laughter escaped the lieutenant governor, scornful and dismissive. “Either you’re a hopeless naif, or you’re working with him.”
“I’m neither, sir. I’m trying to find a conjurer. I don’t care about your politics or Sephira Pryce’s treasure hunt or anything else for that matter. I want to solve this mystery, preferably before I’m killed or arrested again. And then I want to be done with it.”