And yet, in the next instant, the pain ceased. Ethan took a deep breath—he could breathe without feeling that his lungs were on fire. A warm breeze touched his face. He wanted to savor the sensation. He wanted to rest.
He forced his eyes open. Darrow loomed over him, but he was staring over his shoulder at Mackintosh. The cordwainer backed away from the man, terror in his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Darrow turned slowly, and Ethan saw that the knife Mackintosh had retrieved jutted from the conjurer’s back, just below his shoulder blade. Blood darkened the man’s coat, but only for a few seconds.
Ethan had time to shout a warning to Mackintosh, but it did little good. The blood disappeared, and Mackintosh’s coat burst into flames. The cordwainer dropped to the ground and began to roll from side to side. Adams and Otis leaped to his aid, batting at the flames with their hands.
Darrow reached back and pulled out the knife. The blood on the blade caught the firelight, and then it, too, was gone. Ethan braced himself for another assault, but it didn’t come. Darrow, he realized, had used the blood to heal the wound on his back.
Ethan drew on the fire for another illusion spell. Two, actually. With the first he sent Anna down the road. With the second, he conjured again the image of Greenleaf and the men of the watch.
The illusions advanced on Darrow with raised weapons.
“Enough of this, Ethan,” Darrow said.
He kicked Ethan’s shattered knee, and Ethan cried out. But still, Ethan held the image of the men for a moment longer, until at last he heard what he had been waiting for.
Through gritted teeth he said, “You’re right. Enough.”
Looking toward the road, he let his illusion die away. And there, to take the place of his conjured images, stood the real sheriff and his men with Mr. Pell.
“Now, Pell!” he shouted.
He heard Pell say something, saw Darrow slash at his own arm with the knife. The conjurer’s voice rang through the night and then was drowned out by the rapid blasts of four flintlock pistols.
For a second, no one spoke. No one even moved. The report of the guns echoed across the pastureland.
And then Darrow laughed. He opened his fist and held it out for all of them to see. Resting in the palm of his hand were the four lead balls fired at him by Greenleaf and the men of the watch.
“Do you understand now?” he asked of no one in particular. “Do you see at last what you’re dealing with?”
Ethan glanced at Adams and saw despair in his eyes. He let his gaze drop to the pistol lying on the ground before the man. Adams nodded.
Conflare ex ligno evocatum. Heat, conjured from wood.
It was a more difficult spell, fueled as it was by the wood of a branch rather than by mere leaves. But it made for a more powerful casting. His conjuring rumbled in the ground like thunder.
Darrow cast as well. Another warding, of course. But again, Ethan’s spell wasn’t intended for the conjurer, at least not directly.
Darrow cried out, jerking his hand back. The bullets fell to the ground, now a mass of molten lead. And at the same moment, Adams dove to the ground, grabbed his pistol, and fired.
As before, no one moved. Darrow let out another laugh, breathless with surprise. But then he fell to his knees, blood blossoming over his heart.
The stain on his coat vanished as quickly as it appeared. Even now, his face ashen, his hand shaking, the man was attempting to save himself. But a healing spell for such a wound was no trifle, and even the most skilled conjurer couldn’t maintain a warding as well.
I need blood, Ethan said silently, staring hard at Uncle Reg. The old ghost nodded and planted himself in front of Pell. At first, the minister took a step back, fear in his pale eyes. But then Reg raised a finger and made a quick slashing motion over his forearm. Pell looked past the ghost to Ethan, who nodded once.
“A knife!” the minister said.
Darrow turned his head slowly to face Ethan. Then he began to climb to his feet.
“Quickly!” Pell shouted.
Otis pulled a blade from his belt and handed it to the minister. Without a moment’s hesitation, Pell cut his forearm.
The instant he saw blood, Ethan said, “Frange! Ex cruore evocatum!” Break! Conjured from blood!
The earth shook once more. There was a sound of cracking bone—as clear as a church bell. Darrow’s head leaned to one side, his neck broken; he swayed and toppled to the ground.
The golden girl—the ghost Anna—looked at Uncle Reg and at Ethan, her eyes wide and bright. For an instant, she was merely a child: scared, alone. And then she was gone.
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
For a moment, no one moved. Adams and Otis, Mackintosh and Pell, Greenleaf and the men of the watch—all of them stared at Darrow. Adams was the first to look away. He gazed down at the pistol in his hand, and took a long, shuddering breath. Finally, as one, they turned to Ethan.
Pell hurried forward and knelt beside him.
“Where are you hurt?” the minister asked.
“It would take less time to tell you where I’m not hurt.”
Pell laughed breathlessly, sounding more relieved than amused. “Can you…?” he hesitated, glancing at the others. “Can you take care of it yourself?”
“I haven’t the strength,” Ethan said quietly, his thoughts clouded by the throbbing pain in his shoulder and knee. “And I’d rather not put on a display for the sheriff.” He looked around. “I don’t know where we are. How far are we from my home?”
“Did you just say that you don’t know where you are?” Adams said, coming forward.
“That’s right.”
Adams gestured at the tree to which Ethan had been chained. “This is the Liberty Tree, Mister Kaille. You’re on Orange Street, at Essex.”
The Liberty Tree. He had heard talk of the place. This was where Andrew Oliver had been hung in effigy, and where the first of the riots on August 14 had begun. More important, they were only a short distance from Janna’s tavern.
“There’s someone who can help me,” Ethan told Pell. “Her name is Tarijanna Windcatcher, and she owns the Fat Spider. It’s a tavern down the road toward the town gate.”
Pell started to stand. “I’ll get her.”
“No,” Ethan said, stopping him. “Send one of Greenleaf’s men. She doesn’t like ministers. She doesn’t like anyone. But she’ll help me. Tell him to use my name.”
The minister walked back to Greenleaf and his men and spoke to them in low tones. After a moment, one of the men started off down the road toward Janna’s tavern.
“Thank you,” Ethan said to Adams. “That was a fine shot. I thought you were palsied.”
“I am,” Adams said. “My penmanship is atrocious. Shooting is another matter.” He looked down at Darrow and shook his head. “Peter was a friend. I didn’t want to kill him.”
“You didn’t,” Ethan said, his voice low. “I did.” He had taken lives before, and perhaps he would again. But it would never be easy, not even when the man he killed was intent on murdering him. “And you should know that Darrow wasn’t your friend. He was a spy for supporters of Parliament and the Crown. He sought to undermine everything that you’re working for.”
Greenleaf came forward as Ethan spoke, plainly interested in what he was saying. Ethan paid no attention to him.
“He killed Jennifer Berson and three others,” he went on. “And he was perfectly willing to kill Mackintosh here, or me. Or both of you,” he said to Adams and Otis, “if it served his purposes.”
“Why did he kill them?” Pell asked.
“He was casting control spells—using his conjurings to make others do his bidding. He killed Jennifer Berson so that Mackintosh would take his mob and destroy Thomas Hutchinson’s home. He killed the girl who was found this morning to make Sheriff Greenleaf release Mackintosh from gaol. Same with the boy who died on Pope’s Day. He won Ebenezer’s release, and so won his trust.”
�
�That’s preposterous!” Greenleaf said, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.
“Is it, Sheriff?” Ethan asked. “Did you have any intention of releasing Ebenezer before this morning?”
“I…” He shook his head, his gaze falling to Darrow’s corpse. “I don’t recall,” he said at last.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Ethan said without rancor. Facing Adams again, he said, “The alliance between you and Mackintosh was a threat to him and to those he worked for. Everything he did was intended to drive the two of you apart, to break the bonds between Mackintosh’s followers and the Sons of Liberty.”
Mackintosh stared down at Darrow’s body, murder in his eyes. “You said there were four who died. Who was th’ last?”
Ethan considered this briefly. What was it Darrow had told him? No one died that day who wasn’t going to die anyway. He thought back to his conversation with Holin about the Richardson hanging—about how one of them had kicked violently when the other merely went limp.
“Ann Richardson,” he said.
Mackintosh frowned. “But—”
“She was to be executed anyway, I know. But he used her death to keep you and Swift, your North End rival, from declaring a truce. He needed the fighting to go on a while longer so that he could win you over on Pope’s Day.”
The cordwainer shook his head and glowered down at Darrow. “Bastard. He made me int’ a puppet. A toy.”
“We didn’t know, Ebenezer,” Otis said, his voice gentle. “You have my word on that.”
Mackintosh nodded, but he wouldn’t look at him.
Before Ethan could say more, the man of the watch stepped back into the ring of light, leading Janna, who had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, despite the warm night air.
“What you done t’ yourself, Kaille?”
“Hi, Janna,” Ethan said. “I’ve got a broken shoulder and a broken knee.”
“What else?”
“That’s all.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You look worse than just a broken shoulder an’ a broken knee.”
“Well, I can handle the rest.”
“What happened t’ all that mullein I gave you?”
“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.
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