Dead Man's Reach (32 page)

“All right.”

But he had to remove the knife first. If the spell didn't work fast enough, she would bleed out and die. And Ramsey had access to his power. Could the captain keep him from conjuring? Would he wait until the knife was out, and then keep Ethan from casting his spell?

“I have to pull out the knife to heal you.”

“But you said—”

“I know. I'll heal you before … It'll be all right. But it's going to hurt when I remove the blade. I need you to be strong, all right?”

He took her hand and squeezed it as he had moments before in the great room. She tried to return the gesture, but the pressure was barely perceptible.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She mouthed, “Yes.”

Ethan closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, something he hadn't done in years. Grasping the hilt of the knife, he pulled it from her chest.

Kannice let out a soft, anguished cry, her back arching. Then she sagged to the floor again. Blood pulsed from the wound, soaking her dress.

He placed his hands over the wound and said, “
Remedium ex cruore evocatum.
” Healing, conjured from blood.

The spell vibrated in the floor and in the stone of the kitchen hearth, and his hand tingled with the power of his conjuring. He glanced at Reg, who knelt beside him, concern etched in his glowing features.

“The spell is working,” Ethan said. “I can feel it.”

Reg nodded. Kannice murmured something that Ethan couldn't make out. He remained as he was for several minutes, the spell flowing through his hands into her chest, his eyes never straying from her face. But though he could feel the conjuring, he saw no improvement in her color, no strengthening of her breath.

He wore his greatcoat still, and did not dare stop to remove it. So, leaving one hand in place over her heart, he drew his knife, flipped it so that the blade landed in his palm, and wrapped his fingers around the honed edge. Then he tightened his grip on it until he felt the blade bite through his skin. Blood ran through his fingers. He dropped the knife and, placing his bloodied hand over the wound once more, spoke the healing spell a second time.

While this second conjuring still hummed in the tavern floor, the door opened again.

“How is—”

Ethan looked up. Kelf stared at him, openmouthed, murder in his eyes.

“What in the hell are you doin' to her?”

Ethan had hoped to avoid this, but he met the man's gaze steadily, never for an instant allowing his conjuring to slacken. “Close the door.”

“Not until you—”

“Close the door, Kelf.”

The barman kicked the door so that it shut with a loud bang. Ethan glanced at Kannice, but she did not stir.

“Now tell me what you're doin'.”

“I'm saving her life.”

“And how in God's name are you doin' that?”

Ethan turned his gaze back to Kannice. “I think you know.”

“Never mind what I know an' don't, I want to hear it from you. How are you savin' her?”

“It's called a healing spell. The Latin is
remedium
.” He wasn't sure why he said it—Kelf wouldn't care. Perhaps he thought that if he could explain what he did, the barkeep might accept it and put away his fear and his anger. He should have known better.

“Witchery.” Kelf said the word as if it were a curse.

Ethan shook his head. “Conjuring.”

Kelf didn't answer right away. For some time he merely stood there, looming over Ethan and Kannice. Ethan feared that he might lash out with a fist, or yank him away from Kannice. But whatever his feelings about magick, he loved Kannice nearly as much as Ethan did, and he seemed to sense that to stop Ethan would be to harm her.

“This is why you told me to leave.”

“Aye,” Ethan muttered.

“Look at me, Kaille!”

Ethan flinched. Never before had Kelf called him anything but Ethan. But he forced himself to look the barman in the eye; Kelf deserved that much. “Aye! This is why I sent you away. Because I was afraid you might try to stop me, and she was dying!”

“Does she know?”

“Aye. She has for many years. Almost since the day we met.” He hoped that this would mean something to Kelf, that it would allow the barman to move beyond his own fear and disapproval.

“How do I know you're not makin' matters worse?”

“I love her, Kelf. You've seen that I love her; that's how you know.”

“And how do I—?” Kelf straightened. “Where's all the blood? There was blood all over her, and now it's gone.”

“Aye. That's how I cast the healing spell. I need the blood to make the conjuring work.”

Kelf regarded him the way he might a leper. “Stay away from me,” he said, shaking a meaty finger at Ethan. “She might choose to have you around, but I want nothin' more to do with you.”

“I'm keeping her alive, Kelf!”

“Even so.”

He turned on his heel and yanked the door open once more.

“Kelf, wait.”

The barman halted but didn't face him.

“Say nothing to anyone else. Please. For Kannice's sake if not for mine.”

Kelf said nothing, made no gesture. He simply left the kitchen.

Alone once more, Ethan retrieved his knife with one hand and cut himself again. For a third time, he cast the healing spell, allowing the power to flow into Kannice's body. There did not seem to be any more blood flowing from the wound, and she breathed still, though her breaths were shallow. He wasn't yet ready to look at the wound; he didn't know if a third conjuring would do her any good, but he feared what he would find when at last he pulled his hands away to see what Ramsey's spells had wrought.

Ramsey's spells.

He had come here looking for Diver, and instead he had come within a blade's breadth of getting Kannice killed.

Time to choose, Kaille.

He heard the captain's warning once more, understanding at long last. This was what he had meant. Time to choose between the people who mattered to him most, between his love and his oldest, dearest friend.

He had to save Kannice's life. There had been no choice in that at all. But what was happening to Diver? What peril faced him? Ethan had not noticed any other spells in these last harrowing moments, but being so intent on Kannice, he wasn't sure that he would have.

When at last his third healing spell had run its course, Ethan removed his hands and looked through the slice in her bodice to see the skin beneath. The scar below her sternum was livid still, but the skin had closed. He laid his head on her breast and heard her heart beating, slow but strong. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. She might well have been sleeping, save for the pallor of her cheeks.

“Thank God,” he whispered, fresh tears on his face.

He stood, his knees protesting as he straightened his legs. He took a pair of towels from beside the stove, folded them, and slipped them under Kannice's head. They were a poor substitute for a pillow, but he didn't wish to move her. And, he had to admit, he didn't want others out in the tavern to see her and wonder, as Kelf had, why the blood on her dress had vanished. But if she was to remain here for now, she would need a blanket.

Ethan stepped to the door and opened it, only to find Kelf in the act of reaching for the door handle. He held a blanket in his arms.

Face-to-face with Ethan, he scowled.

“I was coming to get a blanket,” Ethan said.

“Well, here, take this one.” The barkeep thrust the blanket into Ethan's hands and walked away.

He watched Kelf move to the far end of the bar before returning to Kannice's side and laying the blanket over her. Bending closer to her, he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. It might have been his imagination, or his desperate wish to see some improvement in her condition before he left the tavern, but he thought that her skin might have felt a bit warmer.

He kissed her forehead. “I have to go,” he whispered. “I'll be back as soon as I can, and in the meanwhile, Kelf will take care of you. I love you.”

Ethan stood once more, walked out of the kitchen, and approached the barman. Kelf stiffened as Ethan approached, and would not look at him.

“What happened to the other man who was stabbed?”

“He's upstairs with a surgeon. But he lost a lot of blood.”

“And the man who stabbed him and Kannice?”

Kelf shrugged, his eyes still trained on the bar. “I took him outside, hopin' to find a man of the watch. But I couldn't—seems there's some business goin' on in the streets tonight. I even heard some lads yellin' ‘fire.' I didn't want to waste much time on him. So, in the end I left him lyin' in the street. And good riddance to him. I hope he freezes.”

Ethan would have liked to explain that it wasn't the man's fault, that he had been controlled by a spell. But he knew that Kelf wouldn't want to hear any of it, and their friendship already lay in tatters. Moreover, it sounded as though he needed to see to the other half of the “choice” Ramsey had given him.

“Where were they yelling ‘fire'?” he asked.

“I don't know. Does it matter?”

“I have to go.”

Kelf did look at him then, though only for an instant.

“Diver's in trouble, and I have to find him. Kannice should be all right now, but I don't know how long it will be before she wakes. You'll have to watch her.”

“I plan to.”

Ethan hesitated. “Kelf—”

“Diver needs your help. Go find him.”

He nodded and left.

 

Chapter

E
IGHTEEN

The wind had died away, leaving the night cold but pleasant. A quarter moon shone in a clear sky, its glow reflected off the snow to light the streets and buildings of the city. Ethan smelled no smoke in the air, but he did hear raised voices coming from several directions, and for a moment, standing outside the Dowsing Rod on Sudbury Street, he wasn't certain where he should begin his search for Diver.

It occurred to him then that Ramsey, intentionally or not, had given him a hint. If he could locate the conjurer Morrison, he might find Diver as well.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out three leaves of mullein.

“
Locus magi ex verbasco evocatus.
” Location of conjurer, conjured from mullein.

Reg, who had stayed with him as he healed Kannice, watched, appearing eager. The spell rumbled in the icy street and spread outward. Before long, Ethan felt it pool around a conjurer near Murray's Barracks only a short distance away. Ethan took a step in that direction, only to halt as his conjuring found a second speller, this one nearer the Town House.

“There are two,” he said to the ghost.

Reg nodded.

“Grant and Morrison?”

The ghost gazed back at him, offering no response.

Ethan started toward the barracks, and the nearer of the two conjurers. The closer he drew to Brattle Street, the more people he heard shouting and calling to one another. Gangs of young men rushed through the streets, most of them carrying sticks and clubs. Groups of soldiers marched in the lanes as well, their muskets fixed with bayonets. Whatever the patriots had in mind for this night, General Gage's men were taking it seriously.

Reaching the corner of Brattle Street and Hillier's Lane, Ethan saw that a large crowd had gathered in front of the barracks, pressing into the street. The bells of the Brattle Street Church began to peal. Young men taunted the soldiers and pelted them with snowballs and ice, as had the pups Ethan had seen several nights earlier. Others yelled “Fire!” and “Town-born, turn out!”

Both cries were intended to bring more men and boys out-of-doors: very useful when there was, in fact, a fire burning in the city, but folly on a night such as this, when calling more people into the street increased the danger to all.

He didn't see Morrison outside the barracks, nor did he spot Diver among the men converging on the soldiers' quarters. His trepidation mounting, Ethan turned away from the barracks and strode eastward, toward King Street and the Town House.

Before he reached the building, with its great clock tower, the bell of the Old Brick Church, on Church Square near King Street, began to toll as well, which promised to summon still more people to the gathering. He had yet to feel another conjuring, and he could see no evidence that Samuel Adams or others among the leaders of the Sons of Liberty were directing events. Rather, it seemed that circumstances themselves were conspiring to make matters ever worse.

King Street teemed with men of all ages—an even greater mob than that which had gathered at the barracks. Ethan thought that more were streaming onto the lane from Dock Square to the north. Repeated cries of “Fire!” went up all around him, and the bells at the churches continued to ring. The mob was already perilously large, and it was growing rapidly.

Ethan could barely see for all the people around him. The memory of fighting through the patrons of the Dowsing Rod to reach Kannice made his heart pound. This felt too familiar. He still did not see Diver anywhere, nor did he see Morrison. Indeed, it seemed that only one soldier stood near the Customs House—a young man who appeared terrified, and justifiably so.

Still more people joined the throng on King Street, some of them carrying buckets and other items intended to help the victims of what they truly believed to be a fire. They seemed bemused by what they saw in the lane. Several men pulled a pair of fire engines onto the street and set them in front of the Town House.

Others, however, clearly had known that this was no fire. They arrived on the street carrying weapons—mostly cudgels, although a few bore cutlasses and even broadswords. Ethan heard glass shatter, and straining to see over the heads of those around him, realized that some of the men were attacking the Brazen Head tavern, which belonged to William Jackson, a well-known violator of the nonimportation agreements.