CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Duncan’s heart sank as the treacherous blades were dutifully clicked into place, then a hand was on his shoulder. Woolford, in his captain’s uniform, pushed past. He casually set his cap on a chair. “Ensign?” he addressed the young officer who stepped past the sergeant. “It is ensign I believe?”
The officer gave a nervous nod.
“I am a captain in the king’s infantry. You are a naval ensign seconded to the Virginia water militia.” Woolford made a wide gesture toward the windows and the town beyond. “Perhaps you have noticed that you are on dry land. In the colony of Maryland.”
The ensign glanced up the stairs that led to the third-floor bedrooms. He did not take his hand off his sword.
“These men,” Woolford continued, “are irregulars under my command. What you do next is going to be one of the great decisions of your life. You can die. Or you take my order to stand down and walk away.”
Murdo spoke sharply, in Gaelic, and two of the marines lowered their muskets.
“There’s a barn across the street,” Woolford stated. “Take your men there. Leave your firearms here for now. Get some sleep. Don’t come out until I send word.”
The ensign’s hand slowly dropped from the hilt of his sword. He cast another uncertain glance up the stairs, then gave another command in a low, hoarse voice. The sergeant, his temper fueled hotter by the order, leapt forward, his bayonet aimed at Duncan’s belly, and was promptly dropped to the floor by the butt of Woolford’s pistol. His men removed their bayonets, picked up the sergeant, and followed the ensign down the stairs.
Teague was nowhere to be seen, but Duncan had lost interest in the Irishman. He and Woolford both moved toward the stairs to the third floor but Duncan held up a hand. “No. Only me.”
He quickly climbed to the next level and pushed open the only door that showed light. Sarah Ramsey stood by a table in the center of the room. A huge weight seemed to lift from his heart. But then he paused, confused by the fear on her face.
The door was slammed shut behind him and Lieutenant Kincaid stepped out of the shadows, a heavy horse pistol aimed at Duncan.
“What opportunities America provides!” Kincaid exclaimed. He pushed the latch to lock the door then cocked the pistol. “The two things Lord Ramsey wants most in all the world! His insolent daughter off to be broken by some Yorkshire bulldog and the one man he is obsessed with destroying, both right in front of me. Not dead, he told us. McCallum may be broken but not dead, that was the order if we found you. He is a man of vast appetites, your father,” Kincaid said with a glance at Sarah. The gun was fixed on Duncan’s heart. “He reads books about the Crusaders. There was a torture used by the Saracens. The death of a hundred days. The lord has read the passage to us, at more than one of his dinners. So elaborate. It involves starving and hanging by the arms on a special apparatus that will carry the weight so the shoulders don’t break right away.” Kincaid gave a high-pitched, snorting laugh. “Ingenious really. Then slices of skin are removed from the lower body, day by day. There was something about hot wires pressed into the flesh and needles thrust into the privates, under the fingernails, then in the tongue and eyes. I think he has the passage memorized, like it was his personal Gospel.”
“If you have touched her-” Duncan said in a voice savage with anger.
“Look at her!” Kincaid stepped closer, his gun still steady on Duncan as he lifted one of Sarah’s curls. “Exquisite in every detail! How could she not be touched! She’s made to be touched! Did I tell you I am to accompany her across the ocean? Adjoining cabins, though hers will be kept locked to all but me. I am authorized to administer doses to keep her quiet. Imagine that! I shall touch her, McCallum, I promise you. You’ll be strung up in some Jamaican barn, begging to die, and I will be with Miss Ramsey, doing my duty. That impoverished woolmonger, her future husband, would never complain, given the size of the dowry he is getting.”
Duncan inched forward. Sarah took a step around the table, out of Kincaid’s reach. The lieutenant ignored her and raised the pistol toward Duncan’s head. “You need to be alive,” he declared in an amused tone, “but Lord Ramsey will understand if I have to put a ball in your knee or elbow. Or perhaps both?”
“The Iroquois kept saying it was a demon god who butchered those men in the north,” Duncan said. “I never believed it was a spirit, just a man with a demon in his soul, a man like Ramsey but not Ramsey. You played the officer when convenient, even the circuit rider. But it’s the role of the demon that best suits you. Now I wonder, with all the false papers here, do you even have a commission, Kincaid?”
The lieutenant gave an amused nod. “Bought and paid for by my father, the rich shoe merchant in Manchester. And the Kraken in the Admiralty will make me a captain by the time I’m through.”
“You peeled the skin from living men. Cut off limbs.”
Kincaid shrugged. “Teague said we should practice if we wanted to play the part of Blooddancer. So we tried our tools on the drunken Iroquois who stole the mask for us. What a mess. He had already been stabbed by that damned pest of a boy, who clung to his back all the way to the river. We drowned that irritating boy then scattered that drunkard’s parts for the crows. Teague had worked in a butcher shop so he had an unfair advantage in taking off limbs. But I tried. Don’t go straight for the joints, do the tendons first, he taught me.”
“You sliced away the skin of a man just to spell a warning to us. You killed him for no reason other than to frighten us.”
“That African? Squealed like a pig.”
Sarah’s face drained of color. She backed away to the window and cracked it open as if needing fresh air to revive.
Duncan inched forward. “Is that what Ramsey plans to do in Lancaster, leave the mutilated bodies of the committeemen?”
“Of course not. A missing man on the frontier is one thing. But some might consider killing members of the legislatures of Pennsylvania and Massachusetts a bit reckless.”
Kincaid failed not only to notice the opening of the window but also the slow movement of Sarah’s hand to the little pewter porringer where red sealing wax had recently been melted. “Surely McCallum, you should give us some credit. Ramsey will show them his forged letters. Mr. Bowen is a most remarkable man. It will be a shame to kill him, but such a witness cannot be allowed to live. The handwriting on the new letters is indistinguishable from their real handwriting on the committee letters. Now that we have all the runners’ marks we can authenticate each one. Did you know those terrible gentlemen of the committees have been planning to build private arsenals against the government, to organize smuggling against the tax, even to conspire with our enemies in Paris? What entertainment we had, deciding what crimes to create! Hobart wanted to construct some intrigue between the governor’s wife and Patrick Henry, but I said mere acts of treason would suffice. With those letters Lord Ramsey could throw them all in chains, ship them to London for trial and hanging.” Kincaid paused and cocked his head at Sarah. She had made red lines on both her cheeks. He turned back to Duncan. “But of course Lord Ramsey will show his mercy. He will just keep the letters and have new puppets, new slaves in key positions in each colony. It will mean new charters for companies owned by Ramsey, new judges selected by Ramsey-”
Kincaid hesitated, looking again at Sarah, who now was whispering something toward the ceiling. Duncan took a step closer to the officer.
“Jiyathondek! Jiyathondek!” Sarah’s words came more loudly now. It was an invocation, a request for the spirits to come to witness. “Shatyykerarta!” she declared. “Enjeyeweyendane!”
Duncan’s spine went cold. They are in their graves, she had said. They will be comforted. It was a vow of retribution. He dared not rush Kincaid, for fear the pistol would discharge and hit Sarah.