Geoffrey sighed again, sounding more like a spoiled boy than a customs agent. “All right,” he said, and climbed down into the hold.
With Geoffrey gone, Ethan turned once more to the soldiers. He walked the length of the deck on the starboard side and back the other way on the port side. All told he counted twenty-four regulars and one army officer.
As he started toward the hatch leading down to the hold, Geoffrey emerged once more, looking pale, his face covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
“There were eight more down there. That makes fourteen total.”
“That matches what’s on the manifest,” Ethan said.
“As I would have expected.”
Ignoring the comment, Ethan went below. It didn’t take him long to find the other three army officers in their hammocks. Satisfied that all the commissioned men were accounted for, he began to work his way through the hold, counting soldiers. But he knew that Geoffrey had been right: He was wasting his time. All the officers and crew were here on the ship. The regulars would be, too.
Except that they weren’t.
There should have been forty-nine soldiers belowdecks. He counted forty-eight. He counted them twice more and reached the same total each time. At last he went back onto the deck and counted the men up there a second time. Twenty-four. He read through the manifest again, searching for any other notations of soldiers lost in transit to Boston. But there were none.
“How many regulars do you see up here?” Ethan asked.
Brower stood and turned a slow circle. “Twenty or so, I’d say.”
“No, I need you to count them.”
Geoffrey made no effort to hide his displeasure, but he walked a swift circle around the deck, halting by Ethan.
“Twenty-four.”
“Please make a count below as well.”
“Now, see here, Ethan-”
“Do it! Or would you rather I mentioned to Lieutenant Senhouse how unconcerned you seem with the loss of life on this ship? I don’t imagine your friends at Customs would look kindly on such callousness on your part.”
Brower glowered at him, and Ethan glared right back.
Geoffrey was the first to look away. He went back to the hatch, muttering to himself and sending a filthy look Ethan’s way before vanishing from view.
While Geoffrey searched the hold, Ethan checked the wardroom and captain’s cabin again, just in case the missing regular had died in either chamber. He found only the officers he had seen earlier.
Geoffrey was waiting for him on deck when he stepped out of Waite’s cabin.
“Forty-eight,” Geoffrey said, his tone bitter. “Would you care to tell me what this is about?”
“One of the regulars is missing.”
Brower’s eyes went wide. “What? That’s impossible.”
Ethan held out the manifest. “Have a look yourself. The Graystone left Halifax with seventy-four soldiers. One died on the way here. That should leave seventy-three, but we can only find seventy-two. This may be why the purser had the manifest out in the first place. A man is missing.”
“Perhaps another man died and the commander and purser both neglected to make note of it.”
Ethan shook his head. “I’ve been at sea, and I can tell you that no commander worth his salt would fail to note the death of a passenger or crewman. Besides, look at that manifest. It’s as detailed as any I’ve seen. No, if another man had died before this morning, it would say so there.”
“So, are you suggesting that the missing soldier killed all these men?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that one of the regulars is missing.”
Geoffrey looked down at the nearest of the dead regulars. “Damn,” he muttered. “We have to tell Senhouse. And I expect he’ll have to speak with Gell.” He glanced Ethan’s way again. “I think you’ve just assured yourself of a late night.”
Ethan had no doubt that he was right.
* * *
Senhouse returned to the Graystone a short time later with a second naval officer and several crewmen. The naval officer, Dr. William Rickman, was the surgeon on board the Launceston and had been sent to certify the deaths of those aboard the ship. The crew had been sent to help Senhouse sail the Graystone to Castle William. In all likelihood, Senhouse had prepared the men for what awaited them on the ship because they managed in short order to hoist anchor, unfurl the sails, and get the ship under way. A few times, Ethan spotted one of them staring at the dead, but for the most part they kept to their work.
The doctor enlisted Ethan and Geoffrey’s help in arranging the dead at the stern; grim work to be sure, but neither of them complained.
After some time, though, Ethan excused himself and approached the quarterdeck to speak with Senhouse of the missing soldier.
The lieutenant managed to conceal his dismay at Ethan’s discovery although he did pull out his kerchief and mop his brow. His hand appeared to tremble.
“Well, this certainly complicates matters,” he said, his voice low.
He paused to mark the ship’s progress toward the island and to shout a command to the crewman at the wheel. “I’ll have to inform Captain Gell,” he went on. “But I expect he’ll want us to to identify all of the dead and compare their names with those on the manifest. He’ll want this other man found. Frankly, I want him found, too, regardless of whether he’s our killer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you stay on with us at Castle William?”
“Stay on with you?” Ethan said.
“I’d like you to work with Doctor Rickman. I don’t know yet if it will be possible to identify these men without making it known to every other soldier in their regiment that they’re dead. But I’m sure that the doctor will need every bit of help he can get.”
Ethan stared off toward Castle William, which loomed large before them. The fortress dominated the island, rising from a mound of stone, austere and formidable. The king’s colors flew above it, the blue, red, and white gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. Somehow, Ethan realized, as he watched the flag snapping in the wind, he had allowed himself to be drawn into a matter of the British navy, something he had vowed after Toulon never to do again. And yet ninety-eight men were dead-or at least ninety-seven were. How could he refuse Senhouse’s request?
“If you can feed and house me for the night, I’ll be happy to do what I can for the doctor.”
Senhouse actually smiled, looking so relieved that Ethan had to smile as well. “Thank you, Mister Kaille.”
A short time later, they docked at Castle Island. Soon Ethan, the soldiers, and even the officers were carrying bodies off the ship and up into the fortress. It was backbreaking, depressing work that grew ever more unsettling as the skies darkened overhead.
The fleet commander had ordered that the dead be kept as far from the barracks as possible, and so Ethan and the others carried the men from the island’s wharf, past the smith’s shop and garden sheds, to the underground vaults that were set aside for food and munitions storage in the unlikely event of a siege. By using the north entrance to the vaults they were able to avoid the barracks, which lay at the south end of the parade.
Stars had begun to appear in the sky when Ethan and Dr. Rickman carried the last of the bodies through the garden toward the vault. The air had turned cold, but still Ethan had sweated through his shirt and waistcoat. He and the doctor said little as they worked. Ethan could just make out faint strains of song in the distance, but he thought little of it until a sudden explosion overhead startled him so, he almost dropped the man he was helping Rickman carry.
“What in God’s name was that?” he demanded.
Before the doctor could answer, another blast illuminated the fortress grounds and was met with cheers.
“They’re celebrating the coming occupation,” Rickman said.
“Who are?”
“The soldiers out on the harbor. Haven’t you heard the singing?”