“This attack-it involved witchery?”
“I have your word that you’ll speak of this with no one?” Ethan asked.
“You do.”
“Yes, it involved a conjuring.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
Ethan faltered, unsure once more of how much he could say. Geoffrey wouldn’t have been pleased to know that he was talking to Adams about any of this. Neither, he assumed, would Senhouse. He was less certain about Rickman. But as much as he disapproved of Adams’s tactics he realized in that instant that he trusted the man.
“Men died, sir. Dozens of them.”
Adams looked at him, a pained expression on his face. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” He shook his head, facing forward again. “No, my colleagues and I didn’t do this. We would have had no part in such an attack. You may not have approved of our tactics in combatting the Stamp Tax back in sixty-five, but if you know anything about the Sons of Liberty you know that we have pursued our goals through legal means whenever possible.”
Ethan didn’t point out that street riots and destruction of personal property were not, strictly speaking, “legal means.” He and Adams had long disagreed on where one might locate the line between civil action and criminality. Instead he asked, “Are there members of the Sons of Liberty who are conjurers? That you know of, that is.”
“No,” Adams said. “I’m not sure that I would know if there were, but I’ve neither seen nor heard anything that would give me reason to suspect … As I recall, you don’t like it to be called witchcraft.”
“No, sir. We refer to it as spellmaking, or conjuring, or casting.”
“Well, I’ve not seen any sign of those things.”
They had come to the South Battery, which offered a clear view of the harbor and Long Wharf. The entirety of the British fleet, save for the Graystone, had been positioned around the pier, broadsides facing the city and soldiers manning their cannons. A battle ship-a sixth-rate ship of the line-had joined the fleet overnight, making the royal presence that much more formidable.
“Look at that,” Adams said, gazing out at the vessels and looking stricken. “This is how Parliament responds to legal petitions and reasonable pleas for relief.” He shook his head once more. “No, we would not resort to violence. We’ll meet this challenge with more boycotts, more petitions. Either they’ll listen or … or they won’t. Regardless of what they do we as a people will need to decide what our next recourse might be.”
“Last time,” Ethan said gently, “it wasn’t you who resorted to violence, but an agent of the Crown. Could that have happened again? Is there someone new in your circle, someone who might have betrayed you?”
That of all things made Adams smile. “Not this time, no. In fact, right now we have an ally in the king’s own military of whom agents of the Crown are completely unaware, not because he lies in hiding, but because while in plain view he wears the face of a loyal British officer.”
“You have a spy?” Ethan asked, not quite believing him.
“Not a spy, no. He’s a naval officer who serves aboard one of the ships. But he sympathizes with our struggle against tyranny. Before all is said and done I expect he will join our cause.”
“A naval officer,” Ethan repeated, recalling a conversation from the previous day. “A surgeon perhaps?”
Adams couldn’t have looked more surprised if Ethan had declared himself sovereign of all Britain. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Doctor Rickman?”
The man glanced around, genuine fear in his eyes. One might have thought he saw representatives of the King and Parliament lurking at every street corner. “Mister Kaille, I must insist that you tell me how you’ve come to know this!”
“It was a guess, sir. That’s all. You have my word. I met Rickman at Castle William, and he warned me that the occupation would begin shortly. He struck me as … well, as someone who didn’t approve of Parliament’s tactics. I assure you, I haven’t mentioned to anyone the conversation I had with him.”
Adams stared hard at Ethan, fresh appraisal in his eyes. “I believe you must be a very good thieftaker.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They began walking again. Ethan sensed that Adams was on his way to Long Wharf, perhaps to lead yet another mob in defiance of the coming occupation.
“So what do you think of this?” Adams asked, indicating the ships in the harbor with a vague wave of his hand. “You’ve made it clear that you disapproved of our actions in the past, and you’ve noted that the good doctor disapproves of what Parliament is doing now. But how do you feel about this occupation?”
Ethan almost said something clever about how men like Adams and Otis had brought the occupation on themselves; a small part of him still believed that this was so. But seeing the fleet arrayed around the city’s waterfront disturbed him far more than he had thought possible. Boston hadn’t been his home for long-not when one factored in the years he had spent as a prisoner in Barbados. Yet, it felt more like home than any other place he had ever lived. He feared that with the arrival of regulars the city would never be the same.
“I feel sad, sir,” he answered after some time. “I know that’s not really what you were asking, but it’s the truth.”
Adams regarded him. “It’s a fine answer,” he said, his voice subdued.
They walked in silence, passing close to Cooper’s Alley and turning down Mackerel Lane toward the wharf. Reaching the edge of the pier, Adams halted and once more looked out over the water. A few others had gathered around the wharf to watch the ships. Some stood together in small clusters, speaking among themselves; others stared out at the fleet, their expressions grim.
“I would have thought the landing would have begun by now,” Adams said.
“So would I,” Ethan said, keeping his voice down. “It will before long.”
“I agree.” Adams turned to him. “I have to be on my way, Mister Kaille. I have men to see in the Bunch of Grapes.” He pointed at the tavern, which sat just across from the wharf. “And also at the Green Dragon.”
“Yes, sir, of course. Thank you for your time.”
“I hope you find whoever it is you’re looking for. Military force is the last refuge of despots and tyrants. Those men don’t belong in our city. By attacking them we only justify their brutality.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adams tipped his cap and strolled toward the Bunch of Grapes.
As he passed one group of onlookers, a woman called out, “God bless Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty!”
Adams smiled and waved to the woman before entering the tavern.
Ethan started up King Street, thinking that he would go to King’s Chapel to see if Pell had any information for him yet. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard someone calling to him from behind. Turning, he saw Geoffrey striding toward him, a deep scowl making his forehead look even steeper than usual.
“Good morning, Geoffrey,” Ethan said, with false brightness.
“Was that Samuel Adams I just saw you with?” Brower demanded.
“Aye, it was.”
“Lord help me,” he said, shaking his head. “What can you be thinking? Speaking to that man-being seen in his company in the middle of Boston-when you’re working on behalf of Parliament and the king!”
Ethan started walking again, forcing Geoffrey to follow. It was all he could do not to pummel the man for speaking to him so. When at last his rage had subsided enough that he could speak again, he said in a taut, low voice, “I was thinking that if those who oppose the occupation had anything to do with what happened to the Graystone, Mister Adams might know of it. And if you don’t approve of the manner in which I’m conducting my inquiry I’d suggest that you find another thieftaker who can conjure.”
“Did you tell Adams what happened to those men?”
“I told him that a conjuring had been used against a ship, and that some men had died. I didn’t get any more specific than that.”