Bone Rattler amoca-1

by Eliot Pattison

  “Hurry!” Jonathan cried, pulling Sarah toward the street. She seemed reluctant to approach the soldiers. “We’ll miss them!”

  But the patrol halted in front of Ramsey House. A sergeant in the front rank glanced back at the mounted officer, who nodded. To his surprise, Duncan recognized the man on horseback. But Lieutenant Woolford, stiff in a red brocaded jacket, gave no acknowledgment.

  The glee of the children abruptly changed to fear as the drum stopped and four soldiers wheeled, then sternly marched through the gate, directly up the brick walk, halting beside Crispin and Duncan. The children retreated, trying to pull Sarah with them again, though now Sarah seemed to want to stay, even seemed about to say something to the soldiers. The sergeant looked at Woolford again, then nodded at the four men, two of whom lifted manacles from their belts. As Duncan saw anger enter Sarah’s eyes, he stepped toward her, worried about what she might do. But as he did so, strong hands clamped around his upper arms on each side. Before he could utter a word, the manacles were on his feet and hands. He struggled a moment, about to lash out with his elbows, then saw the fear in the children’s eyes and relented.

  “Crispin!” Sarah cried. “Stop them! They have no right!” She grabbed Duncan’s arm and pulled as the soldiers began to lead him down the brick path, holding him so tightly she was dragged several feet, her shoes scraping on the bricks as the soldiers led him by the chains.

  “Patrick! Do not do this thing!” she shouted. It took a moment for Duncan to realize her plea was addressed to Woolford, who only stared straight ahead.

  Crispin was suddenly at her side, prying Sarah’s fingers from Duncan’s arm, wrapping his thick arms around her from the back to restrain her. Tears welled in her eyes.

  As the soldiers pulled him through the gate, Duncan turned for a last glimpse of Sarah. Jonathan stood in front of her now, his arms locked around his sister’s legs, pushing as if to keep her from the soldiers. Amid his confusion he remembered his vow to Lister. He had given the New World a chance, and he had lasted four hours.

  Chapter Five

  The supreme advantage of being at war, Mr. McCallum,” declared the tall, well-fed man in the scarlet coat, “is that our beloved King George entrusts his soldiers with such vast discretion in reducing our enemies.” The officer, who had been addressed as Major Pike by several nervous subordinates, paused to play absently with a loose thread in the gold brocade of his cuff, then looked up at Duncan across the ornate table that served as his desk. “There is no greater thrill than standing in command of a battery and knowing the king desires you to eviscerate the vile creatures before you with good English lead.” He reached to pour himself a cup of tea. “Feel free,” he mocked, pointing to the tray that held the teapot and a plate of scones.

  Duncan sat six feet in front of the desk, manacled tightly to the chair. They were in a sprawling house that had been converted to army offices, apparently the military headquarters of the city.

  “I have done you no harm,” Duncan protested for the fourth time, twisting, futilely straining to see the faces of the men who sometimes paused in the shadows beyond one of the room’s open doors to stare at him. They had left him alone in the chamber for at least thirty minutes after chaining him to the chair. In the quarter hour since Pike had arrived, the officer had stated no charges, given no indication why Duncan had been dragged through the streets to the headquarters. He seemed to be waiting for Duncan to confess something.

  “I believe, McCallum, that some men act as the hand of God,” the major said, his eyes like soiled ice. “I believe in the propensity of all other men to conspire and lie and cheat. I believe that although a sheep may be shorn, it will always grow the same wool.”

  “And I believe you must be more specific,” Duncan replied evenly, returning Pike’s glare.

  Pike rose, lowering his teacup to the desk, and slowly walked to the corner, where he retrieved a well-worn horse crop. He bent it in his hand as if testing it, then approached Duncan, tapping the end in his palm. “I am a senior officer in His Majesty’s army,” he declared with smug anticipation. “Flaunt me and you flaunt the king.”

  When Duncan remained silent, Pike extracted an envelope from an inner pocket and dropped it on the front of the table, then stepped to the window and stared toward the Hudson, a hundred yards away. As Duncan’s gaze shifted from the riding crop, still in the officer’s hand, to the envelope, his mouth went bone dry. It was his letter to Jamie, the one he had left on his hammock the day of the storm, the one he had last seen in Cameron’s hand.

  “I am enamored of this bold, new land, McCallum,” Pike said, speaking toward the window. “I will not let it be subverted by the likes of you.”

  “You speak in riddles, sir,” Duncan said. Anger was beginning to burn through his fear. Here, personified before him, were all the men who had strung up his father and killed his mother, sisters, and young brother.

  When Pike turned toward him, his eyes were cold slits, his mouth curled into something like a snarl. Duncan did not actually see the man move, just was suddenly aware of the officer looming over him and the crop slashing the air. The slap of the loose leather tip against Duncan’s cheek was like a hot blade.

  Pike’s eyes were wild, his jaw open like that of an eager predator as Duncan reeled back and the officer raised his arm again. Then suddenly his gaze shifted to something behind Duncan, and the fire left his face. He straightened, lowering the crop to his side, and retreated a step.

  “I understand he is bound to Lord Ramsey,” a dry voice stated, in a casual, almost whimsical tone.

  Duncan twisted to try to see who spoke. The man stood directly behind his chair.

  “Surely that can be no excuse, sir,” Pike muttered. He glanced at the crop in his hand, then tossed it into the shadows.

  “Were you aware, Major,” the refined voice continued, “that Lord Ramsey never visits London but that he lunches with the king? A few drops of common blood, they say.” The speaker walked past Duncan to stand where Pike had been, facing the window. He was years older than the major, though his powdered wig and the fact that he did not show his full face made it difficult to be certain. The officer held his short, compact frame ramrod straight, the habit of a career soldier. “Let there be no misunderstanding.” he said, still facing the window. “Enlighten our guest.”

  “General, surely it cannot be necessary. Obviously-” Pike began, but then the hand held behind the general’s back tightened into a fist. Pike glared at Duncan, stepped to the table, and extracted a paper from a stack near the chair.

  Duncan studied the man at the window, vaguely aware of something warm dripping down his cheek. The general seemed to bear a profound weight. He was studying the river, watching upstream as if expecting something from the north, where the bitter war with the French was being waged.

  Suddenly Pike was hovering over Duncan again, extending a large paper, a broadside, dropping it into Duncan’s lap. It was a bounty poster. An officer was wanted for desertion and sedition. A hundred pounds sterling was offered for the man or proof of his death-a princely sum, one that could buy a man a large farm.

  As Duncan stared at the name, a fog seemed to form behind his eyes. He felt shrunken, and cold, and helpless.

  “The name of the Forty-second Regiment of Foot is spoken with reverence among our troops.” Pike’s voice seemed to come from far away as Duncan still stared at the broadside. “The Black Watch, they call it, and to the French they are the black face of death. In battle there is no task they cannot be trusted with. If there is a hole in the bloodiest part of the line, the Black Watch goes to fill it. No need to order them. They will demand the privilege.” A fierce and angry pride had entered the major’s words. “They are the granite upon which our army stands.”

  It took a long time for the major’s words to register. Duncan could not take his eyes from the name printed twice the size of the font on the rest of the poster. Captain James McCallum. The army was seeking his brot
her Jamie, so they could hang him.

  “In July of last year,” Pike continued. “Nothing was preventing us from marching straight to Quebec but four thousand French soldiers at the fortress we call Ticonderoga. We outnumbered them four to one. We sent in the rangers, we sent in troops of infantry. The great guns of the French made short work of them. Then we unleashed the Forty-second. The brave lads were chewed up but kept advancing over the bodies of their own dead. We would have taken the breastworks and sent General Montcalm fleeing home to King Louie, except a Black Watch officer deliberately disobeyed orders. By the time we knew of Captain McCallum’s treachery it was too late. The bastard cost us the battle, then fled like a coward. We now believe he works in the aid of the enemy, was probably doing so that very day.”

  Duncan did not know how long he stared at the broadside. But when he finally looked up, Pike was pacing around his chair. “When were you going to meet him?” the officer demanded, Duncan’s letter in his fist. “Where is the traitor?”

  “I knew nothing of this.” Duncan’s voice cracked as he spoke.

  Pike’s eyes flared again. He glanced in the direction he had thrown the crop, then charged at Duncan’s chair with an open hand raised. Three feet away he halted with a look of surprise and stared spitefully over Duncan’s shoulder.

  “I thought we had established that he is with the Ramsey Company,” a new voice interjected. Duncan became aware of someone bending toward the manacles, then recognized the voice. Woolford.

  “Then damn the Ramsey Company,” Pike shot back. “He is the source of our problem, and therefore the cause of our defeat.”

  “As I have explained, Major, this particular McCallum has never been in the colonies until a few hours ago,” Woolford said in a cautious tone. The general, still at the window, shifted his head slightly to the side, but otherwise did nothing.

  “Obviously, Woolford, you are incapable of fully assessing his letter,” Pike proclaimed. “It implies there were earlier letters. We can assume they were equally full of sedition. This man is no doubt the one who turned Captain McCallum against his king.”

  The words cut deeper than the crop. “Impossible!” Duncan protested. But the denial came out in a hoarse croak. He had indeed beseeched Jamie to remember the clan, and for the first year after he heard the news of his brother’s commission, he had not written at all, so reviled had he been at the thought that Jamie had joined the very army that had destroyed the Highland way of life.

  As Duncan heard the click of a key behind him, Pike’s lips curled into a spiteful grin. “The Ramsey Company is doomed before it even sets foot in the wilderness,” he growled, then cast another wary glance toward the window. “In three month’s time there won’t be enough of it left to bury.”

  Woolford said nothing, but released the manacles and stood. Pike watched not Woolford, but the man at the window. When the general did not react, Pike seemed to deflate. By the time Duncan staggered to his feet, rubbing his wrists, Woolford had retreated out one of the side doors.

  “It matters not,” Pike declared in a frigid whisper, leaning over Duncan. “Lift a finger to help your brother, and you will hang at his side when we find him. Make no mistake, McCallum, we will find him. Our custom with traitors is to leave them hanging for a month or two, as a reminder. They are familiar with the practice in Scotland, are they not?” he added harshly. “I hear the magpies in forty-six were too plump to fly.” The major turned for a moment toward the man at the window, who continued to stare out the window. When he turned back, there was an odd expression of defeat on his face.

  The general paced the length of the window, then turned to Duncan. “What say you of the murder of Lord Ramsey’s scholar?” He had an open, honest countenance, though crows’ feet of worry had grown around his eyes.

  Duncan glanced at the nearest door. “The death of a learned man is a loss to all the world.”

  The officer offered Duncan a sad smile. His dark, intelligent eyes fixed him with something like deep curiosity. “To our world, yes,” he said, as if another world had been at work in Evering’s death. Pike withdrew into the shadows, then left through a side door. The new turn of conversation seemed to have frightened him.

  “You are the one guiding the Ramsey Company to its painful truth,” the officer observed. “What does that make you, Mr. McCallum? High sheriff of the Company?”

  “It makes me the dog they all want to kick. To save one of their own I must fight through ranks of clansmen.”

  The general seemed amused at his answer. “A murder on the high seas. An investigator who is little more than a convict himself. Tedious legal questions could be raised. The Ramsey Company was allowed to be formed because of the war.”

  “You think Evering a casualty of war? I can’t imagine a man further removed from it.”

  The officer fixed Duncan with an intense stare, then responded by retrieving something from the shadows and dropping it on the table, an arrow with brown and white fletching and bars of brown on the shaft.

  “Someone involved in the war sought to kill the Ramsey tutor today.”

  Duncan drew a shuddering breath. “I was under the impression,” he said, “that the savages fought in the forests. I did not expect the army to permit an attack in the city.”

  The general smiled at this taunt. “Why would an Indian want you dead?”

  Duncan sank back into his chair.

  “Two arrows, aimed so precisely,” the general continued. “Your assailant wasn’t satisfied with the captain taking you away-he had to be sure you were dead. The first to stop the captain, the second aimed right at your heart. But for the ship’s rail you would have died before you hit the deck.”

  “Impossible. No one even knows me. . ” The protest on Duncan’s lips faded. The cap. No one knew him, but the cap had identified him as the Ramsey tutor.

  The general stepped to the front of the desk and leaned on it, studying Duncan. “How was Professor Evering connected to the savages?”

  “Evering? He had never even been to America.” But even as the words came out Duncan recalled the drawing of the arrow in Evering’s cabin. He studied the projectile on the desk with new interest. It was a perfect match. The striping, the careful painting was too intricate for it to be a coincidence. Someone had drawn such an arrow for Evering on the high seas, and then one had been aimed at Duncan’s heart. It was as if someone had been toying with the tutor, warning of his destiny when he landed in America.

  “You’d be surprised how far these arrows can fly,” the general mused. “We are searching. We are very interested in the man who sought to kill a second Ramsey tutor.” He stepped closer, studying Duncan, as if waiting for a reply. “He is unlikely to give up, now that you are arrived in his homeland.”

  “Why?” The question came out in a hoarse whisper.

  “You tell me. The Company seems overflowing with secrets.”

  “Secrets worth dying for?”

  “Secrets worth killing for.”

  Duncan stood and stepped to the desk, his hand trembling as he lifted the arrow, running his finger along its smooth shaft, putting a finger to its sleek flint point, then suddenly looked out the window, up the river. “If they thought Evering held a secret that was vital to them,” he said, the thought bursting on him like a cannon shell, “then learned he was murdered, they would assume his killer had it, too.”

  The general said nothing, but offered another cool smile.

  Lister. The old man, marked as Evering’s murderer, faced the same danger from the savages as Duncan, and he was headed toward the frontier, which teemed with natives. There had been horses outside, mounts for dragoons. If he stole one, how quickly could the army pursue?

  “The tutor is part of the Ramsey Company,” the general said in a more insistent voice. “If the tutor must die, it is because of the Company. Something the Company did or is going to do.”

  “I am hardly privy to Company secrets, General.”

  “Y
ou are not trying hard enough, McCallum.”

  Duncan looked back at the door where Pike had disappeared. Pike had wanted Duncan because of his brother. The general wanted him for something else. “Are you trying to stop the Company?”

  “The Company has been authorized by the king himself,” the general replied. “Surely I would be powerless to stop it.”

  The two men stared warily at each other.

  “Who was Adam Munroe?” Duncan abruptly asked.

  The general gave a nod of grudging respect. “A militia officer. A former prisoner whose terror drove him across the Atlantic when he was released.”

  “Prisoner of the French?”

  The general sighed. “I am certain we can work this out like gentlemen.”

  He was offering some kind of bargain, and Duncan did not even know what was being negotiated. “Are you suggesting the army does not want Evering’s killer identified?”

  “In war, the victor is the one who always keeps his eyes on the flame.”

  The man was speaking in some code Duncan could not decipher. Duncan stepped to the window. In the distance he could see the square earthen slopes of batteries along the river. “If you believe the death is connected to the war,” he asked, “why not conduct your own investigation?”

  “I would not tamper with Lord Ramsey’s secret weapon.”

  Duncan fought to keep his voice steady. “You mistake me, sir. I am but a bound servant.”

  “Surely a man of your capacity cannot be so beguiled by coincidence.”

  As he grappled with the words, Duncan looked not at the nameless general but at the bounty broadside lying on the table. Lord Ramsey would have known about his brother. Reverend Arnold and Woolford would have known when they traveled halfway across Scotland to retrieve Duncan, and only Duncan, from the prison in Edinburgh. Duncan found himself backing away as the general watched him with a narrow smile.