Read Online Eye of the Raven by Eliot Pattison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eliot Pattison
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
obviously men of affluence or that they gave but cool welcome to the king's troops in their province, McGregor reported, it was that their leader announced that he was commissioned as a magistrate.
Latchford had known the Pennsylvania official was coming, Duncan realized, but had assumed he was not arriving until the next day. The major had lost his race to deal with the murder before the arrival of the Quakers, before the arrival of a civilian with judicial authority.
Duncan watched from the shadows of the stable as a tall, poised Quaker, flanked by a lean blond man of Duncan's own age and a square-shouldered figure of perhaps forty, spoke to the provost sentries at the guardhouse. Duncan, fighting a near-paralyzing fear over the fate of Conawago, watched from the shadows as the tall Quaker pointed toward the barred door, shook a finger at a sentry who seemed to argue with him, then dispatched his companions toward the Virginians' camp before disappearing into the headquarters building.
Sitting with his back against the stable wall, Duncan had succumbed to his fatigue when he was suddenly seized by the shoulder and pulled to his feet.
"The major commands your presence," barked one of the soldiers Duncan had seen on duty at the headquarters. He proceeded to shove Duncan, groggy from sleep, across the yard.
Inside, the smoke had barely cleared from what had obviously been an explosive argument. The Quaker leader sat ramrod straight in the chair opposite Latchford's desk, fixing the major with a sober stare. Latchford was eyeing his dueling pistol again.
"I was explaining to Magistrate Brindle that all is in hand," he declared to Duncan with a meaningful stare. His hand rested on the brown envelope, now closed with a seal. The letter to Philadelphia that would condemn Duncan. "Your report must be nearly complete."
Duncan gazed from one man to the other. The Quaker looked straight ahead, regarding the major with an expression of sober piety on his narrow face. His hand was on a small black book perched on his knee. In the shadows past Brindle was the tall blond man Duncan had seen outside, watching Latchford warily.
"Captain Burke was killed with forethought," Duncan ventured. "As a result of blows with an ax or heavy tomahawk, then his own dagger, which caused fatal hemorrhaging within minutes of the attack."
Latchford offered a short, uncertain nod.
"There seemed to be a ritual involved with the killings," Duncan added.
"A ritual?" Brindle asked.
"There was a clockwork gear driven into his heart."
The color drained from the magistrate's face.
"It's what the savages do, uncle," put in the blond man in the shadows. "A dead man can be used to send a message."
"A message, Samuel?" In afterthought, Brindle gestured to the tall man. "My nephew Samuel Felton."
Felton stepped closer to the magistrate. "To the other side," he continued.
"A gear in the heart seems more a message for this world," the magistrate observed in a haunted tone.
"A savage who would do such a thing has such hatred for Europeans he wanted to express it for this world and the next," suggested Felton.
Latchford frowned. "What the old Indian intended is of no concern. He will hang all the same."
As Brindle turned toward him, Duncan had the sense of being under the eye of one of the stern priests of his childhood. "Did this Virginian succumb in the territory of Pennsylvania?"
"He died along the Forbes Road, sir. I am given to believe that the Pennsylvania province has agreed to take it over from the army." Duncan glanced at the book again. It was not a Bible. It was a book of laws.
Brindle's smile was thin and lightless. "And did this Indian in the guardhouse kill Captain Burke, Mr.-?"
Duncan looked at the floor. "McCallum. If I am to be a witness, I should not be answering to the judges prior to their proceeding."
"Judges?" Latchford's eyes flared.
Brindle spoke politely but firmly. "As Mr. McCallum reminds us, Pennsylvania has equal
Latchford had known the Pennsylvania official was coming, Duncan realized, but had assumed he was not arriving until the next day. The major had lost his race to deal with the murder before the arrival of the Quakers, before the arrival of a civilian with judicial authority.
Duncan watched from the shadows of the stable as a tall, poised Quaker, flanked by a lean blond man of Duncan's own age and a square-shouldered figure of perhaps forty, spoke to the provost sentries at the guardhouse. Duncan, fighting a near-paralyzing fear over the fate of Conawago, watched from the shadows as the tall Quaker pointed toward the barred door, shook a finger at a sentry who seemed to argue with him, then dispatched his companions toward the Virginians' camp before disappearing into the headquarters building.
Sitting with his back against the stable wall, Duncan had succumbed to his fatigue when he was suddenly seized by the shoulder and pulled to his feet.
"The major commands your presence," barked one of the soldiers Duncan had seen on duty at the headquarters. He proceeded to shove Duncan, groggy from sleep, across the yard.
Inside, the smoke had barely cleared from what had obviously been an explosive argument. The Quaker leader sat ramrod straight in the chair opposite Latchford's desk, fixing the major with a sober stare. Latchford was eyeing his dueling pistol again.
"I was explaining to Magistrate Brindle that all is in hand," he declared to Duncan with a meaningful stare. His hand rested on the brown envelope, now closed with a seal. The letter to Philadelphia that would condemn Duncan. "Your report must be nearly complete."
Duncan gazed from one man to the other. The Quaker looked straight ahead, regarding the major with an expression of sober piety on his narrow face. His hand was on a small black book perched on his knee. In the shadows past Brindle was the tall blond man Duncan had seen outside, watching Latchford warily.
"Captain Burke was killed with forethought," Duncan ventured. "As a result of blows with an ax or heavy tomahawk, then his own dagger, which caused fatal hemorrhaging within minutes of the attack."
Latchford offered a short, uncertain nod.
"There seemed to be a ritual involved with the killings," Duncan added.
"A ritual?" Brindle asked.
"There was a clockwork gear driven into his heart."
The color drained from the magistrate's face.
"It's what the savages do, uncle," put in the blond man in the shadows. "A dead man can be used to send a message."
"A message, Samuel?" In afterthought, Brindle gestured to the tall man. "My nephew Samuel Felton."
Felton stepped closer to the magistrate. "To the other side," he continued.
"A gear in the heart seems more a message for this world," the magistrate observed in a haunted tone.
"A savage who would do such a thing has such hatred for Europeans he wanted to express it for this world and the next," suggested Felton.
Latchford frowned. "What the old Indian intended is of no concern. He will hang all the same."
As Brindle turned toward him, Duncan had the sense of being under the eye of one of the stern priests of his childhood. "Did this Virginian succumb in the territory of Pennsylvania?"
"He died along the Forbes Road, sir. I am given to believe that the Pennsylvania province has agreed to take it over from the army." Duncan glanced at the book again. It was not a Bible. It was a book of laws.
Brindle's smile was thin and lightless. "And did this Indian in the guardhouse kill Captain Burke, Mr.-?"
Duncan looked at the floor. "McCallum. If I am to be a witness, I should not be answering to the judges prior to their proceeding."
"Judges?" Latchford's eyes flared.
Brindle spoke politely but firmly. "As Mr. McCallum reminds us, Pennsylvania has equal
Similar Books
