to his right for confirmation of what he already knew. The conjuring had come from him. Reg stood beside him.
“Diver!” Ethan shouted again, panicked now.
Diver turned, searching for the person who had called to him.
Ethan called his name a third time and waved his hand over his head.
Diver’s face brightened. Ethan was sure his friend thought he had come for the assembly rather than for anything having to do with him. He didn’t care.
He started to wend his way through the crowd, even as Diver took a step toward him. As he walked, using the herbs in his pocket, Ethan cast a calming spell like the one he had used on Jimmy Fleming a couple of days before. He might as well have thrown handfuls of sand at an advancing tide. His spell hummed in the street, but it was nothing compared to the conjuring he had felt moments ago. It had no discernible effect on the mob or the soldiers.
Another object flew from the crowd toward the soldiers, spinning end over end, arcing high over the street, white, shining with moonlight. At first Ethan thought it a large piece of ice; a second later he realized it was a short, thick cudgel.
It seemed to descend slowly, guided by some unseen hand. Ethan watched it tumble toward the ground and then hit the musket of the soldier standing at the far left of the formation Preston had arranged.
The soldier staggered and fell, but immediately scrambled to his feet.
“Damn you, fire!” he shouted at his comrades.
And aiming his weapon he did just that.
The report sounded flat, muffled. Had Ethan not seen flame leap from the muzzle of his weapon, he would have doubted what he heard and questioned the source of the cloud of gray smoke that hung around the grenadier, a pale halo.
Everyone on the street froze, most seeming as incredulous as Ethan. A soldier had fired into the crowd. Ethan saw no sign that anyone had been hit, and after that initial silence, men and boys hurled more taunts at the men and again urged them to fire. A few lunged at the soldiers, and a scuffle broke out between Preston and a man Ethan didn’t know. Others swung their sticks at the soldiers, baiting them once more. More people called on the men to fire.
Perhaps it was the spell Ramsey had cast using Ethan’s power. Perhaps it was the mere fact that one of their own had already fired a shot. But this time the soldiers under Preston’s command took up the challenges flung at them by the mob.
Musket fire crackled like a raging blaze. Flames belched from the barrels of the weapons and more smoke rose into the night air.
The mob erupted with cries and shouts—not taunts this time, but terror and pain.
Ethan looked for Diver once more, but could hardly see for the tumult that surrounded him. The crowd, which only moments before had pressed in on the soldiers in front of the Customs House, now dispersed, running in every direction. A few fearless souls continued to harass the soldiers, pressing toward them again, even as the men reloaded their weapons and raised them once more.
Dodging those who fled, Ethan pushed toward the middle of the frozen street. He had only taken a few steps, though, when he slowed and then halted again, his head spinning. A man—actually he looked to be little more than a boy—lay near the edge of the street, a torrent of blood from his chest darkening the ice. Ethan started toward this figure, but then spotted another nearby. This second man bled profusely from wounds to his hip and side.
Men had gathered next to both of the wounded, but they did not appear to know what to do for them. Several of those running from the scene were shouting for surgeons, so perhaps help would arrive soon. In the meantime, however, Ethan noticed more people moving past with bloody wounds. One man had been shot in the arm. He trudged alone past where Ethan stood, clutching his injury, blood running through his fingers. Another man was supported by two friends, having been struck in the thigh.
Ethan forced himself into motion. He had to find Diver. He had taken only a few steps when he halted again, the blood draining from his cheeks. A short distance from the man bleeding from his hip and thigh lay a third man, facedown.
“No,” Ethan said, the word coming out as might a grunt after a