"Have you brought it?" Nathan asked, eyeing the sack.
Samuel stepped forward out of the bleak light that permeated the waterfront. "Of course. Took some work, but I managed to sneak it away from my master." He held open the sack, his dark eyes shining with excitement.
Nathan stuck his head into the musty satchel and caught the glint of silver poking against the cloth. "Doesn't look like much," he said, lifting the pistol out and shifting it in his hands. "No powder, no ball." He frowned. "This won't do us much good."
"Keep the blasted thing hidden," Samuel growled. He snatched the pistol from his friend's hands and threw it back into the sack, wrapping it in a large handkerchief. "Martin promised to bring along the rest. Best I could do for the time being, anyway. Mr. Greene was watching. I couldn't just take the powder and shot. He'd lash me then send me along. Where would I be then?"
"On the streets like most of the Liberty Boys," Nathan replied. He sounded more secure than he felt. They were lucky to have such apprenticeships, Nathan thought, especially in solid trades like tanning and tinsmithing. His father had apprenticed him to a good tanner at twelve and Nathan hadn't seen his family's farm in over a year. Samuel, however, had only his apprentice that kept him from the street. His mother was dead and his father had run off to sea. Both the boys knew having a roof overhead was better than nothing. And the British army garrisoned in Boston was less likely to harass two hardworking lads, unlike Martin and his gang of street urchins.
Samuel shifted and squashed his tricorner hat over his brown hair. "Where are we supposed to meet them again?"
"Anywhere the British ain't," Nathan said, leaning against the wall of his master's tannery. "That might be difficult though."
"No." Samuel straightened and slung the sack over his shoulder. "I think I know what Martin means. It must be in the alley behind 'The Faithless Peasant'."
"But that place is crawling with British, Sam." Nathan picked at the rough skin on his palms. "How are we to join them without being noticed? Martin isn't that stupid."
"It doesn't have anything to do with the British being there. It's the name of the place. 'The Faithless Peasant'. That's what we are to King George and his bloodyback soldiers."
Nathan eyed his friend. Though Samuel was two years younger at fourteen, Nathan felt that he was somehow older. He understood the changes that shifted the city and could discuss the values of freedom better than any learned orator. Physically he stood taller and surer than Nathan, his eyes bright like two pieces of flint struck together to make a spark. Nathan often found himself struggling to gain a foothold above the younger boy and his undying loyalty to the cause. At times, he thought he would leave this whole business of fighting the British to the wealthy gentlemen who discussed rebellion over tea. But Samuel insisted the burden lay with them, common men and boys, to start up the war.
"It's not safe," Nathan said, dread seeping into his tone. "I know Martin's plenty angry about his sister, but this is just fool's talk. Assaulting a British officer? We'll end up in the noose or worse."
Samuel snorted. "Did Martin tell you what he did to the girl? Major Raleigh dragged her off the street for no reason and tried slash her throat. The man has to be taught that he can't shilly-shally with colonials like that."
"Let's wait until dawn. We can make our way easier then. Besides, the 23rd Foot is camped nearby the 'Faithless Peasant'. That's Raleigh's regiment. It's too risky to try to assault him in front of his own troops." Nathan watched Samuel's face for a sign of weakness or hesitancy. But he just smiled and tapped his worn shoes on the cobblestones.
"Don't worry over the redcoats. We just get the pistol to Martin and he'll organize the rest, alright?"
"You're being impulsive!" Nathan cried, unable to stop himself. "It is not worth being caught and beaten or strung up. Let Martin fetch his own pistol and watch out for his sister."
Samuel stood tall. He had a fierce look that both humbled and frightened Nathan. "Is this where your patriotism suffers? How can you expect to fight the British if you won't defend an innocent girl from them?"
Nathan chewed his fingernails. He wanted to tell Samuel how he had come to fear the nights. Recently he found his step quickening towards his master's home whenever the sun neared the horizon and shadows fell upon the waterfront. The summer nights were no longer warm but chilled with fog that settled in the streets. And at times, he felt a shiver climb up his spine as though an invisible being were running its fingers down his back.
But Samuel would scoff at his childish fears, and Nathan did not want to appear timid. Instead, he mustered a casual sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "All right, but mind where we're going. I don't want to be run through with a bayonet."
"Or have your throat slit?" Samuel laughed, but his face hardened. "If that is the price of liberty, I'll pay it." He strode off along the cobblestones. With a cautious glance down the street, Nathan ran after him, not minding the stench on the breezes brought up from wharves or the puddles of sewage filling the gutters.
The streets were quiet, running in a black labyrinth of alleys and board squares. Nathan and Samuel followed the well-trod path to 'The Faithless Peasant' that in early days before the British came had been a pleasant place for a drink. Nathan liked to think of those days when his worries were little trinkets to be kept in the corner of his mind. Samuel however, thought only of the brewing tension in Boston, which seemed to be spilling over into the other cities and colonies.
For once, Nathan enjoyed the endless chatter his friend provided. It seemed to clear the air about them from the apprehension that filled the streets.
"These British thought they were smart by closing our port," Samuel said with a grin that dispelled Nathan's fear. "But it was the best thing they could do for our cause. Look at the wagonloads of supplies that have come in from all up and down the colonies. All we have to do is unite and old George and his Regulars don't stand a chance."
Nathan glanced up at the stars, which took their time in coming out every eve, covered by haze. Little ruby clouds ringed the heavens and threatened rain. "But we don't have much of an army, just militia."
"In time," Samuel nodded and patted the sack. "Every bit counts."
They came to a square framed by wooden houses and a shuttered shop. Nathan slowed his step as they moved into the open area. He felt the invisible pressure of hostile eyes on him. Jamming his hand into the pockets of his breeches, he lowered his head and strode forward. But Samuel paused and turned about. "Just down a couple more streets as I remember."
A sudden rush broke the stillness of the air. Nathan darted back to where Samuel stood and stared into the darkness.
"Did you?"
"Yes." Samuel's eyes darted about the square. "It came from overhead, I think."
Down the street, a door slammed shut. Both boys jumped.
Nathan glanced at the house. Not a soul stirred in or around it. "This is folly, Samuel," he said. "It's one thing to throw rocks at a British sentry, another to attack an officer, especially this one. Martin always talks about Raleigh. Told me never to cross his path. He hates Americans and has a strange way about himself."
"I know." Samuel stared at the sky, his eyes still searching for the source of the noise. "All of Boston likes to talk about him." He dropped his gaze back to Nathan. "Don't you intend to do something about it before it gets worse? He'll succeed in killing the next girl. Come on."
Samuel started off again, his step firm and purposeful.
"Samuel, wait!" Nathan lunged after him. But his legs could not match Samuel's long strides and he fell behind. But Samuel suddenly stopped short. His back straightened.
"Aye, where are you lads off to?" Nathan discerned the shape of a Brown Bess musket looming before them. He would have known it anywhere. It was the type carried by the British Regulars.
Samuel took a step back as the soldier strolled out into the street. Nathan moved in front of him, trying to hide the sack from sight.
"Not safe to be out and about, boys. City's full of all sorts of jackanapes." The squat soldier said, drumming his stubby fingers along the barrel of the musket. His red coat had a grimy look about it that came from crawling through the backstreets of Boston. "Oi, Jensen! What was it you saw last night? A great flying creature?"
"Nah." Another soldier said, stepping out from behind them. "Was more of a, eh, what you call it? A bat. Eh, but it could have been a raven."
Nathan's heart leapt in his breast. The soldier's description matched the rushing noises that had haunted him minutes before. The redcoats exchanged gleeful chuckles. Their feral stares unnerved him further and he realized they were from the 23rd, that strange, haunted regiment. For a brief moment he considered running, bolting into the night and back to the safety of his master's shop. But Samuel wouldn't follow him. He would stay behind, forced to endure whatever cruel game the British decided to indulge in. No, he couldn't leave his friend behind.
Looking towards Samuel, he saw him nibble his lower lip. Nathan swallowed hard and decided to feign complete innocence, if only to escape a beating.
"We're on an errand for our master," he said. Samuel glanced at him but said nothing. "Mistress is sick. The master asked us to bring back some laudanum from the doctor's."
"Been hearing things too," the man called Jensen continued. His hand found his bayonet hanging from his waist. He slipped his fingers over the steel so that it caught the light from the streetlamp. "Heard the Yankee militia is stirring in the countryside and them Sons of Liberty are planning stuff."
The first soldier chuckled, leaning against his musket. "Dammy, I'm beginning to think these colonists don't like us much."
"It ain't that, sirs," Samuel said, his confident voice cutting the friction. "We've done no harm. Just following master's orders. All people have to follow orders, just like soldiers."
"Think you're clever?" The soldier nodded towards Samuel. "See, we can't just have boys wandering the streets at night. It was a couple of troublesome boys that started the ruckus four years back in front of the statehouse. Throwing snowballs at a soldier till it became a damn riot."
"General Gage wouldn't be happy with us if we let that happen." Jensen clapped his hand on Nathan's shoulder and pulled him around until he faced him. "What say you have a little chat with our officer? Just following our own orders, right, boys?"
Nathan smelled the sweat that clung to both the uniform and Jensen's pock-marked face. He tried to appear confident like Samuel, but fear sent tremors down his spine.
"No need for that, sir." His voice came out meek compared to Samuel's. He half-wished he hadn't said anything. "Let us go back to our master and you won't see us on these streets again."
He moved away but Jensen's grip on his shoulder tightened. "We can't afford to be careless, son, or we might face the lash."
"Or worse!" the stocky soldier chorused, leering at Samuel. He noticed the satchel dangling from the boy's hand and his eyes narrowed. "What's that, lad?"
"Bottle of laudanum," Samuel said. "I told you, mistress is sick."
Without warning, the soldier snatched the sack from Samuel's hands. He held it open and examined its contents. Nathan's heart rumbled in his ears.
"Blasted thing is wrapped in cloth!" The soldier said. He shook the bag once.
Samuel stepped forward, reaching for the sack. "Break that bottle of laudanum and my master will see that you face more than the lash."
The soldier's face darkened with rage and a hint of fear. He thrust the bag back into Samuel's arms. "I'll leave it for the Major to see to."
"Come along now, lads." Jensen turned Nathan around and with the butt of his musket steered him towards a house up the street. He swallowed as Martin's warning and Boston's talk flooded back into his mind. Raleigh was not to be trifled with. Looking back, Nathan saw Samuel likewise being prodded along. But his friend seemed untroubled. He rolled his shoulders, shifted the sack to his right hand and marched forward as though he were on parade.
The two British Regulars escorted the boys into the narrow corridor of the house. A cool breeze ran from one end of the hall to the other. Nathan decided whoever owned the building had money. The fixtures and paintings hanging on the yellow walls were of good quality, though a bit dingy.
"This way." Jensen took to the front of their makeshift column, gesturing up a short staircase to the second floor.
Samuel hesitated at the bottom step and cast Nathan an anxious look. The soldiers seemed to think this great sport.
"What's a matter?" the squat one asked. "The Major won't keep you long, that is, if you having nothing to hide."
"No, sir." Nathan replied. "I expect we'll be on our way shortly."
"Eh." Jensen motioned up the stairs. "Be that as it may, we're not taking any risks."
Samuel sighed and placed his foot on the step. The wooden plank sagged under his weight but made no sound. Nathan followed him up the stairs, the fixed bayonet of the soldier behind him serving as a constant warning.
Jensen opened a door at the top of the stairs and ushered them inside. "I'll let the Major know you're here. He'll be along soon." He began to shut the door but paused. "There will be three guards posted on the stairs." His eyes shone with amusement as he pulled the door closed. "Just letting you know."
Nathan's skin tingled when he entered the room. The air had a chill to it, thin and cold unlike the humid haze that hung in the streets. It clung to his insides when he inhaled and clogged his lungs. Glancing at Samuel, he saw his face tighten, his lips parted. He kept his fingers closed over the sack.
There was a fire lit in the hearth that brought more light than warmth. Two grimy paned windows were set in the far wall, overlooking the street. The room's furnishing were sparse, comprising of a single desk and chair shoved against the back wall. The soles of Nathan's shoes stuck to the floor and he shuffled his feet. A dreadful sense of entombment crawled over him.
"What else did he say?" Samuel asked, breaking the silence at last. "Martin, I mean. What more does he know about Raleigh?"
Nathan took a deep breath and tried to find a suitable answer. "Nobody knows him, not even his brother officers. He doesn't go out and about much. And when he does it's just to harass suspected Patriots." He paused, casting Samuel a frightened glance.
Samuel didn't have time to answer. The snap of boot heels on the stairs signaled the arrival of the Major. With a low creak, the door swung open and a man passed through, shutting it behind him.
The officer was tall and lean, his skin like starched linen pulled taut over his high cheekbones. He had pale, droopy eyes that matched his fair complexion and powdered wig. But his lips were a deep red. They crouched over his teeth and curved upward in a smile when he saw the boys.
Nathan caught sight of the sword hanging from the man's side. The gold tassel on its hilt trembled as he moved. An image of a girl being dragged off the street seared through Nathan's mind. He clenched his fingers and swallowed.
"Good evening, gentlemen." The man strode over to the desk with an easy, elegant gait. The tails of his scarlet jacket swung with every step. "Major Julius Raleigh of the 23rd Royal Welch Fusiliers."
Nathan didn't like the way the man looked at him. Unlike most British officers, he had greeted them civilly. But it was his gaze that terrified Nathan. It went beneath the surface, beneath the division of British and American, beneath his skin to where his blood thundered through his veins. Nathan shifted to stand behind Samuel, who appeared undaunted by Raleigh's stare. His friend's eyes met the piercing gaze and returned it without fear. The officer looked away.
"What brings you here tonight, Mr.¿.?" Raleigh paused and waved a delicate hand at Samuel. His nails had a crimson hue to them, particularly around the cuticles and beneath the nail beds.
Samuel clutched the sack closer. "Samuel Benning, sir." The rage in his voice broke through the chill of the room.
"Mr. Benning." Raleigh nodded once, ignoring Samuel's fury. "And your friend?" he peered around Samuel's shoulder and Nathan found his gaze trapped in that stare once more.
"Nathan Whit, sir," he replied, wishing he could muster as much hate in his own tone.
Raleigh leaned forward on the desk and spread his fingers over the wood. "Now what brings you here tonight?"
"Your bloodybacks," Samuel said, his face glowing in the light.
Samuel's brashness spurred Nathan to speak. "They dragged us off the street like knaves," he said. Raleigh raised his eyebrows. "I'll have you know, Major, we're apprentices of respectable merchants."
"Oh?" There was amusement in the officer's voice. Suddenly his arm lashed out, stretching far across the desk and past Samuel. His hand latched on Nathan's shoulder and with inhuman strength he yanked the boy forward. Nathan's legs rammed against the desk. His feet lifted off the ground as Raleigh brought his face closer.
"Yankee brat!" he snarled.
Nathan smelled a metallic odor on his breath, musty and old, like a man who forgets to pick his teeth after dinner. The air around him cooled and froze in his throat. He gasped, struggled for breath and felt a blackness pressing in on him until all he saw was the cool glint of Raleigh's eyes.
The scuffling sound of Samuel's feet thudded in his ears. Raleigh released him and thrust him back away from the desk. His strength sent Nathan crashing into the back wall. He shivered, the grip of Raleigh's hand imprinted on his shoulder, and glanced at Samuel who had his hand halfway into the sack.
Foolish, Nathan thought. The last thing they wanted to do was draw attention to the pistol.
But Raleigh's eyes were already on the sack. He stretched out his hand once more and grabbed the satchel. Samuel didn't bother to fight him for it, but surrendered his prize.
"Ah." Major Raleigh reached a spindly finger into the sack and pulled out the pistol. "Is this it, boys? Is this what you are hiding from me?" He handled the weapon, inspecting its every feature. "No shot," he said with a disappointed sigh. "Tell me, why carry a useless weapon?"
Samuel glanced at Nathan and he understood. They had a pact not to speak about their plans.
"Nothing, sir," Nathan said. "But it looks mighty impressive to a thief hiding in an alley. Boston's awful dangerous, as you know."
Raleigh laid the pistol on his desk and observed the boys. "Hmm, that is true. Unless the weapon is not for your use, but someone else's. Our intelligence has it that the Liberty Boys are planning assaults on officers. Perhaps the pistol is for their use?"
Nathan's gut clenched. Raleigh wasn't as slow or careless as most of the British officers.
Samuel shook his head and smiled "Nope. I suspect the Liberty Boys got enough of their own weapons. They don't need our rusty old pistol."
Raleigh's nostrils dilated in annoyance. He paced behind his desk, one arm draped behind his back as he looked out the window. Nathan took this opportunity to cast his friend a grin of appreciation. Not only had Samuel averted disaster, he had also led the redcoat to believe the Americans were better off than expected.
But his joy was short-lived. As Raleigh paced the click of his boot heels echoed out a harsh cadence. The fire choked and sputtered. Ash spit upon the floor. Nathan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The room closed in about them, the walls drew near. He grabbed Samuel's wrist. The throb of his blood beneath the skin quickened.
"Samuel," Nathan whispered, tugging at his arm. His friend did not respond. Raleigh stalked across the room, pausing by the window. Fog had risen up from the wharves and settled against the pane.
Raleigh sniffed once. His eyes slid back to the boys. "I will not continue my pretense, gentlemen. I am not interested in your pistol." His arm stretched once more, too long for any human, and touched the pistol on the desk.
Nathan released Samuel's wrist. Despite the chill, he felt sweat rolling down his temples. This couldn't be possible. Raleigh, whatever he might be, must be in league with the devil. His back brushed the door and he groped for the knob. It was locked.
"Even though I think it probable that you intended some mischief this eve, I am willing to brush it aside. There is another matter I wish to discuss." Raleigh settled himself in the chair behind the desk and gave the boys a frank look. "What I need is information. A young lad named Martin has organized a gang of street urchins against the crown. He may have tried to contact you boys and rally your support."
Nathan shut his eyes for an instant. He knew what was coming.
"I want to know what he asked of you. I want to know where and how he gathers the boys to his cause. I want to know where I can find him. Do I have your cooperation?"
Samuel made a choking noise. His face had flushed red. Nathan's breathing quickened, his chest heaving as he struggled to suck in air. Raleigh was willing to offer them a deal. They had a chance to get out of this alive. If only...
"No," Samuel said. His shoulders were rigid and he did not tremble. "We know nothing."
Raleigh's face tightened. His features twisted into an ugly mask of disappointment and hatred. But a hungry glint soon replaced the anger in his eyes.
"I am sorry for that," he mumbled, standing. "You may have it back." Raleigh offered the pistol to Samuel. "My own weapons are of a much finer make than this."
Samuel stepped forward and reached for the butt of the pistol. But his movements where not his own, and his limbs moved lethargically, laboring under some silent command. Raleigh hovered over him as he drew closer. At the last moment the officer's gaze turned to Nathan and he smiled.
Nathan's stomach flopped over when he saw the sharpness of Raleigh's teeth, glinting in the firelight. They flashed as he opened his mouth wide.
"Samuel!" Nathan cried. His friend bent over the pistol as Raleigh in turn bent over him. Those ugly teeth lengthened and he grabbed hold of the boy, sinking his fangs into the flesh of the neck.
Nathan heard his own screams echoing off the walls of the room. But they seemed to come from far away, drowned out in the rushing sound that filled his ears as he watched Samuel going limp in that creature's arms. The bright color in his cheeks faded till he became as white as Raleigh once was. Now the soldier's cheeks had a healthy, more human glow to them. He held the body out at arms length, examined it for a moment and then let it fall.
Samuel's corpse lay at Nathan's feet. He stared at it. The fingers looked like bleached chicken bones. The eyes bulged in their sockets, completely drained of life.
He began to tremble. His knees swayed and he leaned on the barred door for support. What was this? Had he gone mad? Perhaps he had been trapped in one of those old hellish stories preachers told to scare children. Or perhaps the devil had come forth from Hell, ready to wrench him from this world to the next.
Raleigh smiled at him. Acting like a gentleman officer, he adjusted his uniform jacket, brushing the droplets of blood from his cravat.
"He didn't put up much of a fight," he said. "Really, I expected more from you bumpkins. All this talk of liberty and rebellion. Surely you can do better."
Nathan sensed Raleigh moving closer, that same elegant swing in his gait. He paused, almost expecting him to do something. The officer laughed. The whites of his eyes had gone red with his recent intake of blood. But his gaze suddenly found the floor where a last trickle of blood seeped from Samuel's neck.
The fiend fell to his knees, snarling as if he were a mad dog, and bent his head over the pool of dark liquid. He leaned forward, tongue extending as he began to lap up the blood. Nathan felt the weight of shock make his limbs heavy, until his eyes landed on the pistol.
It had been Samuel's pride and joy, smuggled from his master to deliver to the cause of liberty. Letting it lay there, unused, seemed like a crime. Nathan snatched the weapon off the desk. Raleigh was too distracted with licking the floor dry to mind him.
The light from the streetlamps coming in through the window alerted him. He thought of the hot air hovering along the waterfront, so different from the chill of the room. With a grunt of effort, he chucked the pistol through the window.
Glass shattered and sprinkled the floor with shards. Raleigh gasped as a hot blast of Boston air shrieked into the room. The breeze seemed to stun him for a moment. He remained crouched over the blood.
Nathan rushed to the window. He threw his full weight against it. The frame tore free from the walls of the building and followed him as he leapt to the street below. Though the drop wasn't far, he felt the wind knocked out of him and it took a moment before he could regain his senses.
A group of tavern goers that had been passing by halted at the sight of him.
"What are you doing, boy?" one of the men asked. His voice was locked in the grip of alcohol. "Fancy you're going for a flight?"
But Nathan was already pounding down the street. The cobblestones beneath his feet were slick with mud and he slipped in his terror. Once, he looked back over his shoulder at the window. He knew Raleigh would not chase him into the street in front of civilians but wait for another dark hour to seek him out. A black void remained in the front of the building. The light in the room had faded.
The putrid air stung Nathan's nostrils as he sprinted down a back alley. He didn't see the figure stepping out in front of him. The shadow reached out and grabbed him, dragging him to a halt. Nathan fought back. The figure held him tight.
"Where's Samuel?" Martin asked with an eager grin plastered on his face. "Has he brought it along?"
A wave of sobs shook Nathan's body. His shirt stuck to the middle of his back with sweat and every inhale stabbed his gut. He leaned over and retched on the cobblestones.
"Good Christ," Martin took a step back. The boys around him fell further into the shade of the alley.
Nathan finished retching and sank to the ground where he lay shivering. Martin crouched next to him. "What is it, Nate?"
Nathan raised his eyes to the boy, his heart still hammering. "He's dead." The words stuck in his throat and he choked.
"What?" Martin shook him, his eyes blazing. "How?"
"You warned me, Martin," Nathan cried. "It was Raleigh, that officer. He caught us passing by and killed Samuel. He drank his blood!"
Martin stood. The boys gathered about him and began to whisper. Nathan did not know what they discussed. His mind remained with Samuel in that room. Samuel dead on the floor, having paid the high price that his beliefs demanded. He had been brave and dedicated to the cause where Nathan had faltered.
Nathan stifled his sobs. He could not allow such patriotism to die with Samuel.
"Someone needs to alert the Committee of Correspondence, tell them what's happened so they can spread the news to the other colonies," Martin said. Nathan glanced up at him. "We'll need a horse and a fast rider."
"I'll go," Nathan said. He rose to his feet.
Martin wheeled around to stare at him. "Are you sure, Nate? Lord knows what's out there after... after what happened to Samuel."
"I'll go, he would've done the same without question," Nathan replied.
"All right then." Martin nodded. "Come, I know where we can get a horse." The boys strode off through the dark streets. Nathan followed a short way behind. He would see to it that by morning all of Boston knew of the wickedness that dwelled within it. And that they knew of the young apprentice lad that had challenged a demon without fear, all for freedom's cause. Nathan hurried his pace and felt his blood coursing through his veins, strong with the throb of liberty.
