Diary of a Part Time Ghost (Ghosts & Shadows Book 1) Page 12

  “What a friendly bunch,” I joked as we finally stood up and walked out of the building toward John.

  “He scares me,” Sara softly said. Okay, I had been thinking the same thing, but no way was I going to say it. And I knew exactly who she meant.

  John gazed down at her. “They should,” he finally stated, and then added, “But only their enemies need to fear them.” He glanced at East Wind, who scowled and turned away. Shrugging his shoulders, John wordlessly began walking toward the forest path, in the same direction as the soldiers.

  “You British are nothing but trouble,” East Wind hissed as he shoved us toward the path.

  “Enough with the shoving and the elbowing. And I’m not British,” I responded with irritation and not a lot of wisdom. The tall Mohawk didn’t seem impressed.

  “Do you think that man was talking about our father?” Samuel blurted out as he turned to Sara.

  “Your father is Mr. Connel?” John demanded, his eyes bright with interest.

  Sara replied quickly, “Yes, but Connel is a common name, and my father’s not a criminal. It couldn’t be him they want.”

  John nodded a little too thoughtfully and continued leading us along a narrow path that wove through a forest of giant trees. We walked for several hours in silence, everyone immersed in private thoughts. Just when I was thinking of popping back home for lunch and wondering how to do it without attracting too much attention, John stopped walking. We had reached a small clearing, with a patch of grass and open sky. “We will stop for a lunch break,” he explained. “East Wind, we need firewood.”

  Sara and Samuel fell onto the ground with exhausted relief. East Wind glanced at John with a questioning look, which John pretended not to notice, but I couldn’t help seeing the man’s shadow twitch eagerly. Something was wrong, and I decided to sit close to Sara and Samuel. Well, I was going to. I really should have listened to my intuition.

  Just then, East Wind gestured to me and said, “Come help me collect wood.”

  Somewhat reluctantly, I followed the surly man off the path and began picking up pieces of wood. After a few moments of silence, I ventured to ask, “So do you know Sara’s father?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited, but there was no further explanation. I started to feel just a bit grumpy. Okay, I knew English wasn’t his first language, but would it really have been so difficult for him to add a few extra words? Just as I was giving up on holding anything remotely resembling a conversation, East Wind continued, “Connel is a good man, and he’s not a thief.”

  By this time, both of us had a load of wood, and we headed back to the clearing. We were just brushing through a thin skirting of bushes when a desperate scream pierced the air.

  “Sara!” I gasped, and dropped my wood on my feet. Biting down on the pain, I ran and almost collided into her. She was shouting something I couldn’t understand. East Wind hurtled ahead into the clearing. John and Samuel were nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 12

  So, there we were, the three of us when there should have been five.

  “I knew something was wrong,” East Wind stated as he moved rapidly around the clearing, gazing at the ground. Seemed I wasn’t the only one who had ignored his intuition.

  “Me too,” I muttered, mentally kicking myself for leaving my friends / ancestors. Then, through my panic and guilt, I realized I was starting to fade. I focused on remaining as calm as possible, struggling to regain my solidity. Fortunately, East Wind had been too busy studying the ground and cursing to notice, and Sara’s eyes were downcast; she looked like she was in shock.

  “It was John,” Sara finally blurted out. “He was too fast and strong.” Her shoulders slumped, and she almost lost the battle to hold back her tears as she gazed miserably at a bush.

  East Wind turned away and began to jog toward the path. “We need to find them before they reach Boston or else I won’t be able to track them. They can’t be that far ahead.”

  “Come on, Sara; let’s go. It’s not your fault,” I tried to reassure her as we ran across the clearing and into the forest again. While before I had admired the beauty of the untouched forest, now I felt tense. There was an oppressive and unnatural silence, and everything seemed darker, especially the shadows. I focused on ignoring everything but what was directly in front of me, which happened to be a pair of moccasins.

  “How could he have gone so fast while carrying someone?” Sara demanded breathlessly as the path ahead of us showed nothing but waving branches that looked like feathery claws.

  I shook my head, as much to clear the fearful imagery as to indicate that I didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t much farther along before we exited the forest and had our first sighting of Boston. I have to tell you: compared to the modern version, it didn’t look very impressive. Maybe because it was so much smaller; obviously no big buildings. We were approaching from the southwest, along a wide path that seemed to lead straight into the center of town. Actually, it was more like a large village than a town, and definitely not a city yet. I couldn’t see the Charles River or the ocean, but I could feel the humidity, which, combined with the winter’s cold, sunk through my jacket to chill my bones. Yuck. I shivered and tucked my hands under my armpits. My nose stung from the icy breeze. It had been much warmer in the forest.

  “Mental note,” I muttered. “On the next trip, bring a hat and gloves.”

  “For me too,” Sara added. Her nose was bright red and her teeth were chattering. “How will we be able to find Samuel now?”

  I had just been thinking that very same thought, but no answer was forthcoming. The path we were trudging along soon became a busy road paved in cobblestones, over which horse-drawn carriages clattered noisily. People were selling things on every corner or pushing wooden carts laden with anything a customer would want to buy, and a few things I definitely would not. I wasn’t even sure what was in the bottles that one man was selling, but it certainly didn’t look like anything I would want to consume or apply or even have near me.

  As concerned as I was over Samuel’s whereabouts, I gradually began to develop other misgivings as we entered the village of Boston. The road was crowded as a steady flow of people moved relentlessly and purposefully to the town center. But unlike those merchants who sat upon or pulled carts laden with produce, many of the people in the crowd didn’t have anything with them, except stern and determined faces. It didn’t feel right. I shivered, but this time it was not from the biting cold.

  The road led into the main business area, which was bustling in an agitated way, as groups of people milled restlessly at the entrances to shops and cafes, talking and debating with vigor. It didn’t make me feel any better that a number of people stared at me, obviously noticing my unusual clothes and my darker complexion. I tried to slouch in between Sara and East Wind, but that didn’t help much, since East Wind was almost as striking and out of place as I was, and Sara was still wearing my jacket. There’s nothing more comforting for me than blending in with the crowd, which definitely was not going to happen here.

  “Is it always like this?” whispered Sara.

  East Wind shook his head, watching our immediate surroundings with great care as he led us onward. “Many are coming for the protest meetings,” he explained as he eyed the crowd carefully. “They are having rallies against the tea that is about to land.”

  “Wow,” I remarked dryly, “quite a lot of fuss over a cup of tea.”

  East Wind tried to retain his characteristically stern expression, but I saw his lips twitch into a brief smile. I really did. “There is more than tea at stake,” he finally said enigmatically.

  “How is this going to help us find Samuel?” Sara demanded but received no reply.

  Wherever East Wind was taking us, it seemed to be the same destination of the ever-swelling crowd. Hand-pulled carts and horse-drawn carriages had to give way to the human tide that flowed along the snow-muffled cobble stones. Over the murmurings of numerous conversations
, I could hear a commanding voice that grew in volume as the crowd pushed us forward. Eventually, the crowd’s pace began to slow, and then it stopped. Standing on tiptoes, I peered over and around the heads in front of me to see where we were congregating.

  There, on the street corner, was a large elm tree, its branches sprinkled in white and stripped bare of leaves by winter’s arrival. Several lanterns hung on it like Christmas decorations, while colorful banners were draped around the trunk and lower branches. A pole with a yellow cloth at its end was raised within the tree’s boughs. The cloth shifted slightly in the cold breeze. At the tree’s base stood a man who was rousing the crowd with his inflammatory speech.

  “They think they can tell us what to do and how to do it!” he shouted in a voice that reached across the intersection, which was filled with people. The crowd began to boo and hiss. Fists waved in the air. At first, I thought people were disagreeing with the speaker, but when he wasn’t lynched or stoned, I realized they were actually agreeing with him, in a very dramatic way.

  “They think they can push whatever law they want at us,” he continued, his voice rising in volume. Again, the crowd jeered and shouted. “The commanders of the British warships have declared that on the seventeenth of this month in the year of our Lord 1773, they shall force it onto shore under the cover of their cannons!” The crowd shouted an angry roar of disapproval and was now worked up into something close to a frenzy. Sara pressed up close to me. I was staring at the crowd with worry. This was not where we should be. East Wind, however, gazed about calmly, unflustered by the angry rhetoric and escalating emotions.

  “But this time,” the speaker shouted over the crowd, stabbing the air to emphasize each word, “they have gone too far! Too far! And I tell you: that tea will not land!”

  The crowd roared its approval and a chant swelled through the air. I thought I could hear slogans against the British Parliament, the Company and the Governor. They all blurred together, until it was less of a chant and more of the roar of the ocean pounding the shore. It was both thrilling and terrifying, with more emphasis on the ‘terrifying’ part, given that we were right in the middle of it all.

  I leaned toward East Wind and shouted, “Where are we?”

  “We are at the corner of Essex Street and Orange Street,” East Wind explained. “This tree is known as the Liberty Tree. That pole with the yellow cloth means that the Sons of Liberty are planning a meeting.”

  Sara joined our huddle, listened intently, and then stated, obviously without a lot of thought, “The Sons of Liberty are a criminal group who oppose the British Crown.”

  “Sara, be quiet!” I hissed, glancing about at the angry mob that surrounded us. Fortunately, no one seemed to have overheard her, which was a really good thing.

  Instead of frowning, though, East Wind actually smiled. “They may be criminals in Britain, but here they are freedom fighters.”

  “Fighting for freedom, but they still practice slavery,” I commented dryly, suddenly struck with the hypocrisy. I was actually quite impressed with my moment of visionary insight. Such moments didn’t happen too often.

  “So why are we here?” Sara whispered loudly, glancing nervously about as if expecting a crowd of freedom fighting criminals to pounce on her at any moment.

  “This will be a good place to find your father,” East Wind explained, “or at least find someone who might know where he is.”

  “But why don’t we go find my aunt and uncle?” Sara pressed on. “They’ll know where he is.”

  “Unlikely,” our suddenly talkative guide replied. “They haven’t been told where he is, for their own safety.”

  Sara looked like she was about to question that logic when suddenly a bang rang out over the noise of the crowd. The shot (I assumed correctly that it was a gunshot) was followed by a scream and angry shouts coming from somewhere along one of the roads flowing into the intersection. Like a wave, one word was passed down. By the time the word reached us, the crowd was on the move, pushing us forward (more pushing—not good) and away from the shots (okay, kind of good).

  “Soldiers!” The word was repeated with fear and anger through the crowd.

  Just as everyone was looking around nervously, I saw a familiar face. “Look!” I pointed at the building on the corner closest to us. East Wind took one look and shoved his way through the crowd. Sara and I struggled to follow, and we reached the building in time to see our friend (I figured he was our friend) push John roughly toward the building—well, against the building is more accurate. No one else seemed to notice, given the general sense of panic and the desire to get away from the armed soldiers. I was definitely in on that desire to get away.

  “East Wind!” John gasped, his eyes wide with surprise and fear.

  “Eagle Song said we should take them to the great village,” East Wind all but snarled as he grabbed John’s leather tunic and pressed him against the wall.

  “And I did,” John replied defiantly and then cowered slightly beneath the venomous gaze of the other man. “Be careful, or you will hang by your friend’s side as a traitor.”

  Sara gripped my arm tightly. I was pretty sure I now had a bruise there. “What did he do with Samuel?” she asked, just as I asked, “What friend?”

  East Wind had a murderous look in his eyes. “You disgust me,” East Wind snapped. “Where’s the boy?”

  John grinned in a sickly way, but there was doubt in his eyes, as if he wasn’t so sure of himself anymore. “I don’t know, I swear! I gave him to that man, to the captain’s friend.”

  “Kali,” I whispered fearfully.

  “If anything happens to Samuel,” East Wind growled in a threatening voice.

  Before he could continue, Sara shook my shoulder and pointed toward the Liberty Tree. “We’d better get out of here.”

  We all looked over to see several soldiers on horseback. I gulped at the sight of twisted shadows sitting behind the men who were roughly herding the crowd away from the tree. The panicking protestors began to surge toward us.

  “Let’s go,” East Wind shouted above the escalating noise of chaos and pushed John roughly onto the ground. As we began to hurry away from the soldiers, he continued, “If we are separated, go to the church that is down that street.” He gestured ahead of us. I could just make out the cross at the top of the church’s bell tower.

  There was another shot, and the crowd lunged forward again, with greater force. I felt myself being dragged away from the others, who disappeared from my sight. I was pushed into a slow jog. I was getting a bit tired of being pushed. The good news was that now, no one gave a second glance at the strange looking boy in their midst. Someone pushed from the left, and I fell heavily against a street lamp. Grabbing the cold metal post for support, I tried to see where the others had gone, but all I saw were the approaching soldiers.

  Something about one of them made me do a double-take. Squinting, I studied the tall, slim form of one of the horsemen. My heart sped up. Yeah, you guessed it. Kali was urging his horse ahead, his face a mask of cold determination, intent on some quarry that only he seemed to see. I followed the gaze of the hunter and found myself staring at the back of Sara’s head. I released my hold on the lamp and lost sight of her as I was carried farther down the street. The crowd began to thin out as people hurriedly dispersed down the side streets and alleys. Keeping to the sidewalk, I trotted toward the church, which was at the corner of another intersection, still a couple blocks away. As the building loomed closer, I began to scan the people walking briskly in the same direction. I paused for a moment, and a hand descended sharply on my shoulder.

  “Argh!” I choked out as I jumped around. Sara looked just as startled and then just as relieved.

  “Where’s East Wind?” she asked, peering about as if to catch a glimpse of the Mohawk.

  “He must be up ahead. He’s kind of hard to miss.” We began to slowly jog, and soon spotted East Wind, which, like I said, wasn’t hard to do. With his hairstyl
e and deer skin clothes, he stood out more than I did. It seemed others thought so too. When we were about a block away, we saw more soldiers approaching the church from the other direction and arresting loiterers at random. Two soldiers tackled East Wind, who twisted and struggled in vain as he was carried toward a side road.

  “Come on; we have to stop them!” Sara exclaimed as she started running toward the prisoners, but a line of soldiers had formed a human barrier between us and the church, and were marching determinedly toward the remnants of the protesters. Glancing behind, I saw a similar line galloping toward us from the other end of the street, led by Kali, who was glaring at me. Our gazes met, and, despite the distance, I could feel the complete absence of human warmth in his cold, yellow eyes.

  Quickly forcing myself to look away before I was trapped by those eyes, I grabbed Sara’s arm. “We have to get off this street!” I explained. We ran down one of the side alleys squeezed in between buildings and then turned into another alley that led in the general direction of the church. I figured we would exit a couple of blocks down from the church and possibly cut in front of the prisoners. At least, that was my hope. What we would actually do then, I had no idea, but at least we wouldn’t have Kali galloping up behind us.

  The alley narrowed some more, and the sounds of commotion dimmed and then ceased. Ahead, a column of light beckoned us onward, and we exited into a quiet neighborhood with neither soldiers nor prisoners anywhere to be seen.

  We were lost.

  Chapter 13

  “Now how are we going to find them?” Sara asked, slumped onto a doorstep, looking utterly dejected.

  “We need to ask someone where prisoners are taken,” I responded absently. I was tired, cold, and my stomach rumbled painfully. “Listen,” I said, trying to sound encouraging, “maybe…”

  And then the world shook. Literally.

  “Ashish!” A vaguely familiar voice echoed around me, and reality again quivered and blurred. Why didn’t Sara feel the ground quake?