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before we speak of these matters.”
    Ethan wasn’t sure what “matters” Reverend Caner referred to, but for the moment he kept his questions to himself.
    “In the meantime,” Mister Caner went on, “I would like you to meet Doctor Silvester Gardiner, who is rector’s warden here at King’s Chapel. Doctor Gardiner, this is Ethan Kaille.”
    Gardiner stared hard at Ethan, his expression so stern beneath his prominent brow that Ethan felt like a schoolboy caught in the glare of a displeased catechist.
    They shook hands, Gardiner’s massive paw seeming to swallow Ethan’s.
    “A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Gardiner.”
    “I’m grateful to you for coming,” the man said, his voice far softer and more mild than Ethan had expected.
    “As you might imagine,” Caner said, “Doctor Gardiner takes more than a passing interest in these events.”
    Ethan frowned. “I’m sorry, reverend sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
    “Didn’t Mister Pell tell you?”
    “No. His message requested that I come here at my earliest convenience. It said nothing more.”
    Caner clicked his tongue and glanced at the warden. “I see. Well, I think I would prefer that he was with us for this conversation.”
    “All right,” Ethan said, perplexed.
    They did not have to wait long. The young minister emerged from the crypts with Troutbeck behind him, struggling to keep pace.
    Trevor Pell had not changed at all in the four years Ethan had known him. He was slight, with straight brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a face so youthful that he would have looked more like an altar boy than a minister if not for the robes and cravat that he also wore.
    He walked with grim purpose, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “Mister Kaille,” he said, stepping past Caner and Gardiner to shake Ethan’s hand. “Thank you for heeding my summons so quickly.”
    “It’s good to see you again, Mister Pell.”
    “Mister Pell,” Caner said, “I thought you intended to tell Mister Kaille what has happened. He knows nothing right now.”
    “Yes, reverend sir,” Pell said. “You impressed upon me the need for discretion. I thought you would prefer that the note I sent to Mister Kaille be as vague as possible.”
    Caner considered this. “I suppose you’re right.” To Ethan he said, “You’ll have to forgive me, Mister Kaille. I have little experience with affairs of this sort. But Mister Pell believes that you can help us, and despite our past differences, I am hopeful that he is correct.”
    “What’s happened?” Ethan asked, eyeing the men.
    The warden answered. “This church and its congregation have been the victims of a foul crime.”
    “More than one, actually,” Pell said. “Over the past several nights, the sanctity of the King’s Chapel Burying Ground has been violated.”
    “Resurrectionists?” Ethan asked.
    Pell nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
    The practice of stealing cadavers from graves had been common in England for some time. Schools of medicine and private physicians alike needed bodies with which to study anatomy and practice dissections. At the same time, most churches prohibited any desecration of the dead, even if done in the name of science. As a result, a rather profitable market in corpses, particularly bones, had established itself outside the bounds of the law. In recent years, so-called resurrectionists—grave robbers who spirited away the bodies of the dead—had brought their grisly work to the American colonies. And with schools of medicine having been recently established in Philadelphia and New York, and likely to be founded in other cities as well, the demand for cadavers would only increase.
    Ethan had heard as well of conjurers using bones for spells the way he used blood. Bones were said to be every bit as effective, and they eliminated the need for a spellmaker to cut himself. He also knew that Tarijanna Windcatcher, a conjurer who owned a tavern on Boston’s Neck, sold ground bone in