Prologue
Marblehead, Massachusetts, 1682…
	A fledgling Minister retires from the hollow mass of the church, descending the stone steps. Swiveling at the foot of it, he beholds the prominence of the steeple. His eyes particularly affix on the present Cross preceding the church in decorum. The placid Minister peers down the strip of road, holding a stack of parchments in the crevice of his arm. He remains in place until a carriage fetches up in front of him, grinding to a halt as the tawny stallion escorting it neighs. Within the carriage appears to be another clergyman, granted one with no uniform indicating his position in the church hierarchy. He pats the velvet seating beside him, before his ministerial colleague hoists himself up.
	The two nod at one another in acknowledgement, and with a classic “hyah!” the horse trots down the cobbled road. The town of Marblehead is rather serene on this day, and the Minister begins reading through the documents which he now rests on his lap for convenience’s sake. He pauses, glancing up with a dreadful count-
enance. His ministerial coadjutor seems not concerned with his face, as much as his well-being. His bushy, smoky eyebrow furrows as he turns to his younger companion. Though he starts to fret when he realizes his consort gives no upright answer.
	“Ezekiel, what has you so troubled?” speaks the old man with his low, gravelly vociferation. His ally, once more, does not reply. Rather, he stares out into the passing cobblestones. He squints, as another church passes them by. It is not long, he thinks to himself, before we are to be rid of Marblehead. He looks back down at the rough leaflets, groaning.
	“I have been withdrawn from my parish but thrice; once for exorcism, twice for faith healing. Yet, I had never then considered that I might be summoned for the questioning of a budding Negro.”
	The old man gawks at Ezekiel with surprise, not saying a word more on the matter. He can identify the apprehension in his fellow’s face. Instead of speaking further, he turns to face the cobble road, and their tiresome traveling through Massachusetts presses forth.