Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  “Diver!” he called. “Are you in there?”

  “Aye, hold on,” came Diver’s voice from inside. The door opened, revealing Ethan’s friend, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of breeches. His dark curls were tousled and he squinted against the daylight.

  “What time is it?” he asked, frowning at Ethan.

  “Almost midday.” Looking past Diver into the room, Ethan saw the bare back and long red hair of a woman in Diver’s bed. “Late night?”

  That coaxed a grin from him. “What do you want, Ethan?”

  “I have a business proposition for you. I need help, and I think you’re the only one who I can trust with this.”

  His eyes went wide like those of a boy who had just been given his first musket. The look was half joy, half amazement. “You’re serious,” he said.

  “Aye. But we need to get started now. And,” Ethan added, looking past him to the woman, “we can’t discuss it in front of anyone.”

  Diver nodded. “She’ll be dressed and out of here in five minutes.” He started to close the door.

  “Is that Katharine?” Ethan asked, stopping him.

  “What?” Diver’s face went red. “Oh. No, it’s not. I told her I never wanted to see her again. This is Deborah. I’ll introduce you before she leaves.”

  Ethan didn’t think there was any need. Chances were Diver would be with someone new by week’s end, and he would never see Deborah with him again. But he kept that to himself and waited patiently outside the room while the two of them dressed. True to his word, Diver introduced Ethan to the girl as she was leaving, presenting Ethan in a manner befitting someone of great celebrity. Deborah smiled at Ethan, kissed Diver’s cheek, and left, hips swaying as she descended the stairs. Diver stared after her in a way that made Ethan wonder if he was wrong to dismiss the girl as he had.

  “You like this one, eh?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Good for you, Diver. It’s about time.”

  Diver looked at him. “What is?”

  “Nothing. Forget I said it.”

  His friend looked down at the girl one last time as she stepped out onto Devonshire. Once she was out of sight, he turned to Ethan again. “So what’s this all about?”

  “Inside,” Ethan said.

  Once they were in the room, with the door closed and a pot of water warming on the stove, Ethan began to relate to Diver all that he had learned about the pearls and Gant’s role in their theft.

  When he finished, Diver let out a low whistle. “Well, I never liked Simon Gant. I was scared to death of him, if you want to know the truth. But going up against Sephira…” He shook his head. “You’ve got to admire him for that. I wouldn’t have the nutmegs.”

  “I prefer to think that you’re too smart,” Ethan told him. “But we’ll leave that discussion for another day.” He had been sitting back in an old wooden chair, but now he leaned forward, the chair creaking as he rested his elbows on his knees. “When was the last time you dealt with smugglers?”

  Diver hesitated. Under most circumstances, Ethan knew, he would have claimed to have given up such activities, knowing that Ethan wouldn’t approve. But he seemed to understand that on this day Ethan needed to hear the truth. “It’s been a while now. Since last winter at least.”

  “You still know people, though, right? If you needed to find something, or sell something?”

  “Of course,” the younger man said. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “If you had pearls to sell, and you didn’t know where they had come from, or if you knew but didn’t want to answer any questions about them, where would you go to sell them?”

  “The Crow’s Nest,” Diver said right off. “That’s still the best spot.”

  Ethan shook his head. “They’re not there. And at this point I’d wager that Dunc wants nothing to do with them. Where else?”

  Diver ran a hand through his curls, his brow furrowed. “That’s hard to say. I might have to think about it, and get back to you.”

  “No time for that,” Ethan said. “I’ll trust you to find the right place.”

  “You’ll trust me…? I don’t follow.”

  “I need you to find a buyer for those pearls.”

  “But I thought you didn’t have them.”

  Ethan grinned. “Well, that’s where this gets a little dangerous. I don’t have them. Neither will you. So you’re going to have to use some caution when you speak of them. Maybe say that you have a friend who’s trying to sell the pearls. If you want to imply that it’s me, go ahead. Just don’t use my name, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

  “The men who are likely to show interest in these pearls are going to want to know more about them than I’m guessing you want me to tell.”

  “I’m sure,” Ethan said. “But I’m not as interested in attracting potential buyers as I am in drawing the attention of Simon Gant. So here’s what you’ll say: You don’t know much about where these pearls came from. Only that they’ve been here in the city for several years, and that they had been lost for a while, but recently turned up somewhere in New Boston. If anyone asks for more information than that, tell them you don’t know.”

  “Several years in the city, found in New Boston.” Diver nodded. “That’s easy enough. What else?”

  Ethan closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, brow to chin. “It’s not easy at all, Diver. Understand what it is I’m asking of you, what it is I’m getting you into. If I’m right, Gant has already killed a shipful of men simply to protect his stake in this shipment. He nearly killed Mariz with a conjuring. He beat me senseless and did the same to Dunc, all because of these pearls. He’s going to hear what you’re trying to sell, and he’s going to come looking for you. And because he stole these from Sephira, we’re going to be drawing her attention, too. She’s been hunting the man all through Boston, and she won’t stop until Gant is dead or she has the pearls.”

  Diver stared at him, puzzlement furrowing his brow. “Well, now it sounds like you don’t want me to help you.”

  “I do. I can’t think of any other way to lure Gant out from wherever he’s been hiding. But I want you to understand the danger in what I’m asking you to do. Once you start this, you can’t stay here. Chances are Gant and Sephira’s toughs will come here to search your place, and they won’t be gentle about it. If you’re here, they’ll hurt you. Or worse.”

  “So, I won’t be here.”

  “Is there somewhere else you can stay? With Deborah maybe?”

  Diver’s cheeks reddened again. “Aye, maybe. I’ll find a place. Don’t worry about it, Ethan. I can do this.”

  Ethan laid a hand on Diver’s shoulder. “I know you can. But just the same, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, and on them. If anyone contacts you, tries to set up a meeting, you let me know, and I’ll be there with you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Can’t you find Gant on your own? Your way, I mean.”

  “I can,” Ethan said. “But he’ll feel a finding spell. He’ll know someone’s looking for him. He might even guess that it’s me. I don’t want to give him that kind of warning. I’m sure that he’s looking for these pearls, and I’m sure that he’ll want to find them as quickly as he can and then get as far from Boston and Sephira as possible. I’m hoping that we can make him a little careless.”

  “What if this doesn’t fool him?” Diver asked. “What if it doesn’t fool Sephira, either? What if one of them already has the pearls, and they know that I’m making it all up?”

  “They don’t,” Ethan said. “I’m not sure of much, but I do know that if the pearls had been found Gant would be long gone and Sephira would be hunting him down instead of sending Nigel and his buddies all around the North End.”

  Diver weighed this. “Then it sounds like I should get started right away.”

  Ethan stood, patted Diver on the shoulder. “My thanks. I’d like to tell you that there’s a hundred pounds sterling waiting for you at the end
of this if it works, but there’s not. I’m getting paid ten pounds. I’ll give you four, but that’s about all I can offer.”

  “That’s more than enough. I still owe you from what happened with Tanner. And you’ve spent at least that much on my ales and stew in the Dowser.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m in your debt,” Ethan said. “Let’s plan to meet at the tavern each night until this is over. I want to know everything that happens.”

  He let himself out of Diver’s room and descended the stairs to the street, feeling considerably better than he had just an hour before. Sephira always managed to outthink him, but he couldn’t imagine that she would anticipate this gambit.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  He had intended to head home after leaving Diver’s place, but as he stepped back out onto the street, he saw people streaming through the city lanes toward the First Church. At least, that was where he thought they were going. As he followed, however, driven by curiosity and something else he couldn’t name, Ethan saw that those leading the throng had passed the church and Town House, and were continuing west toward the Court House.

  This, too, they passed. As Ethan caught snatches of conversation and repeated mention of certain words—“lobsterbacks,” “barracks,” and, most often “Brown”—he realized that they were leading him to the Manufactory House. Thus far today he had heard nothing new about Elisha Brown, but he assumed that he and his comrades were still holding out in the building. Listening more closely, looking around at the expressions of those walking with him, he sensed the crowd’s trepidation as well as its excitement. It seemed that the people heading toward Treamount didn’t know whether to expect another moral victory for the colonists or a bloodbath.

  Reaching the broad avenue and following the onlookers to the great brick structure, Ethan saw a host of regulars and an officer, powerfully built and resplendent in his red uniform, standing at the fore of their column. He was looking up at the building, speaking with someone. Following the direction of his gaze, Ethan saw a man with dark hair and a ruddy face leaning out of a second-story window, and shouting back at the officer. Elisha Brown, no doubt.

  The regulars carried muskets, but as of yet they hadn’t aimed them at the building. Ethan wondered how long that would last. To his relief, he saw no sign of the British cavalry or of heavier guns.

  Scanning the larger horde that had gathered around the building to watch whatever unfolded, Ethan caught sight of a familiar shock of gray hair. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed through the mass of people until he had reached Samuel Adams’s side.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  Adams glanced his way, looked a second time. His face brightened. “Mister Kaille!” he said. “What brings you here? Are you ready at last to join our cause?”

  “I was drawn here by curiosity, nothing more. I saw the crowd gathering and I followed.”

  “I see,” Adams said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. He turned back to the scene before them, his head moving ever so slightly with his palsy, concern creasing his brow.

  “Brown and his friends are taking a great chance,” Ethan said. “You should get him out of there.”

  “I should?” Adams said, rounding on him. “I have nothing to do with this. Contrary to what you and some others might choose to believe, James Otis and I are not responsible for every act of defiance by the citizens of Boston. Brown didn’t take direction from me or anyone else. He did this because he believes this occupation to be wrong, and because he doesn’t wish to give up his residence, however temporary it might be, in order to make a few of King George’s men more comfortable.”

  Ethan said nothing, and Adams turned away once more, a touch of red shading his cheeks.

  “Forgive me, Mister Kaille. These past few days have been difficult for all of us. I’m not insensitive to the danger. But Elisha has chosen his own path, and like you I can only watch to see what happens next.” He shrugged, a small, guarded gesture. “I don’t believe that Dalrymple and his men want this confrontation. They don’t wish to be humiliated, of course, and therein lies the true peril. But word is that General Gage has more men on the way—a few thousand more—and Dalrymple wouldn’t be so foolish as to resort to violence before his reinforcements arrive.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  A wan smile flickered on the man’s face, although he didn’t look away from the building. “Yes, so do I.”

  They both fell silent and watched. Much of the crowd had quieted as well, perhaps trying to hear what Brown and the British officer said to each other. Ethan could make out little of it, and none of what he heard was of much interest to him. Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple wanted the building for his men and claimed authority to take it. Brown refused to acknowledge that authority and claimed to have no intention of leaving any time soon. The rest of what they said was of little importance.

  After a few minutes of this, those who had come expecting to see something more dramatic began to lose interest. The silence that had descended on the mass of people gave way to murmured conversations, and to catcalls, most of them directed at the regulars and their leaders, but a few aimed at Brown and his friends.

  Ethan scanned the crowd, more out of habit than any expectation that he might recognize someone. The one person he knew who might have been drawn to this sort of encounter was Diver, and Ethan had left him back on Pudding Street. But as he continued to survey the street, a lone figure drew his attention. At first he took little notice of the man, who was skulking at the edge of the crowd, his great shoulders hunched, his hands deep in his pockets.

  Ethan soon realized that while the man appeared to be pacing, every pass brought him closer to the Manufactory. And he realized as well that he had seen the hulking frame and red hair before. Simon Gant.

  “Your pardon, sir,” Ethan said, starting away from Adams and taking care to keep his gaze fixed on Gant.

  “Yes, of course, Mister Kaille,” Adams called to him. “Good day to you.”

  Ethan raised a hand in farewell, but all of his attention was on the big man. Skirting the densest part of the gathering, he made his way toward him. He moved with great care, and tried to conceal himself behind others. But he never let Gant out of his sight, and he reached for his knife as he walked. He hid the blade within his sleeve, so as not to alarm those around him, or cut anyone as he squeezed past.

  Gant watched the building—Ethan wondered what interest he had in Elisha Brown and his confrontation with the regulars—and paid little attention to those around him. Ethan might have made it all the way to the man without being spotted had it not been for an older woman who objected to his attempts to step past her.

  “You’ll just have to wait there, mister!” she said, glaring at him with small blue eyes. “We all want to see better, and I have a friend inside! So you just stand there with the rest of us and stop pushing me!”

  Ethan raised his hands to indicate that he meant her no harm, and glanced toward Gant, to make certain that the man hadn’t seen him yet. He hadn’t.

  But that hardly mattered, because in putting up his hands, he had forgotten that he held the knife. The old woman let out a little gasp, pointed a bony finger at Ethan and shouted “He has a knife!” in a shrill voice that must have carried halfway to Newport.

  Everyone in the vicinity turned to look at him. So did Gant.

  Ethan stared back at him and the big man’s eyes widened with recognition. He bolted down Treamount, shoving one woman to the ground and lowering his shoulder so that he barreled over an unsuspecting man. Ethan threaded his way through the mob, trying to be more gentle than Gant, but also doing his best not to let the thief get too far ahead of him. He jostled several people, earning glares and shouted insults, and at least one kick to the shin. But soon enough he was clear of the crowd and running after Gant.

  The red-haired man turned down Queen Street. Ethan followed, pushing at his sleeve, and wondering what kind of spell he might use
to slow Gant down. Gant cut off of Queen at the Court House, sprinting through the square that the old building shared with the prison and Old Meeting House. Ethan’s bad leg slowed him, and he could feel the man pulling away from him.

  When he lost sight of Gant, he despaired, thinking that he had lost him. But he didn’t slow. Not yet. And as he reached Water Street, he saw Gant again.

  The man had stopped. He stood with his arm braced against the brick side of a building, a pistol aimed at Ethan’s head.

  Ethan stopped and threw himself to the side, taking cover between two shops and waiting for the report of Gant’s weapon. It never came. When Ethan finally leaned out to look again, Gant was gone. Swearing, Ethan leaped to his feet and started after him again, hoping that he had continued down Water Street.

  The lane was empty save for two carriages that were ahead of him and heading in the same direction he was. No one could see him. He cut himself and said “Locus magi ex cruore evocatus.” Location of conjurer, conjured from blood. Reg fell in step beside him, seeming to run without effort, which was disconcerting since the ghost was at least four hundred years older than Ethan.

  The conjuring flowed from him down into the street, and rebounded an instant later. Gant was ahead of him, still on Water Street. He would have felt Ethan’s finding spell, and should have warded himself against any conjured attack.

  But Ethan felt no pulse of power. Maybe Gant didn’t wish to give Ethan any better sense of where he was. Or maybe he was content to rely on his gun and his strength.

  On that thought, Ethan slowed, peering into every alley, expecting with each turn of his head to find himself staring down the steel gray barrel of the thief’s pistol.

  “Where are you, Gant?” Ethan called, halting. “There’s no sense in hiding. I can find you with another spell. You know I can.”

  He cut himself again and cast a second finding spell. Gant was ahead of him still, but close. It seemed that he had stopped running, too. By halting, Ethan had probably saved himself. He looked at Reg, who was staring ahead, his gaze avid, hawklike.