Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  When at last he reached the coppersmith’s shop, he slowed and readied himself: knife out; sleeve up. He wanted to summon Uncle Reg, but even that small spell would attract notice. He stole around the building into the enclosure in back, and upon seeing the run-down house, knew that at last he had guessed correctly. The tall grass surrounding the old shack had been trampled down, and the building’s lone window glowed with the warm light of a candle or oil lamp. The broken shutter had been repaired since the last time he had been here. He saw as well that the cart standing near the house had also been fixed. Had the repairs been done with conjurings?

  Ethan slipped through the grass until he reached the pair of worn wooden steps that led to the door, which had been repaired as well. It hung straighter on its hinges, and something told Ethan that it would swing open easily, without scraping the floor.

  He put his foot on the first step, and as soon as he did he felt the weblike touch of yet another detection spell. A keening sound, like an ocean wind whistling in a seawall, pierced the silence.

  Ethan cut himself. “Teqimen! Ex cruore evocatum!” Warding, conjured from blood! Power from his spell pulsed, and was answered an instant later by a second pulse that emanated from within the house. He had time to think, Fire spell!

  And then he was on his back, lying in the grass. The warding had held against the flames, but the sheer power of the attack had been like the kick of a mule. Reg, who had materialized as soon as he conjured, looked down at him, disapproval twisting his mouth.

  The door flew open—as smoothly as Ethan had imagined—and Hester Osborne stepped onto the front porch, her mouth set in a thin hard line, her hair down. Seeing Ethan and the glowing ghost, she narrowed her eyes.

  “Mister Kaille! What are you doing here?”

  Ethan climbed to his feet.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he said. He had managed to hold on to his knife and he tightened his grip on it, weighing whether or not to cut himself again.

  “This was Simon Gant’s home,” she said. “But I assume you knew that. My sister and I didn’t feel safe in our home, so we came here.”

  “And where’s your father?” Ethan asked.

  Her face seemed to turn to stone. “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t intended to be. I know that his body vanished from Castle William. For the the past day I’ve assumed that it was Gant who awoke him from whatever spell took his life. But I realize now that I should have known better. You’re a conjurer. I’d wager that your sister is, too, and that you’re both more skilled with your castings than Simon Gant. One of you woke your father, didn’t you?”

  “You should leave.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I need to know where your father is. I believe he has a friend of mine with him.”

  She regarded him, a shrewd look in her eyes. “What friend?”

  “Where is he?”

  Hester stared at him for another moment before shaking her head. “You should leave now,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s not safe for you here, and … you should just go. Quickly.”

  Ethan stepped closer to the house, and even put one foot on the bottom stair. “He’s here, isn’t he? Your father is inside.”

  “Please—”

  “Hester?”

  The woman turned, and Ethan looked past her. Molly Osborne stood in the doorway, the candlelight within the house shrouding her in shadow.

  “It’s all right, Molly. Go back inside.”

  “But it’s not all right.”

  The two women gazed at each other for several seconds. Ethan couldn’t see either of their faces, but he sensed their tension, their fear.

  Hester looked down at him again. “Go, Mister Kaille! Now!”

  He shook his head with grim purpose and stepped up onto the front porch of the shack. “I can’t.”

  Before he could shoulder his way past her, a knife flashed in her hand and she cut the back of her own wrist.

  “Corpus alligare! Ex cruore evocatum!” Bind body! Conjured from blood!

  The thrum of her conjuring seemed to rattle the house, and the glowing red ghost of a young man appeared beside her. Ethan had warded himself, but hers was a powerful casting. Without the warding it would have incapacitated him; as it was, he had to struggle to move his limbs, as though he had been snared in a heavy net. He lurched forward, but managed not to fall on his face.

  “You can’t go in there,” she said.

  “What the hell was that?” a man bellowed from the back of the house. He sounded drunk or sleepy, or both.

  Ethan glared at Hester before pushing past her again. This time she let him go.

  Molly stood just inside the door, her fists clenched, her jaw set in defiance. “You should have listened to her!” she said.

  But he stepped around her as well, starting toward the small back room of the ramshackle house.

  Before he reached it, though, a man blocked his way. The boyish face and round cheeks were familiar, as were the flecks of gray in his straight brown hair. Unlike the last time Ethan had seen him, though, Caleb Osborne now looked very much alive.

  He held a pistol in one hand and in the other he grasped the arm of a second man, whom he had dragged from the back room. Giving this figure a hard yank, he pulled the man into view and then let the slack arm drop to the floor.

  Ethan needed no more than a cursory look to know who this second man was. The black curls, the square handsome face, marred now by dark bruises around both eyes, and a good deal of dried blood around his nose and mouth. Diver. There was a deep gash under one of his friend’s eyes and another high on the side of his head. His hair was matted with blood. He appeared still to be alive, but Ethan didn’t know how long he could keep his friend that way.

  Osborne laughed at what he saw on Ethan’s face. He shoved the toe of his shoe under Diver’s shoulder and pushed hard, rolling the young man onto his back, so that his head lolled to the side and struck the doorframe with a dull thud.

  “This who you’re lookin’ for?” Osborne asked.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-ONE

  Osborne planted his foot on Diver’s chest and aimed his pistol, full-cocked and ready to fire, at the center of the unconscious man’s forehead. Looking over at Ethan, he grinned, revealing a large gap where his bottom front teeth should have been.

  “I see by your glowin’ friend there”—he tipped his head in Reg’s direction—“that you know somethin’ of conjurin’. And you obviously care ’bout this one. So I’m gonna keep my flintlock just like this, and you’re gonna answer some questions for me. Get it?”

  “What do you want to know?” Ethan asked.

  “Let’s start with your name.”

  “I’m Ethan Kaille.”

  “And what the hell are you doin’ in my house, talkin’ to my girls, and pokin’ your nose in my business?”

  Ethan glanced at Hester, who had closed the door and was watching him and her father.

  “Don’t look at her!” Osborne said, his voice suddenly so loud that both women started. “It’s me as asked you the question!”

  “I’m a thieftaker,” Ethan said.

  “Ah,” the man said, nodding. “I figured as much, or somethin’ like it. You’re after what’s mine.”

  “I’m not the only one. You’re playing a dangerous game with Sephira Pryce.”

  “You let me worry ’bout her. The Empress of the South End don’t scare me.” He looked Ethan up and down, seeming to take stock of what he saw. “You know what you’re chasin’ or are you just lookin’ for the first coin that comes your way?”

  “I’m looking for the pearls that you and Simon Gant stole from Sephira.”

  Osborne had been grinning all this time, but now the grin faded. He waved the pistol at Diver. “So that’s where this one comes in, eh? He’s workin’ with you, or for you.”

  “He’s no one: a lad I hired to do a little work. That’s all. Let him go. You have me
now. I’m a lot more important than he is.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s important to you, and that makes him valuable to me.” He narrowed his eyes, much as Hester had done. Up until that moment, Ethan hadn’t noticed the resemblance between Osborne and his daughters. But it struck him as obvious now that he was looking for it. “But tell me, Kaille. What makes a thieftaker so important?”

  When Ethan didn’t answer, Osborne pressed the barrel of his pistol against Diver’s forehead and looked Ethan’s way.

  What could he do but answer? “I’m working for the Crown.”

  “The Crown?”

  Ethan laughed, breathless and desperate. “You didn’t think you could attack a British ship that way and not attract the notice of the king’s men, did you? Are you that much a fool?”

  The muscles in Osborne’s jaw bunched. “Have a care, man,” he said. “I’ll kill him, and then I’ll kill you, and I’ll sleep fine tonight havin’ done it.”

  Ethan swallowed the retort that leaped to mind.

  “What is it the Crown has you doin’?” he asked, his tone mocking, his pronunciation of the word “Crown” exaggerated.

  “Looking for you, as it turns out.”

  “Well, that’s too bad for you, Kaille. ’Cause they’ll never know that you found me.” Osborne looked past Ethan. “I want him bound, girls.”

  Neither Hester nor Molly moved.

  “Now!” their father said, sounding like he was speaking to ten-year-olds.

  “He warded himself,” Hester said, her voice shaking. “I tried a spell against him before. It didn’t work.”

  Osborne grinned. “Do it the way I taught you. Together.”

  Molly made a small sound in her throat, like a trapped animal. Hester laid a hand on her sister’s arm and looked to her father once more.

  “Do it!” Osborne’s words seemed to lash at the women.

  Hester continued to glare at him. He stared back at her, daring her to defy him. And in the end, she looked away.

  “It’s all right, Molly,” she said, her tone gentle. “It’s just a binding.”

  Ethan watched them all, looking back and forth between the young women and their father. He knew better than to reach for his knife, but he remembered the two mullein leaves he still carried with him. They weren’t enough for a powerful casting, but perhaps a simpler spell would be enough. He had a feeling that if he could overpower Caleb, the women would let him take Diver and go.

  He began to speak a spell to himself. “Conflare ex verbasco—” It would have been a heat spell, one that would force the man to drop his pistol. But as soon as Ethan began to recite the Latin, Uncle Reg’s bright eyes snapped to his face.

  Osborne saw this. “Stop it!” he shouted, turning the pistol on Ethan.

  Ethan faltered—only for an instant, but that was enough. With one quick stride, Osborne covered the distance between them. He slammed the butt of his weapon into the side of Ethan’s head.

  Pain exploded in Ethan’s temple and white light flared behind his eyes. He staggered, fell to the floor.

  “Now!” Osborne said, his voice like a hammer. “The spell! Cast it!”

  A heavy silence fell over the room and Ethan tried to rouse himself. Before he could, he heard the women say in unison, “Corpus alligare ex cruore evocatum.” Bind body, conjured from blood.

  The spell that rumbled like thunder in the floor beneath him, that pulsed through his body with such force it seemed to make his teeth clatter, dwarfed any spell Ethan himself had ever cast, save the one that he had sourced in the life of Shelly’s mate, Pitch. Whatever Hester and her sister had done rivaled a killing spell, something Ethan had never thought possible.

  That the spell worked just as the women had intended, carving through his warding as if it were paper, came as no surprise. He couldn’t move. He had lost all control over his limbs, his neck, his mouth. His gaze could roam, but beyond that, he was helpless. On the other hand, he still felt everything. His head ached where Osborne had hit him; the rough floor pressed against his cheek, his arm, his side. He was growing more uncomfortable with every breath. But he couldn’t do anything about it.

  He heard footfalls by his head and back and felt himself hoisted up into a chair. He started to tip over to one side, but Osborne braced him before he fell back to the floor.

  “Rope,” the man said.

  Hester nodded to Molly, who hastened to the back room and returned with a long piece of ship’s rope.

  “Tie him up,” Osborne told her. “Just enough that he won’t fall over.” He smiled. “Spell’ll take care of the rest. But just in case, take his blade.”

  Ethan hardly heard him. His mind was reeling from what he saw, and with the implications for all that had happened over the past several days. Hester’s red ghost had appeared again with the binding spell. It stood beside her. And a second ghost followed Molly everywhere she went. This one was a young woman who looked very much like the young man glowing at Hester’s shoulder. Both of the ghosts had large dark eyes, aquiline noses, and full, sensuous mouths. These features seemed odd, almost womanly, on the red figure of the young man; they were far more attractive on the glowing girl. Still the ghosts resembled each other; they were related, perhaps even brother and sister. This was not surprising, since Hester and Molly were sisters.

  What had sent Ethan’s mind careening down a dark and troubling path was the color of Molly’s ghost. She was yellow. Bright golden yellow.

  He stared at the shade for several moments, then shifted his stare back to Hester’s bloodred ghost. Yellow and red. He hadn’t seen either color before this day. But he would have wagered all he owned that when blended together, the yellow and red of their spells would leave a residue of brilliant orange. The same orange he had seen aboard the Graystone, on Mariz, and on Gant.

  Osborne hadn’t killed anyone. His daughters had done it all. Together, their separate conjurings working as one.

  He felt light-headed, sick to his stomach. The truth had been right there in front of him for so long, since that first day when he went to speak with them. Still, even knowing this, he couldn’t reconcile those yellow and red ghosts with what he had observed of the two women. They weren’t killers. They couldn’t be. And yet, ninety-seven men were dead; ninety-eight if he counted Gant. Killed by power that glowed orange.

  He stared at them, at their ghosts, yellow and red. He wanted to ask them why, whether their father had forced them. But he could no more speak than he could stand up and walk out of the shack.

  “What now?” Hester asked, looking to her father.

  Osborne put on an old begrimed coat. “Now, I go out and look for some pearls. I might even be able to sell them.”

  “But you don’t know where they are,” Hester said. “You told us that before.”

  “Well, I’ve more of an idea than I let on. Gant told me some before he died. And Sephira don’t need to know I ain’t got them yet. Just as long as we agree on a price. The rest’ll take care of itself.”

  Hester didn’t appear convinced, but she also didn’t seem concerned. She eyed her father a moment longer and turned her attention back to Molly, who was staring at Ethan, looking both frightened and contrite. Osborne retreated to the back room and soon returned with a second pistol. One he placed in his coat pocket. The other he handed to Hester.

  “You girls watch him,” Osborne said. “And keep a good eye on his friend, too. If he wakes, bind him up like Kaille. You can shoot them if you have to. One or both.”

  “We can’t keep them like this forever,” Hester said.

  “Don’t need to. I’ll talk to Sephira, come back here and learn what I can from these two. And then we’ll … well, we’ll deal with them.” He looked at Diver once more and pursed his lips. “One of you girls ought to clean that blood … Or better yet.” He swung his gaze Ethan’s way, the cruel smile on his lips Ethan’s only warning of what was coming.

  He heard the man whisper his spell, felt the pu
lse of power, and saw the glowing blue ghost of an ancient soldier, much like Reg, appear beside Osborne. Flames erupted from Ethan’s sleeve. They licked at his neck and face, the heat sudden and intense. Terror stole his breath. He couldn’t bat at the flames or rip off his shirt or drop to the floor and roll over the burning clothes to smother the blaze. He felt his skin blistering and he couldn’t even scream.

  It took the two women several seconds—which might as well have been hours—to understand what was happening. Ethan could smell burning cloth, hair, flesh, and perhaps they finally did, too. Molly gave a small yelp and both women rushed forward to put out the fire.

  They managed to extinguish the flames in mere moments, though it seemed to Ethan that they took far longer. His arm throbbed, and he could feel burns on his neck, as well.

  No one in the room spoke. Osborne’s smile had vanished, and he was staring hard at his daughters.

  “You were awfully quick to save him,” the man said. “Like you was worried ’bout him.”

  Neither woman spoke at first.

  “Well?” Osborne said.

  “You would have preferred we let the house burn down?” Hester said at last. “It wasn’t him we were saving; it was us.”

  “Well, that’s good. ’Cause when I come back, he’s a dead man. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Molly blanched. Hester nodded.

  “Why did you do it?” Molly asked, her eyes brimming with tears. She wiped at them, leaving a dark, sooty smear on her cheek. “You didn’t have to burn him.”

  Osborne pointed back to Diver. “There was blood on his face. Kaille coulda used it to conjure. So, I did instead.”

  The women looked down at Diver, as did Ethan. The blood on his friend’s face and hair was gone, washed away by Osborne’s conjuring.

  “All right, I’m goin’. Watch him. Even without that blood, he’s dangerous.” Osborne turned to Ethan once more. “I shoulda asked you ’bout them pearls before Hes’s spell shut your mouth. But we can deal with that later.”

  He left the shack, his boots scraping first on the porch and then the stairs. Still the women said nothing. They seemed to be listening, and Ethan did the same, until he could no longer hear the man tromping through the tall grass.