Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  He walked out of the room, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Ethan glanced at the colonel, who raised an eyebrow.

  “He doesn’t like you very much.”

  “No, sir,” Ethan said. “There are few people in positions of power in this city who do.”

  Dalrymple grinned. Ethan hadn’t seen him smile before; it made him look ten years younger.

  “You seem proud of that,” the colonel said.

  “Not proud exactly. But I have gotten used to it.”

  The colonel looked up again at the corpses of the two women, his grin turning to a grimace. “Did they really kill every man on the Graystone?” he asked.

  Ethan considered this. He could still hear Osborne bullying them both with one breath and with the next assuring them that the army had done the actual killing. And he could hear as well what Hester had said. He lied.

  “Yes,” Ethan said at last. “They killed them. They were trying to help their father, and did far more damage than they ever thought possible.”

  “You sound like you almost feel sorry for them,” Dalrymple said.

  “I do. If you had met their father, you would, too.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY-FOUR

  With the colonel convinced of the guilt of the Osborne women, and Greenleaf resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to blame Ethan for any of what had transpired in the past week, Ethan was free to leave Wood Lane.

  He made his way back to the Dowsing Rod as quickly as he could. Kannice must have been watching for him, because she met him at the door with assurances that Diver was all right.

  “I gave him a room upstairs,” she said. “He’s resting. And Doctor Rickman is waiting for you at a table in back.”

  “Good,” he said, exhaling the word. He put his arms around her and held her for a long time.

  “Is it over?” she asked at length.

  “Almost,” Ethan said. “The worst of it is.”

  “I’m glad. Go find the doctor. I’ll get Kelf to bring you something.”

  Ethan found Rickman sitting alone near the back of the great room. The surgeon regarded him with genuine alarm and was on his feet before Ethan reached the table.

  “You look like you’ve been through a war.”

  “Close to it,” Ethan said.

  “I know that you can heal your own wounds if you have to,” he said, dropping his voice. “But at least let me see to the burns and cuts.”

  The truth was, too many people had seen his injuries for him to heal them with spells, and so he welcomed Rickman’s ministrations. “I’d be grateful, Doctor,” he said, lowering himself into a chair. “But first tell me about Diver.”

  Rickman shrugged. “There’s not much to tell,” he said, still whispering. “The wound is closed, and it appears to have been healed internally, as well as externally. He’s breathing easily, his pulse is steady. I wouldn’t call it strong yet, but if there was lingering damage to his heart I’d know it.”

  “The people who healed him never got the bullet out. There wasn’t time.”

  Rickman blinked, but kept silent as Kelf came to the table and set a cup of ale, some bread, and a bowl of chowder in front of Ethan.

  “My thanks, Kelf.”

  “Anythin’ for you, Doctor?” the barkeep asked.

  Rickman shook his head. Once Kelf had gone, he leaned toward Ethan. “I assumed that you had healed him.”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to speak to the people who did.”

  “That isn’t possible,” Ethan said.

  The doctor seemed to hear the finality of this. He nodded, his expression grave. “I see.”

  “The bullet, Doctor?”

  “It shouldn’t prevent a complete recovery,” Rickman told him. “I don’t think it’s still in his heart—I can’t imagine that he’d be doing as well as he is if that were the case. Which means it’s probably lodged in the muscles or flesh surrounding his heart, nearer to his back, I would assume. It might cause him some discomfort, or it might not. But I doubt it poses any real danger to him.”

  Ethan closed his eyes, knowing a moment of blessed relief. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he reached for his ale and nearly drained the tankard.

  “The people who healed him saved his life,” Rickman said. “You understand that.”

  “Yes, I do. They were also the people who killed the men aboard the Graystone.”

  Rickman didn’t appear to know how to respond to that. He stared at his hands for a long time. After several moments, he looked up at Ethan and said, “Let’s see to that burn, shall we?”

  For the next hour or so, Rickman swabbed and bandaged the burns on Ethan’s neck and arm, cleaned the cuts on his head, and probed his side for broken ribs. By the time he finished, Ethan felt marginally better. He promised himself, though, that once the doctor was gone and he was alone with Kannice, he would use spells on the burns. They hurt far more than his other injuries, and as long as they were bandaged no one would ever know that he had healed himself.

  Rickman left not long after. He needed to return to the Launceston, but he promised Ethan that he would check on Diver again in the next day or two.

  Ethan sipped a second ale by himself for a short while, but when Kannice came by to ask if he planned to wait up for her, he shook his head.

  “I’m about to fall asleep right here,” he said.

  “Go to bed,” she said, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come up.”

  “All right. What room is Diver in?”

  “First one on the right.”

  “Thank you, Kannice.” He climbed to his feet, and waded through the crowd to the stairs.

  At the top of the stairway he let himself into Diver’s room, trying not to make a sound. A single candle burned atop a bureau by the door, and a chair had been set beside the bed. Diver lay beneath a pair of woolen blankets, looking pale and very young. Ethan walked to the bed and laid a hand on his friend’s brow. It felt warm, though not fevered.

  “I thought I’d gotten you killed,” Ethan murmured.

  He watched Diver sleep for a few moments before letting himself out of the chamber and going to Kannice’s room.

  He slept like a dead man—he didn’t notice when Kannice came to bed, or when she got up and dressed the next morning—and only woke when she returned to the room to tell him that a soldier was waiting for him down in the tavern. He rolled out of bed, stiff and sore, wincing with every movement, and he donned the last set of clean clothes he had put aside in Kannice’s wardrobe. If his next job was anything like this one, he would have to remember to buy himself more shirts and bring half of them over here.

  The soldier snapped to attention as Ethan came down the stairs.

  “I’m Ethan Kaille,” he said to the man.

  “Yes, sir. I’m here to escort you to the lieutenant governor.”

  This Ethan had expected. “Lead the way,” he said.

  Ethan took it as a good sign that Hutchinson had sent one man for him, rather than a detachment. But he couldn’t deny that with every step that took him closer to the Town House, his trepidation grew.

  Upon arriving at the Town House, he didn’t have to wait long before being ushered into Hutchinson’s chambers.

  The lieutenant governor eyed him as he walked in, the look on his face so grim that Ethan wondered if the man had hoped he would fail, so that he could rid himself of Boston’s conjurers.

  He still can, said a small voice in the back of his mind.

  “It seems one day was more than enough time for you, Mister Kaille.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “You were hurt, I see.”

  “Not badly, sir.”

  Hutchinson’s smile was perfunctory and cold. “Yes, well, you have our gratitude,” he said, sounding none too grateful. He tossed a leather pouch onto the desk. It landed with the clink of coins. “Mister Brower tells me you were promised ten pounds.”
>
  Ethan picked up the pouch and placed it in his coat pocket. “Is there anything else, Your Honor?”

  “Yes. Be careful how you use that … that witchery of yours. I’ll go to my grave believing that it’s an abomination, and I know that I am not alone in my belief. We’ll be watching you and your kind, and we won’t look kindly on any association you might have with Samuel Adams and James Otis.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ethan said, and left. He should have been angry; Kannice would have been livid on his behalf. But with all that conjurings had wrought in the past several days, he could not bring himself to blame the lieutenant governor for fearing his spellmaking abilities.

  From the Town House, Ethan walked out to Sephira’s house on Summer Street. It was a clear, cool day, with a sky so blue Ethan could barely look at it. Leaves of orange and yellow and bronze clung to the trees lining Rowe’s Field and d’Acosta’s pasture. He knew that he was being foolish and reckless paying a visit to Sephira so soon after forcing his way into her home. But one part of the Graystone mystery remained, and he suspected that she was as aware of this as he.

  Gordon saw him approaching and this time, rather than standing on the portico to face him, the big man retreated into the house. When he came out again, he was accompanied by Nigel, Nap, Afton, and even Mariz, who looked tiny next to the others.

  “You got some nerve comin’ here,” said Nigel, toying with his pistol.

  “I need to speak with Sephira,” Ethan said in an even voice. He hadn’t drawn his knife, but there was enough grass around him for a dozen conjurings.

  He thought that Nigel would refuse to call for her, but he leaned toward Mariz and whispered something. The conjurer glanced at Ethan and slipped into the house.

  “You shouldn’t have put us to sleep like that,” Nap said.

  Ethan raised his eyebrows. “You’d have preferred it if I broke your neck or lit your clothes on fire or just crushed the life out of your heart?”

  None of them offered any response.

  The door opened and Sephira came out, followed by Mariz.

  “Ethan,” she said. “You’re alive. What a surprise.”

  “I’d like a word with you, if I may.”

  She gave a guileless smile, which looked out of place on her features. “All right. Leave us,” she said to Nigel and the others. “There will be other chances for you to take your revenge.” This last she said with a glance at Ethan.

  The men filed back inside. Sephira leaned back against one of the marble columns and looked down at him, beguiling and lovely as ever. “What shall we talk about?”

  “The pearls,” Ethan said.

  “I’ve told you, Ethan—”

  He raised a hand, stopping her. “I’ve been paid by the Crown. Ten pounds. I don’t want anything else. Besides, I never had any claim to whatever treasures were stolen from you. Gant and Osborne are both dead now, as are Osborne’s daughters. And I’ve come to realize that I don’t want to see the customs boys get their hands on the pearls.”

  Sephira had straightened and her smile had vanished. “Do you know where they are?”

  “I have an idea,” Ethan said. “This would level things between us. It would more than make up for my unannounced visit the other day, as well as anything I did to your men.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, purring.

  “No. Those are my conditions. I tell you where they are, and you call off your dogs.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.”

  She took all of two seconds to consider his offer. “Done. Where are they?”

  “There’s a house on Green Lane, near West Church. The structure itself is unimportant—it’s the plot of land on which it sits. There should be a small gravesite there, somewhere in the yard. And if I’m right, the earth at the grave site has been disturbed recently. You’ll find the pearls there.”

  “Osborne’s wife,” Sephira said in a breathy whisper.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s well done, Ethan. Not surprising, though. Of the two of us, you’ve always been the more sentimental.”

  Ethan grinned, refusing to let her goad him. “Good day, Sephira,” he said, turning to go. “Remember, we have a deal.”

  “Of course we do. But sooner or later you’ll give me another excuse to send Nigel and Nap after you. You always do.”

  He couldn’t argue.

  He headed back into the South End, but hadn’t gone far when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw Mariz hurrying after him. This time Ethan did pull his knife.

  Mariz slowed, holding up his hands so that Ethan could see that he carried no weapon. He was breathing hard and sweating. Ethan wondered how recently he had awakened and risen from the bed in Sephira’s house.

  “Sephira and I reached an agreement,” Ethan said, watching the man’s every move.

  “I came for myself, not for her,” Mariz told him, his accent thicker than Ethan remembered.

  Ethan lowered his blade. Mariz stepped closer.

  “You healed me. You got me back to Miss Pryce’s home. I owe you my life.”

  “I’m not sure Sephira would want you thinking that way,” Ethan said.

  “No, I imagine she would not. But still, it is true.”

  “You’d have done the same for me,” Ethan said.

  Mariz laughed, and after a moment Ethan joined in.

  “I think we both know that I would not have.” Mariz grew serious. “But if you have need of my aid in the future, you shall have it.” Before Ethan could say anything, he added, “I still work for Miss Pryce, and I will follow what orders she gives me. But when I am not acting on her behalf, I am free to honor whatever friendships I choose. And like it or not, Kaille, you and I are now friends.”

  Ethan didn’t know what to say. At last he nodded. Mariz flashed a smile and started back toward Sephira’s house. As he walked away, a memory stirred in Ethan’s mind. He reached into his coat pocket and grinned at what he found there.

  “Mariz!”

  The conjurer stopped, turned. Ethan walked to where he waited and handed him his glasses.

  “I forgot to give these to Sephira the other day.”

  Mariz grinned again and put them on.

  “What do you remember from the day you were attacked?” Ethan asked.

  “Very little,” Mariz said, his expression sobering. “I was in New Boston, looking for Gant. I cast a finding spell, one of several I cast that day, and sensed a conjurer just behind me. I tried to turn and ward myself, but the spell hit me before I could.”

  “A warding wouldn’t have helped you. Osborne’s daughters cast together, and their spells were very powerful.”

  “Do you know why they attacked me?”

  “Not for certain, no. But I believe they were checking on their intended hiding place for the pearls, and when they felt your spell, they panicked. You’re lucky it was just them. If their father had been there, he would have insisted that they kill you.”

  “I was lucky because you found me, Kaille. And I will not forget that.” He smiled once more and started away again.

  Ethan watched him go, unsure of whether he could trust the man, even now. Once Mariz was out of sight, he walked to Henry’s shop and up to his room. He remained there long enough to bundle up a change of clothes to take back to the Dowsing Rod. Crossing the city, Ethan pondered what Mariz had said to him. He didn’t know how the man could work for Sephira while also being a friend to him. But he hadn’t sensed that Mariz was lying to him, and he couldn’t imagine that Sephira would have been pleased by their conversation. For now, that was enough to satisfy him.

  On his way to the Dowser, he stopped at King’s Chapel, where he found Mr. Pell tending to the chapel gardens.

  Seeing Ethan, Pell stood and shook his head. “You look terrible.”

  “Why does everyone insist on telling me that?”

  “Simple courtesy,” the young minister said, mis
chief in his eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t noticed.”

  Ethan smiled. “I came to thank you for helping to win my release from the gaol. And I’d like a word with Reverend Caner. I owe him my thanks, as well.”

  Pell averted his gaze, though his smile remained. It might even have deepened. “I was glad to help,” he said. “But I’d prefer you didn’t say anything to Mister Caner.”

  “But he sent a message on my behalf to the lieutenant governor.”

  “Have I mentioned to you,” Pell asked, still not looking Ethan’s way, “that over the years I’ve learned to write in a fair approximation of the rector’s hand?”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. “Trevor!” he whispered.

  “You needed help,” the minister said, looking Ethan in the eye. “And I didn’t think you could afford to wait while I convinced Mister Caner that you were worth saving.”

  “But still—”

  “It’s done,” Pell said. “Best we not speak of it again.”

  Ethan nodded. After a moment’s pause he laughed and gave a small shake of his head. “You are still a rascal, aren’t you? And because you are, I’m still alive.”

  His friend beamed.

  “Thank you, Pell,” Ethan said, proffering a hand.

  Pell gripped it. “My pleasure.”

  Ethan left the young minister, and continued up Treamount toward Sudbury Street. When he reached the Dowsing Rod, Kannice told him that Diver was awake and eager to talk to him. Ethan hurried upstairs to his friend’s room. At his knock, Diver called him inside.

  “How are you feeling?” Ethan asked, closing the door and crossing to the chair by Diver’s bed.

  “Sore,” Diver said. “Tired.”

  “You look good.”

  It was true. His cheeks had color again and though his face was still bruised from the beating Osborne had given him, he seemed to have come through his ordeal mercifully well.

  “Kannice says I got shot.”

  “You don’t remember?” Ethan said.

  “No. She also says that a healing spell saved me. Thank you.”

  Ethan took a long breath. “It wasn’t me, Diver. Osborne’s daughters saved you. All I did was get you back here. And if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. You very nearly died because of me and my foolish idea.”