Dead Man's Reach

by D. B. Jackson

  To Ethan’s relief, Paxton answered his knock before Ramsey could cast a second spell.

  “Mister Kaille,” the commissioner said, clearly surprised to see Ethan on his doorstep once more. “I didn’t expect you today.”

  The commissioner was dressed in a black silk coat and breeches. Belatedly Ethan realized that it was Sunday morning and that Paxton and his wife would be on their way to church before long.

  “No, sir. Please forgive the intrusion.”

  “Do you have news for me?”

  “I believe I do. I was hoping I might come in and speak once more with your servant.”

  Paxton’s expression darkened. “If you mean Louisa, I’m afraid that’s impossible. She’s gone.”

  A wave of nausea crashed over Ethan. “Gone where?” he asked, though of course he knew what Paxton would say.

  “I’ve no earthly idea. She stole away sometime during the night. When my wife and I awoke this morning, she had already gone and had taken all of her things. Her room is completely empty.”

  “This is my fault,” Ethan said, removing his hat and raking clawed fingers through his hair.

  “Your fault? What do you mean?”

  He donned his hat once more and looked Paxton in the eye. “Louisa and Private Fleming were working together. Her tears yesterday were a ruse, as was her visit with her infirm parents. I believe she has the stolen items hidden in their home.”

  “I’m deeply sorry to hear that,” Paxton said. “But in what way is this your fault.”

  “I spoke to Fleming yesterday and wrung the truth from him. I should have called the sheriff straightaway, but I didn’t think that Fleming would desert, nor did I believe that Louisa would run off. I assumed that I would have this chance to confront her.”

  Paxton’s frown had deepened. “I must tell you that I’m disappointed, Mister Kaille. Geoffrey Brower led me to believe that you were a skilled thieftaker. I expected better from you.”

  “And you shall have it, sir. You have my word.”

  “What will you do?”

  “What is Louisa’s family name?”

  “Allen. At least this is what she told me.”

  “And where is her parents’ home?”

  “She said it was in Medfield, but you have proved her false, Mister Kaille. Shouldn’t we assume that everything she told me was a lie?”

  “Not necessarily, sir. Sometimes a succession of small truths can conceal a larger falsehood. And Fleming mentioned to me that her parents’ home was along the Middle Road.”

  “I have little personal experience with such things and so have no choice but to place my trust in you again. But I do so reluctantly.”

  “I understand, sir,” Ethan said, starting away from the door. “But I swear to you that your property will be found.”

  Ethan didn’t wait for a reply, nor did he tarry by the rope yard, though he could see that once more Ramsey’s spell had drawn soldiers and journeymen into the ice-covered lane.

  He left Hutchinson’s Street at its south end, and followed Cow Lane down to Summer Street. Soon, he stood again before the entrance to Sephira Pryce’s mansion. Afton opened the door this time, and glowered down at him.

  “What do you want now?”

  “I need to speak with Sephira.”

  The brute set his jaw and Ethan thought he would refuse and send him away. But then he said, “Right then, wait here,” drawling the words. Though he closed the door, Ethan could hear him lumber through the house.

  He pulled the door open again moments later and held out his hand. Ethan handed over his knife and his pouches of herbs. Sephira’s man eyed these dubiously, but gestured for Ethan to enter. After shutting the door once more, he led Ethan into the common room, where Sephira stood before a blazing fire. She wore a dress of dark blue satin, rather than her usual breeches and waistcoat. He had to admit that she looked even more beautiful than usual. But while her garb was different, the amused, somewhat mocking expression on her face was all too familiar. Nap, Gordon, and Mariz stood nearby, looking far more grim than she.

  “Ethan. What a surprise. You’re starting to make a habit of this. Does your little friend with the tavern know how much time we’ve been spending together?”

  “Good day, Sephira.”

  “Have you come to speak with me, or with Mariz?”

  “With you,” Ethan said. “I have a business proposition for you.”

  She considered him briefly, then gestured toward the chair next to hers. Ethan removed his greatcoat and sat.

  “A business proposition,” she repeated. “Explain yourself, and do it quickly, please; I was about to make my way to the meeting house.”

  Of course; that would explain the dress. Ethan could hardly imagine Sephira attending church. He considered saying as much, but thought better of it.

  “I was hired by Charles Paxton to retrieve some jewels that were pinched from his home.”

  “Yes, I’d heard,” she said. “I hadn’t yet decided whether or not to let you keep that job. Paxton isn’t as wealthy as Josiah Wells, but he is a man of some means. I would have preferred that he come to me.”

  Ethan smiled. “Well, then this should be rather simple. You can have the job. I’ll even tell you where to find the jewels, so that you can collect the balance of what he owes me.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  “Because I have more important matters to which to attend. I can’t take the time to retrieve Paxton’s property.”

  Sephira bristled. “And so you thought to give me your castoffs? Of all the impudent … I should have Nap and Gordon here beat you bloody.”

  “Forgive me, Sephira. I phrased that poorly. Under most circumstances, I would gladly get the jewels myself, but I can’t now. It’s not that I have a better job; it’s that my life is in danger, and I can’t afford to leave Boston right now.”

  This seemed to do little to mollify her. “We would have to leave Boston?”

  “Aye. Paxton was robbed by a soldier named Jimmy Fleming, a private with the Twenty-ninth. But he was working with one of Paxton’s servants. Her name is Louisa Allen. According to Fleming, she has the jewels hidden at her parents’ home in Medfield. Louisa left the Paxton home last night—I assume that Jimmy is with her, though I could be mistaken. In any case, we haven’t much time. She must know that Jimmy told me where she took the jewels; she won’t remain there for long.”

  “How much is Paxton paying you?”

  “He gave me two pounds ten when I began my inquiry. Upon returning the jewels to him, he’ll pay another four and ten.”

  “Seven pounds,” Sephira said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re learning, Ethan.” She picked up a goblet from a small table beside her chair and sipped her wine. “Still, I’m not sure it would be worth our time to travel all the way out to Medfield for a mere four and ten.”

  “You want me to give you more?”

  “I want you to tell me more,” she said, still holding the wineglass.

  “I’ve told you everything that—”

  “Not about Paxton and his servant. I want to know what or who has you so fearful that you would offer me coin we both know you need.”

  He remained wary of telling her that Ramsey was back in Boston—she hated the man too much. He didn’t trust her not to get herself killed, and Ethan and others along with her. He didn’t know, however, that he could convince her to help him without telling her.

  “It’s a private matter, Sephira.”

  She shook her head. “It ceased to be private the moment you walked into my home.”

  “Isn’t it enough to say that—”

  “I want the truth—all of it. And you’re going to tell me, because you need my help even more than you need that four pounds ten. We both know that you wouldn’t come to me unless you had a good deal at stake.” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “I would surmise that you learned the truth of what had happened but didn’t act soon enough. Thus, you let this
soldier and his girl escape Boston, and then you had to admit as much to Paxton. Which means that your reputation as a thieftaker is at risk.” She sipped her wine again. “Do I have it right so far?”

  “Don’t you always?”

  Her smile was radiant. “Yes, I do. Now, tell me what this about.”

  Ethan kept silent as he considered his options. The truth was, he had precious few.

  Apparently, Sephira misinterpreted his silence. “Very well. Retrieve the jewels on your own. Nap, Gordon, I believe it’s time for Ethan to leave.”

  The two men took a step toward him.

  “Ramsey is back.”

  Sephira raised a hand, and her toughs froze where they were, her single gesture as powerful in this house as a spell. “Nate Ramsey?” she asked, ice in her voice.

  “Aye.”

  “You are certain of this?” Mariz asked. “You have suspected—”

  “I’m certain. He’s been using me to cast spells, including the one that made Gordon attack Will Pryor.”

  “You knew about this?” Sephira demanded of Mariz.

  “He knew nothing,” Ethan said, drawing her gaze. “When last Mariz and I spoke, I mentioned that the spells being used against me were the sort that Ramsey might try. But it was conjecture; that’s all. Only yesterday did I determine that he is in fact alive and in Boston once more.”

  Again, Sephira appeared dissatisfied with his assurances. And no doubt this exchange was further eroding her trust in Mariz.

  “What is it he wants?” Sephira asked.

  “He wants to hurt me; his ultimate goal, no doubt, is to see me dead. But he’s in no rush to kill me. Right now he is using my power to cast spells that make others behave violently. I’ve been the cause of brawls between soldiers and workers, I’ve been attacked, I might well bear some responsibility for the death of Christopher Seider.

  “He wants to make me an exile in my own city; he wants me to doubt my every action, and he wants me fearful not only for my own life but for those of the people I love. Once he’s accomplished all of that, he’ll come to finish me.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Mariz asked.

  “No. I’ve searched the waterfront for his ship, and several days ago I tried a finding spell. But until Ramsey wants to be found, his location will remain a secret.”

  “I’ll help you kill him,” Sephira said.

  “Before this is over, I’ll be grateful for your help. For right now, though, I would ask that you retrieve Paxton’s jewels.”

  She made an impatient gesture, nearly spilling her wine. “We’ll see to that today. What shall I do with the soldier and the girl?”

  Ethan hadn’t even considered this. “To be honest, Sephira, I don’t care.”

  “Well, now I know that Ramsey has you scared.”

  “Aye,” Ethan said.

  “I assume you’ll wish to consult with Mariz. Until Ramsey is dead you have my leave to do so whenever necessary.”

  It was Ethan’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “I guess you’re scared of him as well.”

  “I fear no man. But I do want the bloody bastard dead.”

  “That’s a common sentiment where Ramsey is concerned. Thank you, Sephira.” To Afton he said, “I’ll need my blade and my herbs.”

  Afton held them up, but Mariz took them from him, and turning to Ethan said, “I will see you out.”

  With one last nod to Sephira, Ethan picked up his hat and coat and walked back to the foyer. Mariz followed.

  “What are these spells Ramsey is using against you?” the conjurer asked, handing Ethan his knife and the leather pouches.

  “Have you ever heard of borrowed spells?”

  “Borrowed?”

  “The translation to Portuguese might not be exact. In essence, Ramsey has found a way to use my power to cast spells, regardless of distance or simple wardings. The residue of his conjurings is all over me, and so far I’ve not been able to do a damned thing to stop him.”

  “So he is using conjurings to make you cast spells for him—spells you do not wish to cast. Is that right?”

  “Aye, that’s close enough.”

  Mariz removed his spectacles and rubbed the lenses with a handkerchief. “Last time we spoke, I might have been too quick to say that I had never heard of such things. Your phrase—‘borrowed spells’—has stirred a memory. There is a kind of conjuring, one that I heard mentioned back in my country, long ago. We call them stolen spells, but I believe they involve the same magick.”

  “Stolen spells sounds more apt. Do you know how to prevent them? Is there a warding that you can teach me?”

  “I am not certain. There may be something. I have a teacher, a man back in Lisbon who taught me much about casting. I can ask him.”

  “Not by letter, Mariz. I haven’t time.”

  “I understand. I will find out what I can.”

  “My thanks.”

  Ethan pulled open the door and stepped out onto the portico.

  “Kaille, have you considered—?”

  “Leaving Boston?”

  Mariz nodded. “I see that you have. But you have decided to stay.”

  “What would you do? Would you allow yourself to be hounded from your home?”

  The conjurer gave a small shake of his head, his spectacles catching the glare from outside. “You and the senhora are much alike in many ways.”

  “Thank you, Mariz,” he said, his tone dry. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  Mariz grinned before pushing the door shut.

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  It being Sunday morning, the streets were relatively empty. Ethan took advantage of the circumstance by following Summer Street to the edge of the Common and then walking up Common Street to Treamount and finally on to Sudbury and the Dowsing Rod.

  As he neared the tavern, he saw Kannice emerge from within, a red woolen cape draped over shoulders, her auburn hair shining in the morning sun. She locked the door and turned to make her way toward the West Meeting House. Noticing him, she halted.

  They stood thus for what seemed an age. Kannice’s expression remained grave.

  “You’re alive,” she said, breaking the hard silence.

  “Aye.”

  “I would have liked to know that. I would have liked to know something.”

  “I didn’t…” He shook his head, unsure of exactly what he had intended to say.

  “You didn’t what? Didn’t stop to think that perhaps I’d be concerned? Didn’t take the time to send a note or get word to someone?”

  She walked to where he stood, eyeing him critically, her gaze lingering on the spot where Fleming had hit him: a bruise he had forgotten to heal.

  “You don’t look so bad,” she said at last. “Have you been hurt? In gaol? Held captive by Sephira Pryce?”

  “None of those, no.”

  “Then what’s happened to you, Ethan? Where have you been for the past two nights?”

  “Cooper’s Alley, alone in my room.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m afraid of what might happen if I’m in your tavern with a crowd of men. Because I don’t trust my conjuring power anymore. Because Nate Ramsey is alive and back in Boston, and everywhere I go he’s using me—my power—to wreak havoc.”

  She canted her head to the side, her brow creasing. “I’m sorry. That’s … You’re sure it’s Ramsey?”

  “Aye, beyond doubt.”

  A church bell began to toll to the north and west. Kannice looked over her shoulder and then faced Ethan again, an apology in her blue eyes.

  “I have to go.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Kannice. You’re right. I should have … I should have gotten word to you somehow, even if just to say that I was all right and that I was missing you.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re all right. Why did you come here?”

  “I thought it would be safe, at least for a while. And I wanted to see you.”

  She smiled
at that. Glancing once more toward the church, she pulled out her key and handed it to him. “Go inside. Wait for me. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  He took the key from her; he wanted to kiss her, but he sensed that she didn’t want him to, which was something new and entirely unwelcome in their relationship. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Her gaze lingered on his for a second longer. Then she turned and hurried away.

  Ethan let himself into the tavern. A fire burned low in the hearth, and the great room smelled faintly of chowder and fresh bread. He removed his gloves and coat, put another log on the fire, and pulled a chair up in front of the hearth.

  She had every right to be angry with him; he knew this. There was no shortage of ways he might have let her know that he was safe—he could even have sent an illusion spell to her. She deserved such consideration given all that she did for him, and all that she had endured in their years together.

  He sensed, though, that she wanted more from him, or else nothing at all. She had made no secret of her wishes: She wanted him to give up thieftaking and his room over Henry’s shop, to live with her here at the Dowser and help her run the tavern. She had never said that she wished to marry, at least not in so many words. But that might have been because he had made clear to her years ago that he never had any intention of marrying.

  Once more he thought of the night more than a week before when he had seen her at the bar, laughing with a stranger. He didn’t doubt the love they shared, nor did he think that she would ever cuckold him. But perhaps she had started to imagine for herself a different life, one in which the absence of her man from her bed didn’t make her worry that he had been killed in the streets of Boston. She was as beautiful now as the day he met her, and still young enough to bear children. He didn’t know if she wanted that; he had never thought to ask, and she knew him too well to bring it up.

  He was still sitting and staring at the flames, ruminating on all of this, when Kannice returned from church. He stood as she came inside. She faltered at the sight of him, but then she walked behind the bar, hung her cape on a hook, and tied her hair back.

  “Have you eaten anything?” she asked.

  “No.”