Ethan slowed, then halted.
“What brings you out here, Mister Kaille?”
“A friend of mine was taken with smallpox a few days ago. I wish to know how he’s faring.”
“You know you can’t go inside.”
“Aye, but perhaps you know of him.”
“Perhaps. His name?”
“Holin Harper. A young man of nineteen years.”
“Ah, yes!” Warren said. “He’s doing well, and as of yet, neither his mother nor his sister has taken ill.”
“So, you expect him to recover?” Ethan asked. He felt a loosening in his chest; he hadn’t realized how much he feared for the lad until those fears were put to rest.
“Yes, I do.”
“Will he be scarred?”
Warren’s expression clouded. “That I can’t say, although in most cases there is some scarring.”
“Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”
Ethan started to turn away, but after a moment’s pause, faced Warren once more.
“Did you notice anything different in the hospital last night?” Ethan asked.
Warren stared back at him and took one step closer. “What do you mean?”
“I think you know.” Ethan kept his voice just loud enough for Warren to hear. “For several nights, this building was populated by shades. I’m wondering if last night was different.”
“How do you know of this?” Warren asked.
“You already know the answer to that, Doctor,” Ethan said, lowering his voice further. “Mister Adams has told you that I’m a conjurer. I was asked by Reverend Henry Caner to look into a matter involving desecrated graves and, it turned out, restless spirits. And when Holin was first taken ill, I came here, and saw the shades myself.”
“Reverend Caner also knows that you’re a … What did you call yourself? A conjurer?”
“Aye, Reverend Caner has some inkling of my abilities, but he also knows that I have never used my powers for evil purposes, and so he … he tolerates my presence here in the city.”
“I see. To answer your question, yes, last night was different. For the first time in nearly a week, we saw none of the demons at all.”
“I’m glad,” Ethan said. “And I dare to hope that you won’t encounter them again.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. I know that my colleagues here will be as well.”
Ethan raised a hand in farewell, and turned away.
“We could use your talents in our struggle for liberty, thieftaker. I hope that you’ll consider joining us.”
Ethan didn’t answer, but he glanced back at the doctor and nodded once before beginning the lengthy walk to the central part of the city. Perhaps he would join them eventually. But for now he was too weary to contemplate such a thing.
He next paid a visit to King’s Chapel, where he informed Mr. Pell and Reverend Caner of Ramsey’s disappearance, and the discovery of the missing body parts.
“That last we had already learned,” Caner told him. “Mister Thomson has already begun the grisly task of restoring the graves to their previous condition.”
“Graves were desecrated in other burying grounds,” Ethan said.
Pell nodded. “We know. We’ll see to it that everything that was taken is returned.”
“We’re indebted to you, Mister Kaille,” Caner said. “I know that you refused once to let us pay you, but I would offer again.”
“My thanks, reverend sir, but I have no intention of changing my mind in this regard.”
“Very well.” Caner proffered a hand. “I suppose my gratitude will have to do instead.”
Ethan shook his hand, and allowed Pell to escort him from the chapel.
Once they were outside, the young minister said, “You spoke of Ramsey disappearing. Others indicated he was dead.”
“Aye. There’s some dispute about that.”
Pell eyed him, his youthful face pale and grave. “There’s no dispute. You’re convinced that he’s alive, and I’m inclined to believe you.”
Ethan gazed out over the churchyard, squinting against the sun. “I could be wrong.”
“I don’t think so. But I have to ask, if Ramsey yet lived, wouldn’t he still wish to control the shades he set loose upon the city?”
“In other words, why would he have his crew give back all that he stole from the burying grounds?”
“Aye,” Pell said.
“I haven’t an answer. It may be that his crew prevailed upon him to give up this particular fight. Or he may have feared that I would summon the ghost of his father once again. He didn’t like it when I did that; not at all. And I think he knows that I would have pursued the matter if he didn’t return all that he stole. He may believe that he’s bought for himself a bit of time.” Ethan shrugged. “He may well be right.”
“But you think he’ll be back.”
Ethan faced his friend. “Like I said, I could be wrong about all of this. I’ve spent the last several days watching over my shoulder, expecting at every turn to see Ramsey coming after me. Chances are, he really is gone. I came close to dying in that fire yesterday, and I wasn’t buried under half the building, the way Ramsey was.”
Pell seemed to weigh this. “Well,” he said. “He’s gone for now.”
“Aye, he is. And good riddance.”
From the chapel, Ethan walked out along the Neck to the Fat Spider so that he could look in on Janna.
He found her sitting at a table, a shawl around her shoulders and a cup of watered Madeira in front of her. She greeted him with a wan smile and waved him over to the chair next to hers.
“I’m tired today,” she said. “If you want some wine, you can get it yourself.”
“No, thank you. I just wanted to see how you’re healing.”
She pulled her shawl tighter. “I heal just fine.”
They sat for some time, not speaking, until at last Janna said, “Ole Black used to come around here every now and then, just to eat a bit and talk about his conjurin’ days. I’ll miss that.”
“I’ll miss him, too. We didn’t spend much time in each other’s company, but he was a good man and a reliable friend.” He stood. “I’ll come see you again soon, Janna.”
“All right.”
He walked to the door, but paused with his hand on the lever. “Do you think Ramsey is dead?”
“Do you?” she asked.
Ethan looked back at her. “I’m almost certain that he’s not.”
She didn’t appear surprised. “My spells are workin’ again.”
“Mine are, too. And the shades are gone. So, maybe I’m wrong.”
“Maybe. Just the same, you watch yourself. If he’s alive still, he’ll be comin’ back for you.”
Ethan nodded and left her, making his way to Cooper’s Alley and Henry’s cooperage. He found the cooper planing a new door for his room, and spent the rest of day helping Henry with repairs. When they were done, Ethan was able to lock his room again, which he did before returning to the Dowser to spend the night with Kannice.
Chapter
TWENTY-FIVE
They buried Nigel the next morning in the Common Burying Ground. Ethan reached the gravesite just as a minister he didn’t recognize began to speak. More people had come to the burial than Ethan would have expected. In addition to Sephira, Mariz, Nap, Gordon, and Pryce’s other toughs, he saw Greenleaf and several men of the watch, Dunc, and a number of people he didn’t recognize, including a young woman with two small, yellow-haired children. The woman and her children wept openly. Ethan had never stopped to consider that Nigel might have a wife and family. He felt like an idiot, and wondered if he should leave before too many people saw him there.
But even as the thought came, Sephira spotted him, her gaze lingering on him for the span of a heartbeat before returning to the minister. She didn’t send Nap or the others to chase him off, and he took this as leave to remain.
The service lasted but a few minutes. Sephira’s men lowered a larg
e, simple coffin into the grave, and took turns throwing handfuls of dirt over it. Sephira said something to Mariz, who walked around the grave and approached Ethan.
“The senhora invites you to take part in the interment,” he said.
Ethan hesitated.
“It is all right, Kaille. None of us blames you for this.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said.
He followed Mariz to the gravesite and joined the line of mourners. When it was his turn, he bent, took a handful of earth in his hand, and tossed it onto the coffin, which was already mostly covered.
“Good-bye, Yellow-hair,” he whispered. He moved out of the way of the next person in line, and wound up next to Nap, who glanced at him and nodded a greeting.
When the last of the mourners had his turn, a pair of laborers, who until now had kept their distance, walked to the grave and began in earnest to fill it in.
Sephira approached Ethan.
“It was kind of you to come,” she said, with uncharacteristic sincerity.
“It was kind of you to let me stay.”
She shrugged, allowing her gaze to wander. She looked even lovelier than usual, dressed entirely in black, her curls hanging loose over her shoulders. Her eyes were dry, but he had never seen her so pale.
“He had a family?” Ethan asked.
Sephira nodded. “That surprises you.”
“Very much. And I feel like a fool because of it.”
“Well, good. Nigel always enjoyed making you feel like a fool.”
She grinned, as did Ethan.
“I’m sure he did,” he said. They fell into a brief, awkward silence. “I should go.”
“I lost two other men to Ramsey and his crew,” she said, before he could walk away.
“I know. I’m sorry for that.”
“Sheriff Greenleaf tells me that you think he’s still alive.”
“I think it’s possible.”
“If I meet him again, I’ll kill him on sight.”
“With my blessing,” Ethan said.
She nodded. “Good. As long as we understand each other.”
“We do in this.”
Her expression hardened. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning that I still plan to work for the wealthiest clients I can find, and there’s not much you can do to stop me.”
He saw a familiar gleam in her eyes. “That,” she said, “is a conversation for another day.”
* * *
It was a short walk back to the Dowser, but Ethan covered the distance slowly, his gaze fixed on the sparkling waters of the harbor. Several ships approached Boston’s wharves on sweeps, while others, their sails unfurled, carved across the water’s surface, heading out to sea. He spotted an eagle circling above, and his heart stopped for just an instant. A memory flashed through his mind: the eagle Ramsey had conjured to lead him out to the Muirenn before their reunion on Tileston’s Wharf a few days earlier.
This eagle, though, was real. He heard it cry out, saw it dive at a gull to steal a fish that the second bird carried in its beak.
Ethan breathed again.
“Where are you, Ramsey?” he said, whispering the words to the wind.
The eagle called again, grasping its pilfered meal in its talons.
Ethan walked on to the Dowsing Rod, trying to shake off his fears. For now, he knew, the captain was gone. He might be back before long. But for today—for the time being—he could rest easy.
Upon reaching the tavern, he found it empty, save for three laborers who stood at the bar, drinking ale and eating oysters. Kelf winked a greeting. Kannice came out from behind the bar and walked with him to a back table.
Resting on the table was a new tricorn hat.
“For me?” he asked.
“Unless you think it would look better on me.”
“I’m sure it would. How did you know that I’d lost the old one?”
“You’ve been wearing the same damned hat just about every day since we met. Don’t you think I would notice when you stopped wearing it?”
He tried it on, though he knew that Kannice would have found one that fit him perfectly. She had.
“How does it look?”
Kannice tilted her head to the side, regarding him with a critical eye. “Clean,” she said at last. “Mercifully clean.”
“I’m sure,” he said, laughing. “Thank you. I feel badly that I don’t have anything for you.”
She smiled. “There are remedies for that.”
“You do remember that I haven’t yet earned anything for this most recent job.”
“Aye, but you will. You said that Mister Rowan intends to pay you. And I also remember that before helping Reverend Caner you worked for Andrew Ellis.”
“That I did. Very well, my lady,” he said, offering her his arm. “What shall it be? A bauble? A new kerchief?”
She shook her head. “A sweet.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “A sweet?”
“Aye. I’ve had my fill of chowder and oysters and ale. I want some sort of confection, and I know just the place to get it.”
“Very well. Lead on.”
She pulled him toward the door. They passed Kelf, who shook his head and gave a basso chuckle, and then they were on the street, basking in the warmth and the sunlight, confident that for at least one more day, the skies over Boston would remain clear.
Still, as they strolled arm in arm toward Faneuil Hall, Ethan couldn’t help but glance toward the harbor, his eyes scanning the sunlit waters for one small, well-tended merchant ship.
Historical Note
As I have mentioned in previous historical notes, my goal in writing historical fantasy is to blend, as seamlessly as possible, my fantastical and fictional elements with the actual historical events that form the backdrop for my stories. The Thieftaker books begin with two significant historical conceits: that thieftakers were active in the American colonies, and that there were conjurers casting spells in pre-Revolutionary Boston. Neither of these things is true. So it may seem odd that I would make such a great effort to get my history right when the conceptual underpinnings of the series have no basis in fact. To which I can simply say, yes, I’m rather odd.…
Setting aside thieftakers and conjurers, the historical elements of this novel are largely accurate. During the late spring and summer of 1769, Boston suffered through what turned out to be a relatively mild outbreak of smallpox. Many of those afflicted were relocated to the hospital in New Boston—the so-called Pest House. Boston’s selectmen did, in fact, hire men to guard the houses of those who came down with the disease but refused to leave their homes. And the bodies of those who died from the disease were treated as described in this book after the death of Mrs. Tyler. (Mrs. Tyler, by the way, was actually one of Boston’s smallpox fatalities that summer, and the names of the men hired to guard houses, as well as their wages, are also taken from real events.) Nearly all of the information about smallpox and the city’s response to the outbreak comes from the minutes of the town selectmen’s 1769 meetings.
For more information on the scholarly and primary sources I have used for this and other Thieftaker books and stories—along with a good deal of other information—please visit my website: www.dbjackson-author.com.
Acknowledgments
Once again, I have many people to thank for their help on this novel. Dr. John C. Willis, professor of United States history at Sewanee, the University of the South, helped me with the history and offered encouragement and support. Dr. Christopher M. McDonough, professor of classical languages at Sewanee, once again translated the spells cast by Ethan, Ramsey, Janna, and Mariz, proving that Latin really can be fun. Dr. Robert D. Hughes, professor of systematic theology at the School of Theology of the University of the South, offered me guidance on writing about the Anglican Church and its offices.
As always, I wish to thank the Norman B. Leventhal Map Center at the Boston Public Library, in particular Catherine T. Wood, the center’s office manager, f
or allowing us to use the map of Boston that appears at the front of the book.
Any mistakes that remain despite the best efforts of all these very smart people are entirely my own.
Without my agent, Lucienne Diver, Ethan and his stories would still be merely ideas floating around in my head. I am grateful to her for her professionalism, her friendship, and her insightful editorial feedback on this novel. I also wish to thank Deirdre Knight, Jia Giles, and the other great people at the Knight Agency.
This novel has had several editors working on it and shepherding it through the production process: Many thanks to James Frenkel, Stacy Hague-Hill, and Marco Palmieri. I’m also deeply grateful to Tom Doherty, Irene Gallo and her staff, Cassie Ammerman, Leah Withers, and all the wonderful people at Tor Books. I also wish to thank my friend Terry McGarry for copyediting the book.
Deepest thanks to my colleagues at the Magical Words blogsite (www.magicalwords.net): Faith Hunter, Misty Massey, John Hartness, James Tuck, Carrie Ryan, Mindy Klasky, and Diana Pharaoh Francis. And special thanks to the readers of the Magical Words blog, who critiqued the first several paragraphs of this book and steered me toward a more effective and concise opening. Many thanks as well to C. E. Murphy, Charles Coleman Finlay, Kat Richardson, Blake Charlton, Kate Elliott, Eric Flint, Mary Robinette Kowal, Alethea Kontis, Stephen Leigh, Lynn Flewelling, Joshua Palmatier, A. J. Hartley, Stuart Jaffe, Edmund Schubert, Kalayna Price, and Patricia Bray, all of whom have contributed to this series in one way or another through e-mails, online exchanges, and the occasional conversation over beers.
Finally, I am more grateful than I can say to my wife and daughters, who keep me smiling and constantly remind me that there are more important things in life than outlines, revisions, and books sales.
ETHAN KAILLE NOVELS BY D. B. JACKSON
FROM TOR BOOKS
Thieftaker
Thieves’ Quarry
A Plunder of Souls
About the Author
D. B. JACKSON is the award-winning author of fifteen fantasy novels, many short stories, and the occasional media tie-in. His books have been translated into more than a dozen languages. He has a master’s degree and Ph.D. in U.S. history, which have come in handy as he has written the Thieftaker novels and short stories. He and his family live in the mountains of Appalachia.
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 35