Thieftaker tc-1

by D. B. Jackson

  “At least not that way.”

  Ethan chuckled. “That’s right.”

  “The bruise at your temple is new. The rest are a few days old.”

  “Yes, and I think I might have a broken rib.” He pointed to the spot where Sephira’s man kicked him.

  The doctor began to probe Ethan’s rib with deft fingers.

  “It isn’t broken,” he said after a few moments. “Though one of these ribs feels like it’s healed from a previous break.” When Ethan didn’t respond, the doctor went on. “You’ve had a rough time of it. Perhaps you should consider finding another line of work.”

  “Pell would agree with you.”

  “I’m sure.” The doctor examined his shoulder again, then straightened once more, shaking his head. “Well, Mister Kaille, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for you. Your bruises will heal on their own. The bullet wound should as well. If it becomes fevered or if there is discharge of any sort, come back and see me.”

  “I will, Doctor. Thank you.”

  Church crossed to the door. “Get dressed. I’ll be with Mister Pell.”

  The doctor left him and Ethan pulled his clothes back on with care, inhaling sharply through his teeth whenever he moved his shoulder too quickly or twisted his torso too suddenly. When at last he was dressed again, he joined Pell and Church in the sitting room.

  Pell turned at the sound of Ethan’s approach. The minister looked relieved to see him. “Doctor Church was just asking me what you’ve been doing that would lead to so many injuries. I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  “It’s all right,” Ethan told the minister. To Church he said, “I’m looking into the death of Jennifer Berson.”

  The doctor’s expression sobered. “I see. Forgive me for asking.”

  “It’s all right,” Ethan said, remembering at last something that should have come to him long ago. “You know, before Sephira Pryce’s men invited me into their carriage, I was on my way to King’s Chapel to ask you a question, Mister Pell. But perhaps I would be best served asking both of you. The day Ann and John Richardson were hanged, were there any other unexplained deaths in the city?”

  Both men considered the question for a few moments.

  At last, Pell shook his head. “Not so far as I know.”

  “I don’t recall hearing of any, either,” the doctor said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Something I heard,” Ethan said. Another thought came to him; a recollection of his conversation with Holin the previous day.

  “Did either of you see the Richardsons’ corpses after their hanging?”

  “No,” Pell said. “I believe they were cut down and thrown in a shallow grave.”

  “And good riddance to them,” the doctor added.

  Many people, Ethan knew, shared this view of the Richardsons. He himself did.

  Pell was watching him. “There’s no doubt as to how they died, Ethan.”

  “No, of course not.” Ethan started to say more, but then stopped himself. “Doctor, we’ve taken up enough of your time. What do I owe you?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Nothing. Which is about what I did for you.”

  “We’ve intruded upon your evening, bothered you at your home-”

  “Thank you, Mister Kaille. Perhaps, in the future, if I have need of a thieftaker, you’ll do a favor for me.”

  “It would be my honor, sir,” Ethan said.

  Church walked them to the door. “You know, if you’re looking for someone who might have had something to do with Jennifer Berson’s death-”

  “Let me guess,” Ethan said. “Ebenezer Mackintosh.”

  “You know of him.”

  “How could I not? Every person I meet wants to blame him for the girl’s murder. It may be the only point of agreement between Thomas Hutchinson and Samuel Adams.”

  “You’ve spoken with Samuel?”

  “Yes. James Otis and Peter Darrow, as well. Do you know them?”

  Apparently Church found the question amusing. “We’re acquainted, yes.” His tone said much more. Ethan thought it likely that Benjamin Church was allied with Adams and the others.

  “I found it interesting,” Ethan said, “that Mister Darrow should help Mackintosh escape punishment for one death, and then accuse the man of complicity in another.”

  The doctor’s shrug was noncommittal. “Peter knows Mackintosh better than most. And I, for one, trust his judgment in such matters.”

  They stood eyeing each other for another moment. Then Ethan forced a smile. “Well, good evening, Doctor. Thank you for your care and your time.”

  “You’re welcome, Mister Kaille.” Church nodded to the minister. “Mister Pell.”

  Ethan and Pell left the house and started walking back to King’s Chapel, their collars raised against the rain.

  “Where will you go next?” Pell asked after a lengthy silence.

  “Why? Are you planning to follow me around the city with the sheriff or men of the watch?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Actually, Ethan reflected, it wasn’t.

  “I’m going to the Dowsing Rod,” Ethan said. “And then home, I would imagine. I’ve had a long day. Another one.”

  Pell said nothing for several moments. “Why were you asking about the Richardsons?” he finally asked.

  “Something a friend told me, about feeling a spell that day.” He raised his shoulders, then immediately winced at the pain. “I’ve wondered if this conjurer might be responsible for a third killing, in addition to Jennifer Berson, and the Brown boy on Pope’s Day.”

  They had reached King’s Chapel, and they stopped in front of it. Pell wore a thoughtful look, his brow creased, his hair wet with rain. “I was at the hanging,” he said, his voice low.

  “Did you feel a spell?” Ethan asked.

  “I don’t know. I remember being uneasy. Something about that day wasn’t right. But even now I can’t put a name to it.” Pell took a breath. “Did I feel a spell? At the time I wouldn’t have known. I’ve only come to recognize the feeling these past few days, watching you conjure.” He shook his head. “This is all too new.”

  “It’s all right,” Ethan said. He put out his hand, and Pell grasped it. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Ethan laughed. “For saving my life. For taking me to see Doctor Church. For helping me find Jennifer Berson’s killer.”

  “I’ve helped?”

  “I think so.”

  “I don’t understand any of it.”

  “I’m not certain that I do either,” Ethan said. “Not entirely, at least. But if I’m right, there’s a conjurer out there who’s using spells, fueled by these deaths, to make others do his bidding.”

  Pell’s eyes went wide. “A conjurer can do that?”

  “Absolutely. Conjurings can do most anything, if the person casting them is willing to pay a high enough cost. I could make you take your own life, but I would have to take the life of another to do it. I could destroy this entire city, but I’d probably have to bleed myself to death.”

  “So this conjurer-”

  “This conjurer is skilled and powerful, and entirely willing to spend the lives of others in pursuit of his aims, whatever they may be. I can’t think of anything more dangerous.”

  “How will you stop him?” Pell asked.

  Ethan smiled wryly. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Good night, Mister Pell.”

  He left the minister beside the chapel gate and began to make his way through the streets to the Dowser, nervously surveying storefronts and alleys. He felt vulnerable; for the second time in as many days, he was forced to admit to himself that the simple act of walking through the city had him frightened. He had survived battles at sea and years as a prisoner. He had been wounded and beaten and had gone to sleep many nights wondering if he would live long enough to win his freedom. And here he was, scared of shadows on a deserted lane. A part of him wished that on that first day in the Dowser he’d
had the sense to send away Abner Berson’s man…

  “No.” He said it aloud, startling an elderly man who hurried along through the darkness and mist in the opposite direction.

  This is what Sephira and the conjurer want, he told himself. The beatings and the threats were intended to make him give up. Or to kill him. They weren’t going to succeed at either. This conjurer had to be stopped. As Ethan had told Pell, spells cast without regard for life were a threat to every person in Boston. No one would be safe as long as this conjurer walked the streets.

  Ethan forced himself to slow down, to stop peering over his shoulder every other moment. By the time he reached the Dowser, he felt better.

  Stepping inside the tavern, he took a long steadying breath. This one place never really changed. The same people sat at the bar or crowded around tables, arguing over the same matters, laughing at the same jokes. As always the Dowser was warm and bright, and it smelled of pipe smoke and ale and stew. And as always, stepping inside and being greeted by those aromas made Ethan realize that he was famished.

  He walked to the bar, searching for Kannice.

  “HiEthan,” the burly barkeep said, running the words together as always.

  “Hi, Kelf.”

  “Kannice’s in back. Wan’ me t’ get her?”

  “Actually, no.” Ethan felt around in his pocket for a pair of shillings and handed them to the man. “She didn’t let me pay a couple of nights ago, and she won’t tonight, either. So this is just between the two of us, all right?”

  “Course. What’ll ya have?”

  “What’s the stew tonight?” Immediately he raised his good hand, forestalling an answer. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll have a bowl and an ale.”

  “I’ll bring it t’ ya.”

  “My thanks, Kelf.” Ethan walked to the back of the tavern, winding his way past the usual crowd. Diver wasn’t there, so he sat alone, as he often did, at an empty table far from the door.

  A few moments later, Kannice arrived at his table with a bowl of mutton stew and a tankard of pale ale. She placed them in front of him and kissed the top of his head.

  “I’m glad to see you,” she said, hovering behind him.

  He took hold of her hands and kissed them both. “And I you.”

  “I hate to…” She faltered. Ethan twisted around in his chair to look at her, taking care not to let her see his newest bruise. She still stood behind him, chewing her lip. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I know things have been hard for you the past few days. But I can’t… well… I need you to pay for the food and drink. I hope you understand.”

  Ethan hesitated, but only for a moment. She had given him more free food than he cared to remember. He could afford to pay twice this one night. “Of course, I understand,” he said. He dug into his pocket again, searching for another coin.

  Kannice stared down at him, an odd expression on her face, as if… He stopped searching for the coin just as she burst out laughing.

  “You would have paid me again, wouldn’t you?” she said breathlessly.

  Ethan looked back at Kelf, who grinned at him from behind the bar. Ethan leveled a finger at him and the man threw back his head and laughed.

  “He promised me he would keep that quiet,” Ethan said as Kannice sat down across from him.

  “Kelf works for me, not for you. Besides, I saw him putting the coins in the till and…” She trailed off, her smile vanishing as she noticed the welt on his head. “What’s happened now?”

  “Sephira and her men.”

  “They beat you again?” Her eyes fell to his shoulder. “And is that blood on your coat?”

  He nodded.

  “A knife?”

  “A bullet, actually.”

  “A bullet!” she repeated, so loudly that others paused in their conversations.

  “It just grazed me,” he said, speaking softly.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Some.” A lot, actually. “I’ve seen a doctor. I’m fine.”

  She frowned. “Is that right?”

  He held her gaze. “Aye.”

  “All right, then let’s go back to Sephira for a minute. She’s not content with beatings and threats anymore?”

  “No, I think she intended to kill me this time, but I got away with help from a minister and Sheriff Greenleaf.” He smiled self-consciously. “That sounds a little strange, doesn’t it?”

  She blinked. After several moments, she shook her head, allowing herself a small, breathless laugh. “The crazy thing is I believe you.”

  “Well, I should hope so.”

  “And I should hope that after all this you would give up your inquiry and keep yourself alive. But that’s probably too much to ask, isn’t it?”

  “Do I even have to answer that?”

  She took a breath, her blue eyes never leaving his. “No,” she finally said. “So then why don’t you tell me what you know so far?”

  He smiled and she took his hand. He began to tell her what he had learned from Janna and Pell about killing spells and the death of the boy. He also told her about his conversations with Hutchinson and Derne, and with Adams and his friends.

  “This conjurer is really that strong?” she asked when he was done.

  “Do you remember Nate Ramsey, the speller who escaped me a couple of years ago?”

  Kannice nodded.

  “This man makes Ramsey seem weak.”

  She took a long breath, her cheeks blanching. But her voice remained steady as she said, “And now you think he’s used the lives of this boy and Jennifer Berson to cast his spells.”

  “He may have used a third person, too. I’m not sure. And they’re not just any spells. They’re control spells. I think he’s using the deaths to get others to do his bidding.”

  “Do you think that he’s using them for whatever he needs done at the time, or do you think there’s a larger purpose behind the murders and the spells?”

  Ethan considered this. It was a fine question, one he himself hadn’t thought to ask. Kannice did this for him: She forced him to see things differently. Talking to her about his jobs was often like playing a game of chess and in the middle of it, rotating the board and looking at the pieces from his opponent’s perspective.

  “I think they are connected,” Ethan finally said. “I couldn’t tell you how, though, or even why I think so. I’ve been trying to put myself in this conjurer’s mind, but I can’t get myself to think as he does.”

  “I would have been surprised if you could.” She gave his hand a squeeze and got up from the table. “Eat. I’ll come by again later.”

  “Hey, wait,” he said, stopping her. “Did Diver say if he would be coming by tonight?”

  “Do you mean when he was here last night?”

  “No, today. This afternoon.”

  “He wasn’t here today.”

  “Well, of course-” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. He hadn’t actually seen Diver enter the Dowser; they hadn’t reached it yet. And Diver told him at the time he hadn’t intended to come to the tavern at all. Still, his friend had acted strangely throughout their encounter.

  “Are you worried about him?” Kannice asked.

  “This is Diver we’re talking about. I’m always worried about him. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  She went back to the kitchen, and Ethan finished his ale and bowl of stew. Kelf brought him seconds of both, and Ethan finished these as well, sopping up the last of the stew with an end of fresh bread.

  As he ate, he considered what Ebenezer Mackintosh might gain by committing these murders and making enemies of men on both sides of the Stamp Act conflict. So many believed that Mackintosh was guilty; perhaps it was time that Ethan spoke with the Commander of the South End, not only to hear what Mackintosh might say in his own defense, but also to see if he could determine whether the man was a conjurer. He was still pondering this sometime later when Kannice joined him at his table.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “I
am, thank you.”

  She stared at her hands. “Are you going to stay?”

  “I’d like to,” he said. “But I shouldn’t. Not while this conjurer is after me.”

  “You’re here now.”

  “Yes, now, when the tavern’s crowded with people. But staying the night could be dangerous.” He brushed the hair from her forehead. “If something happened to you because of what I’m doing…” He shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t stay until all this is over.”

  “Wouldn’t you be safer here?” she asked. “Sephira and her toughs beat you in your home. You said the conjurer found you in the lane not far from Henry’s shop. They know where you live.”

  “I’m not worried about me.”

  She leaned forward and gently touched her lips to the bump on his temple. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s probably why you look such a mess.”

  Ethan cupped her cheek in his hand and they both smiled. He kissed her lips and she returned the kiss hungrily.

  Eventually Ethan pulled away. “I want to stay,” he said again. “But I think I have to go. Now. Before you convince me not to.”

  Again she smiled. “All right. Come see me tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  Ethan stood and kissed her brow before leaving the table. He raised a hand as he passed Kelf on his way to the door, and pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders, stepped out into the street. The rain was falling harder now, though the air was warmer and the wind had died down.

  He walked swiftly through the center of the city toward the South End, passing the prison, the Town House, and the Old Meeting House. Tense, watchful, he started at every sound he heard. The closer he got to his home, the more uneasy he grew, until he felt that every muscle in his body was coiled, ready for a fight. Still walking, he reached for the pouch of mullein leaves Janna had given him. He pulled out three leaves and a few dried flowers, and held them ready.

  “ Veni ad me. ” Come to me.

  The air hummed and Uncle Reg appeared beside him, his expression grim, his fists clenched. Not a good sign.

  They turned onto Cooper’s Alley, and Ethan froze, the blood draining from his face.