Thieftaker (2 page)

Folter threw himself onto Ethan, and for a few harrowing moments the two of them grappled for control of Ethan’s blade. Folter was younger, quicker, stronger. He tried to pry Ethan’s fingers off the knife, and though Ethan fought him, he could feel his grip on the weapon slipping.

He wrapped his other hand around Folter’s throat and squeezed as hard as he could. Immediately the younger man stopped trying to tear the knife away and instead grabbed at Ethan’s other hand. Ethan, his blade hand now free, drove the heel of it up into Folter’s nose. He heard bone break, felt hot blood splatter on his cheek. An instant later, Folter rolled off of him, both hands clutching his face, blood running over his fingers.

“Damn ya!” the pup said, his voice thick.

Ethan got to his feet and kicked Folter in the side. The pup gasped and doubled up.

“Where are the jewels?” Ethan demanded.

Folter groaned.

Kneeling beside him, Ethan laid the edge of his blade along Folter’s throat. The young man stiffened.

“Don’t try it, lad,” Ethan said. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will.” Folter didn’t move; Ethan began to search his pockets with his free hand. In no time at all, he had found three bejeweled golden necklaces. “Was this it, or were there more?” he asked.

When Folter didn’t answer, Ethan pressed harder with his knife, drawing a small trickle of blood from the pup’s throat.

“Tha’s all,” Folter said sullenly.

Ethan didn’t release him.

The young man looked up at Ethan, fear in his eyes. “I swear!”

After holding him for another moment, Ethan removed the knife and stood once more.

“Are ya going t’ kill me now?” Folter asked. He sat up, eyeing Ethan, his body tensing, coiled.

“I can tell you that Mister Corbett wouldn’t object,” Ethan said. “The Admiralty Court would probably thank me for performing a service. And I promise you that if I meant to, you couldn’t stop me.”

“But ya’re going t’ let me go,” Folter said with disbelief. “Ya really don’ work fer Pryce, do ya?”

“No, I really don’t. I’m giving you this one chance, Daniel. I’ll let you go, but you have to leave Boston and never return. Corbett instructed me to give you over to Sheriff Greenleaf; he would be happy to see you transported to the Carolinas, or the Indies.” Ethan felt a twinge in his foot at his mention of the islands, the remembered pain of an old wound. “But Diver Jervis is a friend of mine, and he wouldn’t want to see you come to that end. I’m risking a great deal by letting you go. If I see you again, I’ll turn you in. Failing that, I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”

“I’s born here,” Folter said. “I ain’ never been anywhere else.”

“Then this is your chance to see the world,” Ethan told him. “But one way or another, you’re leaving the city.”

Folter opened his mouth to argue.

“I’ll give you one day, Daniel,” Ethan said. “If you’re still in Boston after midnight tomorrow, I’ll know it, and I’ll find you. Then you’ll have the sheriff to deal with.”

The young man nodded glumly.

“Go,” Ethan said.

Folter started away, then stopped, turning again. “My knives—”

“Leave them. And when you get to wherever you’re going, try not to make a mess of your life.”

The pup frowned and glanced about as if he had barely heard. “Say, where did tha’ horse go?” he asked. “Th’ one tha’ nearly ran me down.”

“I didn’t see it.”

Folter eyed him curiously. “Ya had t’ have seen it.”

“Good-bye, Daniel.”

The young man stared at him for a long time. “Ya’re a speller, aren’ ya?” he finally said. “Tha’s why I’d heard o’ ya. Ethan Kaille. Sure, tha’s it. Th’ speller wha’ does thieftakin’ here in th’ city. I remember now. Tha’s where tha’ horse came from. It was bloody witch’ry. An’ tha’s how ya can compete with Sephira Pryce.”

Ethan retrieved Folter’s knives and put them in his pocket. He made no answer.

“I could tell someone,” Folter said. “I could tell Pryce or one o’ her men.” A smile crept over his thin face. “I could get ya hung fer a witch.”

“You could,” Ethan said, meeting his gaze. “But if I really am a speller, what’s to keep me from killing you in your sleep if I think you’re a threat to me? What’s to keep me from tracking you down whenever I want to, and giving you smallpox or plague?”

Even in the failing light, Ethan could see the pup’s face go white. In truth, the fact that Ethan was a conjurer—a speller, as Folter put it—wasn’t as much of a secret as he would have liked. He suspected that Sephira Pryce already knew, and it was possible that some on the Admiralty Court still remembered the names
Ruby Blade
and Ethan Kaille. But he didn’t want word of his talents spreading farther than necessary, and he surely didn’t want Folter thinking that he had any advantage over him.

“I’m not sayin’ I’d tell,” Folter told him. “I was jus’ … I wouldn’ tell anyone.”

“Go, Daniel. Right now. Get out of Boston, and you won’t need to worry about me ever again. Remain here, and I’ll make Sephira Pryce seem like a kindly aunt. Understand?”

The pup nodded, and began to back away from him, his eyes wide, his face still ashen save for the bright blood that trickled from his nose. After a few steps, he turned and ran.

Chapter

T
WO

Ezra Corbett and his wife lived only a few streets west of the South End waterfront, in a house on Long Lane along the edge of d’Acosta’s Pasture, a broad ley within the confines of the city. Ethan made his way up from the water’s edge, crossing Purchase Street once more, and then Cow Lane. The sky had darkened almost to black. A gibbous moon hung in the east, its glow dulled and made faintly yellow by the summer haze that had settled over Boston.

As Ethan approached the Corbett house, he caught the scent of smoke riding the warm breeze, and he thought he heard the excited babble of many voices in the distance. He wondered if another mob was abroad in the city, drinking Madeira wine and making mischief. Only two weeks before, such a rabble had made its way to Kilby Street, just a short distance from Henry Dall’s cooperage, where Ethan leased a room, and had destroyed a building belonging to Andrew Oliver, the king’s newly designated distributor of stamps here in the province. The crowd had been loud, vulgar, and violent. Ethan sat out front for several hours guarding Henry’s cooperage, while the rioters dismantled Oliver’s building, ransacked his home, which was also nearby, and finally built a bonfire at Fort Hill. In the end, they didn’t approach Cooper’s Alley, but Ethan didn’t relish the idea of spending another sleepless night listening to the drunken cries of agitators.

The Corbett house was no more grand than its neighbors, but neither was it any less so. It was built of stone and oak, its few windows thrown open to coax inside whatever breeze drifted along the lane. Ethan rapped on the door with the brass knocker and stood with his hands behind his back. His shoulder hurt where he had run into Folter, and he was sure that he would be sore come morning. Twenty years ago he could fight in the streets without worrying about such things. Not anymore.

A pretty young servant opened the door and led Ethan into a small sitting room before going in search of her master. He surveyed the room: wooden floors, simple furnishings, an empty hearth in the center of the south wall. The subtle aroma of roasted fowl and fresh bread blended with the bitter scent of spermaceti candles. There were finer houses in town—mostly on Beacon Street and in the North End—but it was obvious the Corbett family didn’t want for much.

Ethan strolled around the room, looking at the paintings of Corbett’s wife and his two daughters. After several moments, a door opened at the far end of the chamber. Mr. Corbett stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him. Facing Ethan and eyeing his clothes, he faltered, a frown on his homely face. Belatedly it occurred to Ethan that he must look a mess. His breeches were filthy from his struggles with Folter on the wharf, and there probably were bloodstains on his waistcoat and shirt.

“Mister Kaille,” the merchant said grimly. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there a problem?”

He was a short, round man whose clothes didn’t fit him quite right. They were too long in the sleeves and legs and too tight around the middle. He was bald except for tufts of steel gray hair that poked out from behind his ears, and he wore spectacles on the end of his nose.

“There’s no problem, sir,” Ethan said, producing the necklaces and laying them on a small table beside the hearth. “I’ve come to return your wife’s jewels.”

Corbett’s entire bearing changed. His eyes widened, and as he crossed to the table he actually broke into a smile. “You’ve found them already! Well done, Mister Kaille!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And the thief?” Corbett asked, examining each necklace by the light of an oil lamp.

“Daniel Folter.”

The merchant looked at him. “Daniel? You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. You know him?”

Corbett hesitated. “He did some work for me a year or so ago. He even expressed interest in courting my older daughter, though I didn’t encourage him in that regard.” He shook his head. “Still, I’m surprised. I never figured the man for a thief.”

“No, sir.”

Corbett studied the necklaces a moment longer before facing Ethan again. “Well, these look to be none the worse for their adventure. I take it Daniel has been dealt with?”

“He won’t trouble you again, sir,” Ethan said, holding the man’s gaze.

“Very well. I owe you another ten shillings, don’t I?”

Ethan bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing. He had dealt with merchants before. “Actually, I believe you owe me fifteen.”

Corbett raised an eyebrow. “Fifteen is it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmmm, I suppose that’s right.” The merchant dug into a small pocket on his vest and pulled out a coin purse. He poured its contents onto his desk and began to count out Ethan’s payment. “An acquaintance of mine said I shouldn’t hire you,” he said as he piled the coins.

Ethan tensed. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” the merchant said, not meeting Ethan’s gaze, lamplight reflecting off his glasses so that the lenses looked opaque. “He said I would have been better off hiring someone … safer.”

Ethan didn’t know whether to laugh or yank out his own hair. There was only one other thieftaker in Boston; Corbett’s friend thought Sephira Pryce would be a safer choice than Ethan.

Corbett went on. “I think he was concerned about your past.”

“Of course,” Ethan said.

“I bring this up because I wanted you to know that people still speak of it, those who remember anyway.”

He knew this already, of course. Nearly twenty years had passed since the
Ruby Blade
mutiny, but few who were old enough to have heard of the incident when it happened would have forgotten. Mutinies were scandalous enough; add to that whispers of witchcraft and the result was enough to cause quite a stir.

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan said stiffly.

The merchant finished counting out the money and returned the coin purse to his pocket. “I intend to tell my friend that he was wrong about you,” he said.

I don’t give a damn,
Ethan wanted to say. Instead, he thanked him once more.

“Here you are,” Corbett said, handing Ethan the stack of coins. “Well earned, Mister Kaille. I hope that I won’t require your services again, but should I have further need of a thieftaker, I’ll be certain to call on you.”

“Thank you, sir. For your sake, and that of your family, I hope that won’t be necessary.”

Corbett smiled and led him back to the front door. “My wife will be most pleased,” he said, pulling the door open.

“I hope so, sir.”

The smell of smoke had grown stronger. Corbett wrinkled his nose and frowned. “More trouble,” he said sourly. “I don’t hold with lawlessness, Mister Kaille. And I don’t choose to associate with those who do. Do you take my meaning?”

Ethan was about to answer, but in that moment he felt the pulse of a spell, the air around him thrumming like a bowstring. Ethan’s first impulse was to ward himself, and his hand flew to the hilt of his blade.

“Mister Kaille?”

An instant later, Ethan realized that the spell had not been intended for him, that it hadn’t even been cast in this part of the city. Which meant that it must have been a powerful conjuring. He stared into the night, trying to locate the conjurer, wondering who could have cast such a spell.

“Mister Kaille! I asked you a question!”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said, far more interested in the spell he had felt than in whatever Corbett had said. “I beg your pardon. What did you ask?”

“I said that I don’t hold with those who would flout the law in pursuit of political aims, and I asked if you took my meaning.”

“I do, sir.” He wanted to go. Right now. He wanted to find the conjurer who had cast that spell. But Corbett had paid him, and might well hire him again. Kannice would tell him that he should give the man his undivided attention.

The merchant gazed out into the night. “Do you support them?” he asked. “These agitators?”

In recent days, Ethan had heard arguments on both sides of this issue. There was nowhere a man could go in the city without overhearing discussions of Grenville’s Stamp Act. Like much of Boston, all the people he knew were beginning to align themselves according to whether they supported or opposed Parliament’s latest attempt to raise revenue. Corbett had made his position clear, and Ethan thought it best to give the safest response he could, even if it didn’t exactly answer the man’s question.

“I’m a subject of the British Crown, sir,” he said. “I recognize the authority of Parliament in all matters pertaining to the colonies.”

Corbett nodded. “That’s most wise of you. This sort of villainy and licentiousness will be the ruin of Britain.”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “Good night.”

“And to you, Mister Kaille.”

Ethan stepped out of the house, followed the path back to Long Lane, and turned northward. As he walked, he wondered if Corbett and his acquaintances knew only of the mutiny and Ethan’s time in forced labor, or if they knew as well the role that conjurings played in all that happened aboard the
Ruby Blade
. Just how many people in Boston knew that he was a conjurer? Three or four months might pass without anyone speaking to him of his spellmaking abilities. And then he could have days like this one, when it seemed that everyone knew.