Thieftaker (21 page)

“Yes, Reverend, sir.”

“And who is that with you?”

“This is Ethan Kaille. He’s the thieftaker Mister Troutbeck mentioned to you yesterday.”

“Ah, yes,” the rector said. By now he had joined them in the churchyard. Stopping before them, he extended a fleshy hand to Ethan. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Kaille.”

Ethan gripped the man’s hand. “And yours, Mister Caner.”

The rector was short and round, and even in the moonlight Ethan could see that he had a pleasant face. His mouth was shaped like a small bow and his eyebrows were bushy. He wore a wig of thick white curls in a style that had been current before Ethan sailed with the
Ruby Blade
, but not since.

“You’ve been looking into the matter of the Berson girl, is that right?” Caner asked.

“Yes, Reverend, sir.”

“How goes your inquiry?”

“I believe I’m making some progress,” Ethan said, choosing his words with care.

“Fine, fine. Glad to hear it. Terrible business.” Caner stood a moment shaking his head slowly, his lips pursed, a frown creasing his brow. “Trevor,” he said rather abruptly, “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind leaving us, so that I might have a word in private with Mister Kaille.”

Ethan saw his own surprise mirrored in the young minister’s expression.

“Of course.” He raised his eyebrows for just an instant. “Good night, Mister Kaille. I wish you continued success with your inquiry.”

“Thank you, Mister Pell,” Ethan said. “Good night.”

After watching Pell enter the chapel, Caner faced Ethan again, his expression far less pleasant than it had been when first he joined them in the yard.

“Walk with me,” he said, moonlight shining in his heavy-lidded eyes.

He didn’t wait for Ethan to answer, but walked out of the chapel yard and up Treamount Street. Ethan followed.

“You’re a danger to him,” Caner said quietly, as Ethan caught up with him.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Mister Kaille. I know who you are, and what you are. I know Trevor quite well. And you’re a danger to him. What is more, you know this to be true.”

“Mister Pell—”

“Mister Pell is hardly more than a boy. He sees you—a thieftaker—and he is intrigued, as any young man would be. But Trevor sees more than that. He sees a man who is known to have used the dark arts to solve mysteries. What could be more fascinating?”

They walked in silence for several moments, Ethan marshaling his thoughts, Caner watching him keenly.

“You know a great deal about me,” Ethan said at last. “May I ask why that is?”

The minister smiled reflexively. “I remember the
Ruby Blade
, and as a man of God, I take note of the devil wherever he appears, no matter his guise.”

“You believe me a servant of the devil?”

“An unwitting one, perhaps. A dupe, if you will. But yes. Through you, Satan would lure Trevor Pell into his service, and thus gain a foothold in our church.”

“You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”

“I have faith in the Lord, and in His faith in me.”

Ethan kept his eyes fixed on the road before him. “So do you intend to have me hanged for a witch?”

Caner shook his head. “No, Mister Kaille. I am at war with the forces of Hell, as is every man of God. As I say, I don’t believe you to be a willing ally of Satan, and I see that you are doing work for good. If you can find Jennifer Berson’s killer, that will be an act of mercy for her family. I see no need to destroy you.” He paused. “That is, unless you insist upon bringing the devil into my church. Leave Trevor Pell alone, and you have nothing to fear from me.”

“I think you exaggerate the influence I have over Mister Pell. He and I have spoken only a few times. And I assure you that I wish him no ill.”

Caner halted, as did Ethan.

“I lease Mister Pell a room,” the rector said. “Late last night he left our house, doing his best to go undetected. He came home sometime later. Do you know anything about where he might have gone?”

Ethan met the man’s gaze. “Did you ask him?”

“I did not. To be honest, I think I already know. You may roam this city day and night, exposing yourself to every sort of wickedness, but men of the Church do not.” He took a breath, straightened. “I’m telling you to leave him alone. I don’t want him having anything to do with you.”

“I’ve already told you that I have no control over Mister Pell. I’ve done nothing to corrupt him or put him in danger, and I never would.”

“And his whereabouts last night?”

“You’ll have to ask Pell.”

Caner said nothing. After a moment, Ethan said, “Good night, Mister Caner,” and turned to go.

“What were you doing at my chapel?” the minister asked.

Ethan faced the man once more, and sighed. “I heard a rumor that Jennifer Berson had been buried. I was hoping I would find it wasn’t true.”

Caner’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because now I can’t prove that she was killed by a conjuring, and the wrong man is going to be blamed for her murder.”

The rector raised a hand to his mouth. “He’s to be hanged?”

Ethan shook his head. “He’s dead already.”

Caner’s forehead wrinkled again with puzzlement, but Ethan didn’t bother to explain. He turned and hobbled away, leaving the minister to ponder what he had said.

This late in the evening, the streets of Boston were largely deserted. Ethan did cross paths with a man of the watch who called out the time and eyed Ethan warily as he walked past. But other than this fellow, and a few men far gone with drink, he saw no one.

When at last he entered the Dowser, he found it practically empty. Diver sat alone in the far corner, a cup of ale resting on the table in front of him. His nose was swollen and discolored, and his eyes were ringed with dark purple bruises. Seeing Ethan, he stood so quickly that he toppled his chair.

“Thank goodness!” Ethan heard from the bar.

Kannice stepped out into the great room, crossed to where he stood, and put her arms around him.

“I’ve been worried sick,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he told her, breathing in the scent of her hair. “They took me to see Hutchinson.”

“Hutchinson?” Diver said, sounding impressed. “What did he want with you?”

“He wanted to make sure I knew that the same people who wrecked his house would have been capable of killing Jennifer Berson.”

“Surely you haven’t been with him all this time,” Kannice said.

“No. After I left the Town House, I had another encounter with Sephira’s men.”

Diver walked toward them, looking from Ethan to Kannice. “And what did they want?”

“Sephira would like me to finish my inquiry and leave matters as they are,” Ethan said. “Aside from that though, it was mostly the usual bluster.” He should have told Diver about Folter, but he didn’t want to speak of the matter in the middle of the tavern. “I would have come back here after speaking to Hutchinson, but her men chased me into the North End. And then Holin found me.”

“Holin?” Kannice asked, her tone hardening a bit. “Marielle’s boy?”

“I saw him home, and then kept an appointment with an illusion.” He held her gaze, until finally he coaxed a reluctant smile. “If you feed me, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m sure you will.” But she was still smiling.

She went into the kitchen and reemerged a moment later with a bowl of dark stew that smelled of venison and red wine. She had bread for him as well.

He took the bowl from her, and after Kannice filled a tankard of ale for him, the three of them walked back to Diver’s table. Ethan began to eat, and in between mouthfuls he told them about Anna and the brooch. He also told them of the other killing he had learned about from Pell. And finally, he told them about Daniel.

“Daniel was no conjurer,” Diver said grimly, when Ethan had finally finished his tale. “He wasn’t the smartest of men, and I wouldn’t have lent him tuppence, but he wasn’t a murderer, either.”

Ethan sipped from his second ale. “I know. I won’t allow him to be blamed for Jennifer’s murder.”

Diver stared back at him, his face a mess, his dark eyes demanding more.

“You have my word, Diver. I won’t allow it.”

His friend nodded at last, stood, and drained his ale. “I’ll be going then,” he said. “I’m glad you’re all right, Ethan. I was worried about you.” He chanced a look at Kannice. “Both of us were.” And with that, he left.

Kannice and Ethan said nothing. Eventually Kannice took one of Ethan’s hands in hers, but she just watched him, her eyes shining with the light of a dozen candles.

“I didn’t intend to go to Marielle’s home,” Ethan finally said. “But with children being murdered in the streets, I wasn’t about to let Holin walk home alone.”

Kannice dropped her gaze to their hands, a sad smile on her face.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you didn’t intend to go there. But I also think that you’ll find any excuse to see her.”

She looked up at him once more, still smiling, as if she wished to soften what she had said.

“I don’t love her,” Ethan said. “I did once, but I don’t anymore.”

“Do you love me?”

The question hung between them. Ethan started to answer, then stopped himself. He wanted to tell her that he did. He knew that he cared about her more than he did anyone else in the world, and he wanted to tell her that. But it wasn’t what she had asked.

The truth was Ethan didn’t know if he could love anyone anymore. He had loved once and that love had been ripped from him, along with his freedom and his pride and his ambition. His heart had been lashed day after day, month after month, for more years than he cared to count. The scars remained; they had grown hard, like calluses on a worker’s palm. He didn’t think they would ever soften.

“What I feel for Marielle is similar to what I feel for my father,” Ethan said.

Kannice raised an eyebrow.

“That sounded stranger coming out of my mouth than it did in my head,” he told her, grinning briefly. “I have something to prove to her. I want her to see that I’m more than the young fool who got himself transported to the Indies. Just as I would want my father to see that if he was still alive.”

Kannice shrugged. After a moment she nodded. “I can understand that. But I find it hard to believe that’s all you feel when you’re with her.”

“You’re right. I feel regret, and loss. Maybe I see the life that I might have led had things been different. But I don’t care for her the way I care for you. I don’t want to be with her.”

“Well, that’s the stew talking. And maybe the ale as well.”

Ethan shook his head. “No,” he said earnestly. “It’s me.”

She squeezed his hand gently, but said nothing.

Seeing the sadness that lingered in her eyes, Ethan cursed himself for not being able to say what she wanted to hear, for his inability to stay away from Elli and the children, even for his refusal to lie to Kannice by telling her that he did love her. At that moment he would have done just about anything to drive that pained look from her lovely face. But he knew her well enough to understand that the best thing he could do was tell her the truth and let her decide what she wanted.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I should probably go.”

“Probably.” She still held his hand, and now she met his gaze. “You have too many people angry with you, Ethan. Sephira, this conjurer. Hutchinson will be angry if you don’t do what he expects of you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You mean like take on a job for Abner Berson?”

Kannice didn’t smile. “Just watch yourself. And don’t be shy about showing your face here and letting me see that you’re still alive.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “All right.”

A short time later, Ethan left the tavern. The moon had vanished behind a bank of clouds and the wind off the harbor had freshened. Dressed only in his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat, he hunched his shoulders against the chill. He kept his hands thrust in the pockets of his breeches, one fist wrapped around Jennifer Berson’s brooch.

With the moon hidden, the streets had grown dark and forbidding. Ethan couldn’t keep himself from flinching at every vague shadow, every creak of a wooden door, every sudden gust of wind. He expected at any moment to see Yellow-hair or Greenleaf, or some conjured horror, emerging from the murky darkness. He strode through the streets as swiftly as his leg would allow, and only began to breathe easily again when he was back behind Henry’s shop, stepping over the dogs who lay together at the base of his stairway. As soon as he was in his room he locked the door and lit several candles.

He undressed quickly, fell into bed without bothering to darken the room, and bundled himself in a woolen blanket. Exhausted as he was, he slept fitfully, and was awakened in the middle of the night by strange dreams of Sephira Pryce that left him both shaken and aroused. Eventually he fell asleep once more and didn’t awake again until morning. But he felt no more rested than he had when he went to bed.

He climbed out of bed, still sore; relieved himself, ate a small breakfast—bread, cheese, some water—and dressed. A light rain was falling as he left his room, so he threw on his coat and made his way out onto Water Street. There were still an unusual number of laborers and wharf men in the lanes, and Ethan wondered if Diver had again been turned away from work.

He didn’t ponder this for long, though. He had come to a decision overnight. He needed help. He had no intention of ending his inquiry, but for now Sephira and the conjurer who had summoned Anna out of air and light didn’t know that for certain. He could evade them for a time, but eventually—probably within a day or two—they would figure out what he was doing and track him down. He had to find Jennifer Berson’s murderer. To do that he needed to know more about the spell that had been used to kill her and, if Mister Pell was right, to kill that child who died on Pope’s Day.

There were perhaps thirty other active conjurers in Boston. No doubt there were far more than that who had conjurers’ blood in their veins, but many of his kind did all they could to avoid notice. People were still burned and hanged as witches throughout New England; fear of discovery ran deep among conjurers, and those who didn’t have access to power tended to shun those who did. Because of his profession and because of the
Ruby Blade
mutiny, Ethan might well have been the second-best-known conjurer in Boston. The most famous of the city’s spellers was an old woman named Tarijanna Windcatcher, who made her living as a tavernkeeper and a self-described marriage smith.