Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  “The occupation is about to begin and there are plenty of people who are unhappy about it. Some of them would stop at nothing to see that those regulars never set foot in this city.”

  “I thought you were one of them,” Ethan said, smiling to soften the words.

  She smiled back at him. “Aye, well, I can’t conjure, can I?” Her grin faded. “You do see where I’m going with this.”

  “You think that the Sons of Liberty have declared war on King George’s army.”

  “It’s not as foolish as you’re making it sound,” she said.

  “You’re right, it’s not. But even if Samuel Adams and his friends suddenly had access to such power why would they attack a single ship? And why choose the Graystone as opposed to the Launceston or one of the other rated ships?”

  “I don’t know,” Kannice said. “Maybe their spell didn’t work the way they intended. Maybe they were aiming for all the ships and the spell only worked against one of them. But if you ask me it’s much more likely that this was the work of Adams and the rest than it is that Sephira would be willing to take on General Gage.”

  She had a point.

  “All right,” Ethan said. “Thank you. I’ll give that some thought.”

  He started to stand, but Kannice grabbed his arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Ethan grinned again. “Back downstairs.”

  She shook her head and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I don’t think so. There’s a roomful of men down there who think you brought me up here for something other than a bit of conjuring. We wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

  They kissed again, and Kannice began to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt.

  “I thought you were angry with me for working on behalf of the Crown.”

  She smiled and whispered, “I’ve forgiven you for that.”

  They went back down to the tavern’s great room some time later. The Dowser was far more crowded now—most of those drinking ale and eating Kannice’s stew hadn’t been in the tavern when Ethan and Kannice went up to her chamber. But that didn’t stop them all from whistling and applauding when the two of them reappeared. Ethan blushed to the tips of his ears, but Kannice didn’t seem at all embarrassed.

  “Don’t applaud too much boys,” she said, her voice carrying over the din. “Or else we might go back up for an encore and you won’t have any more stew until morning.”

  As the men started laughing anew, she winked at Ethan and hurried off into the kitchen to prepare more stew. Ethan returned to the table and was surprised to find that Diver was still there. His friend cast a hurt look his way, but said nothing.

  “It wasn’t what it seems,” Ethan said.

  “No? Then why is your face as red as a regular’s coat?”

  Ethan smiled, feeling sheepish. “All right, it was what it seems, but it was more as well.” He looked around, much as Diver had earlier in the evening, making sure that they wouldn’t be overheard. But with so many now in the tavern no one could hear what he said and no one was paying them much heed. Keeping his voice down, he told Diver about the Graystone and the spell he had cast in Kannice’s room.

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Diver asked when Ethan had finished. He still sulked, refusing to look up from his ale. Sometimes Diver was more boy than man. It was part of his charm and also the reason Kannice thought him a wastrel.

  “Because I didn’t know if I could trust you to keep it quiet.”

  He did look up then. “That’s not fair!”

  “Isn’t it? I can’t have you talking about this all over the city. Especially now. I don’t know what happened to the men on that ship, and until I do the fewer that hear of it the better. Do you understand?”

  Diver nodded sullenly. “Aye, I do. And I know that I cost us both by talking about Tanner when I was with Katharine. But when are you going to start trusting me again?”

  “I think I just did.”

  A small smile stole across Diver’s face. “Aye, all right.” He finished his ale and stood. “I should be going. I suppose you don’t need me looking for Spectacles anymore.”

  “No,” Ethan said. “But you can start looking for Gant. Don’t go near him if you see him and don’t let him see you if you can help it. But if you find him, I want to know about it.”

  Diver’s smile broadened. “I’ll keep my eyes open.” He winked. “And my mouth shut.”

  After he left the bar, Ethan sat alone for a while longer, sipping his ale and, when it was gone, watching Kannice and thinking about what she had said upstairs. At one point, Kelf caught his eye and held up a tankard, asking Ethan if he wanted another ale. Ethan shook his head.

  Ethan had had some dealings with Samuel Adams and his fellow Sons of Liberty a few years before when investigating the Berson killing. One of the so-called patriots had turned out to be a conjurer and an agent of the Crown. Ethan and Adams exchanged some harsh words during the course of Ethan’s inquiry, but in the end Adams saved his life and Ethan managed to defeat the conjurer who had betrayed Adams’s cause. He and the tax collector had not spoken since, but Ethan was certain Adams would remember him. He was less sure of how the man would respond to his questions about the Graystone and her fate.

  Eventually, the tavern crowd thinned. Kelf and Kannice cleaned up and Kannice led Ethan upstairs to bed and sleep. Ethan slept poorly, though. He had odd, disturbing dreams of the dead on Castle William and he woke often. Several times, he drove himself from slumber after sensing conjurings, or at least thinking he did. He couldn’t tell if he imagined the spells or if they were real.

  When at last he woke to morning light, he felt no more rested than he had the previous night.

  Kannice offered to make him breakfast, but he refused.

  “Where are you rushing off to?” she asked, watching from the bed as he dressed.

  “I’m going just where you told me to go.” He grinned at the confused look on her face. “I’m going to speak with Samuel Adams. As you said, maybe he can shed some light on all of this.”

  “You could breakfast with me first.”

  Ethan shook his head, his grin fading. “The fleet was on the move yesterday evening. I’m convinced that the occupation will begin today, and I doubt that Adams will sit idly by while the regulars land. If I want to find him at his home, I have to go now.”

  He didn’t add that he had only so much time before Hutchinson would begin rounding up Boston’s conjurers and hanging them as witches; he didn’t wish to alarm her. But already he felt the pressure of the lieutenant governor’s ultimatum.

  Kannice sat up, sobered by what he had said about the occupation. “Do you know yet where the men will be billeted?” she asked.

  “No. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

  He walked to the bed, kissed her lightly on the lips, and left.

  The clouds that had covered the sky the day before had passed, and the sun shone on Sudbury Street and Beacon Hill. This being the Sabbath, the streets were empty save for a few horse-drawn chaises and a number of children in ragged clothes who appeared to be playing tips.

  The Adams estate, which had been owned by Samuel’s father before it came to the son, was one of the more famous homes in the South End. It was a fine dwelling that overlooked the waterfront, one of the most impressive houses in its neighborhood, but it didn’t rival the ornate estates of men like John Hancock and Thomas Hutchinson. Its fame derived not from its appearance, but rather from its tangled legal history and, of course, the fame, or infamy, of its current owner. Ten years ago, before Ethan returned to Boston from his imprisonment, Sheriff Greenleaf had attempted to auction off the Adams property. Samuel was newly widowed and in debt and the family property had been embroiled in a decades-old land-bank scandal. But Samuel challenged the sheriff’s authority and prevailed on the provincial authorities to let him keep the house. Ever since, the property had been a site of public curiosity.

  It was located on P
urchase Street, not too far from where Ethan lived. Upon reaching the house, Ethan paused to admire the grand observatory on its roof and the quaint gardens leading to its entrance. He approached the door and knocked. He didn’t have to wait long before the door opened, revealing an attractive young woman who smiled at him despite the quizzical look on her oval face.

  “May I help you?”

  “Please forgive the intrusion, Missus Adams. I’m looking for your husband.”

  “Of course,” she said. “And you are…?”

  “My name is Ethan Kaille. Mister Adams and I met several years ago.”

  “Who is it, Betsy?” came a voice from within the house.

  Adams stepped into view. He wore dark breeches and a white shirt with a red waistcoat and matching cloak. His gray hair was tied back from his face and he carried a black tricorn hat. Seeing Ethan he halted, staring hard, his eyes narrowed. He held up a finger, which trembled slightly, asking Ethan to keep silent for a moment.

  “Kaille,” he said at last. “Ethan Kaille. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, it is, sir. I’m flattered that you remember.”

  “Well,” he said, walking to the doorway and glancing sidelong at his young wife. “Ours was a most … unusual meeting; not one I’m likely to forget.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m wondering if I might have a word with you.”

  Adams frowned, his head shaking visibly with the palsy that Ethan recalled from their previous encounters. “I’m afraid you’ve chosen a bad day to come, Mister Kaille. I’m going to have to put you off for now. Perhaps in another few days—”

  “It’s about the occupation, sir.”

  For several moments Adams said nothing. “Very well. You’ll walk with me?”

  “Yes, sir. That would be fine.”

  Adams turned to his wife. “I’ll be gone much of the day.”

  “I expected as much,” Mrs. Adams said cheerfully.

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “Of course.”

  Adams kissed her cheek, placed the tricorn hat on his head, and motioned for Ethan to follow him as he set off down the garden path to the street. Ethan thanked Mrs. Adams and hurried after her husband.

  “I remember our conversations,” Adams said as Ethan caught up with him. “Even after you saw what Peter Darrow and men like him were willing to do in order to hinder the cause of liberty, you remained opposed to us.”

  Ethan smiled reflexively. “What I remember, sir, is that I opposed your tactics: riots, destruction of property, disregard for the rule of law. What some call a cause others might see as mindless incitement.”

  “When the law is unjust men of good conscience must sometimes step outside its bounds. Not to do harm, mind you, but to expose that injustice for all to see.” Adams gestured toward the harbor with an open hand. “But I believe we’re entering a new stage in our fight for liberty. By bringing their soldiers to our shores, Parliament and the king undermine any claim to legitimacy they might once have had. Don’t you agree?”

  Ethan started to respond, but stopped himself. “I didn’t come to discuss politics, sir. I need your help.”

  Adams regarded him, his pale eyes ice blue in the morning sun. “You said that you came to speak of the occupation.”

  “Aye, but not—”

  “Then it’s politics, Mister Kaille. That is the reality of the age in which we live.”

  “All right,” Ethan said, relenting with a sigh. “Have it your way.”

  “My wife will tell you that I usually do,” Adams said, grinning. “Now, what can I do for you? You’re a thieftaker, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, sir, I am. And I come to you in that capacity.” Ethan hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “There’s only so much I can tell you, though I should inform you that I’m currently in the employ of the Crown—or more accurately servants of the Crown here in Boston.”

  Adams straightened. “Has something been stolen? That’s what thieftakers usually do, isn’t it? Recover stolen goods?”

  “It is, but no, nothing has been stolen. At least not precisely.”

  Adams halted and turned to face Ethan. “In that case, I must ask if you have been employed to spy on my allies and me.”

  “No, sir. I swear that I haven’t. I wouldn’t take such a job even if it was offered to me.”

  They stood that way for several seconds, Adams holding Ethan’s gaze. At length he nodded and started walking again.

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “You recall that I’m a conjurer as well as a thieftaker. That’s why the king’s men came to me. There has been … an incident. An attack of a sort on the British fleet. And I need to know if you or the men who work with you were involved in any way.”

  “This attack—it involved witchery?”

  “I have your word that you’ll speak of this with no one?” Ethan asked.

  “You do.”

  “Yes, it involved a conjuring.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  Ethan faltered, unsure once more of how much he could say. Geoffrey wouldn’t have been pleased to know that he was talking to Adams about any of this. Neither, he assumed, would Senhouse. He was less certain about Rickman. But as much as he disapproved of Adams’s tactics he realized in that instant that he trusted the man.

  “Men died, sir. Dozens of them.”

  Adams looked at him, a pained expression on his face. “I’m very sorry to hear that.” He shook his head, facing forward again. “No, my colleagues and I didn’t do this. We would have had no part in such an attack. You may not have approved of our tactics in combatting the Stamp Tax back in sixty-five, but if you know anything about the Sons of Liberty you know that we have pursued our goals through legal means whenever possible.”

  Ethan didn’t point out that street riots and destruction of personal property were not, strictly speaking, “legal means.” He and Adams had long disagreed on where one might locate the line between civil action and criminality. Instead he asked, “Are there members of the Sons of Liberty who are conjurers? That you know of, that is.”

  “No,” Adams said. “I’m not sure that I would know if there were, but I’ve neither seen nor heard anything that would give me reason to suspect … As I recall, you don’t like it to be called witchcraft.”

  “No, sir. We refer to it as spellmaking, or conjuring, or casting.”

  “Well, I’ve not seen any sign of those things.”

  They had come to the South Battery, which offered a clear view of the harbor and Long Wharf. The entirety of the British fleet, save for the Graystone, had been positioned around the pier, broadsides facing the city and soldiers manning their cannons. A battle ship—a sixth-rate ship of the line—had joined the fleet overnight, making the royal presence that much more formidable.

  “Look at that,” Adams said, gazing out at the vessels and looking stricken. “This is how Parliament responds to legal petitions and reasonable pleas for relief.” He shook his head once more. “No, we would not resort to violence. We’ll meet this challenge with more boycotts, more petitions. Either they’ll listen or … or they won’t. Regardless of what they do we as a people will need to decide what our next recourse might be.”

  “Last time,” Ethan said gently, “it wasn’t you who resorted to violence, but an agent of the Crown. Could that have happened again? Is there someone new in your circle, someone who might have betrayed you?”

  That of all things made Adams smile. “Not this time, no. In fact, right now we have an ally in the king’s own military of whom agents of the Crown are completely unaware, not because he lies in hiding, but because while in plain view he wears the face of a loyal British officer.”

  “You have a spy?” Ethan asked, not quite believing him.

  “Not a spy, no. He’s a naval officer who serves aboard one of the ships. But he sympathizes with our struggle against tyranny. Before all is said and done I expect he will join our cause.”

  “A naval officer
,” Ethan repeated, recalling a conversation from the previous day. “A surgeon perhaps?”

  Adams couldn’t have looked more surprised if Ethan had declared himself sovereign of all Britain. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Doctor Rickman?”

  The man glanced around, genuine fear in his eyes. One might have thought he saw representatives of the King and Parliament lurking at every street corner. “Mister Kaille, I must insist that you tell me how you’ve come to know this!”

  “It was a guess, sir. That’s all. You have my word. I met Rickman at Castle William, and he warned me that the occupation would begin shortly. He struck me as … well, as someone who didn’t approve of Parliament’s tactics. I assure you, I haven’t mentioned to anyone the conversation I had with him.”

  Adams stared hard at Ethan, fresh appraisal in his eyes. “I believe you must be a very good thieftaker.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  They began walking again. Ethan sensed that Adams was on his way to Long Wharf, perhaps to lead yet another mob in defiance of the coming occupation.

  “So what do you think of this?” Adams asked, indicating the ships in the harbor with a vague wave of his hand. “You’ve made it clear that you disapproved of our actions in the past, and you’ve noted that the good doctor disapproves of what Parliament is doing now. But how do you feel about this occupation?”

  Ethan almost said something clever about how men like Adams and Otis had brought the occupation on themselves; a small part of him still believed that this was so. But seeing the fleet arrayed around the city’s waterfront disturbed him far more than he had thought possible. Boston hadn’t been his home for long—not when one factored in the years he had spent as a prisoner in Barbados. Yet, it felt more like home than any other place he had ever lived. He feared that with the arrival of regulars the city would never be the same.

  “I feel sad, sir,” he answered after some time. “I know that’s not really what you were asking, but it’s the truth.”

  Adams regarded him. “It’s a fine answer,” he said, his voice subdued.

  They walked in silence, passing close to Cooper’s Alley and turning down Mackerel Lane toward the wharf. Reaching the edge of the pier, Adams halted and once more looked out over the water. A few others had gathered around the wharf to watch the ships. Some stood together in small clusters, speaking among themselves; others stared out at the fleet, their expressions grim.