Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  The young man looked away. Reg stepped forward, and though he still held his sword, he placed a hand on Sharpe’s shoulder, and stared hard at Ethan.

  “All right,” Ethan said. He sensed that he could have learned more from the dead man, but he also understood that he should have listened to Reg. This was wrong.

  “Dimitto vos ambos.” I release you both.

  As soon as the words crossed his lips he felt another surge of power. He watched as the two ghosts vanished.

  Alone in the darkened room, Ethan muttered a curse. He opened his door, just to let in some light and cool air. But after having a small bit of cheese and smoked meat, he left again, this time heading back to the North End. Spellmaking, it seemed, could help him only so much, and he couldn’t afford to wait for his next chance encounter with Gant. He needed to know where the man was hiding.

  Geoffrey Brower and Ethan’s sister Bett lived in a large stone house near North Square in one of the city’s finer neighborhoods. Ethan had been inside once, when he first returned from Barbados and Bett was moved by some uncharacteristically charitable impulse to have him to dinner and introduce him to his nieces and nephew. She hadn’t invited him to the house since.

  Reaching the path that led to Bett’s door, Ethan faltered, wondering if coming here had been a mistake. For years Ethan had convinced himself that Bett turned her back on spellmaking because she had no aptitude for it, because the conjurings hadn’t come to her as easily as they did to Ethan and the youngest child in the Kaille household, Susannah. The truth, he had come to realize, was far more complicated, and far less convenient for him. When he and Bett first entered their teen years and began to learn spellmaking from their mother, he had no more skill as a conjurer than she. If anything, her attention to detail made her castings more effective than his.

  But she never enjoyed it. Even at that tender age, she seemed to believe that conjuring was wrong in some way. Perhaps she shared their father’s devotion to the Church and more godly pursuits. Or maybe she preferred Ellis’s company to Sarah’s, just as Ethan had felt more comfortable with their mother. Whatever the reason, by the time Susannah began to conjure, Bett had already started to turn away from spellmaking, and from Ethan. Ethan and Susannah were inseparable until Ethan left home to join the navy. Bett always seemed aloof. Only much later did it occur to Ethan to wonder if she had been lonely. And by then, the bond between them had been so badly frayed that he no longer knew how to mend it.

  He was ashamed to admit that he often wished Susannah could have settled here in Boston, rather than Bett. But his beloved youngest sister lived an ocean away, in the Scottish Isles, and Bett lived in this grand house before him, with its marble columns and fine gardens.

  Taking a long breath, Ethan walked up the broad walkway to their portico and rapped on the door with the brass knocker.

  Ethan had thought that a servant would answer his knock—when last he visited, dinner had been served by an African slave. But when the door opened, a young man of perhaps sixteen years stood before him, well-dressed, and looking like he had never labored a day in his life. He was tall and gangly, with a high forehead and narrow nose like his father’s. Poor lad.

  “You’re George, aren’t you?” Ethan asked.

  The boy looked both pleased and surprised. Perhaps Ethan had been too quick to judge. The smile was entirely Bett’s, and with it he was quite handsome. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

  Ethan extended a hand. “Ethan Kaille. I’m your uncle.”

  He half expected the lad to recoil; he was his mother’s son, after all. But he gripped Ethan’s hand fairly beaming. “Of course! I remember you now, Uncle. You came once, when I was just a boy.”

  “Aye, I did. It’s good to see you again.”

  “George?” came Bett’s voice from within the house. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Uncle Ethan, Mother,” he called back to her.

  Bett entered the hallway and joined her son at the door. She didn’t look happy to see Ethan, but she managed to hide this from George and said, “Good day, Ethan,” in a passably civil tone.

  “Good afternoon, Bett.”

  “I take it you’re here to see Geoffrey.”

  “Yes.”

  “George, go fetch your father.”

  Ethan could see that the lad didn’t want to leave. But he said, “Yes, Mother,” and flashed another smile Ethan’s way. “It’s good to see you again, Uncle.”

  “And you, George.”

  The boy went off to find Geoffrey, leaving Ethan with Bett. He knew better than to think that she would invite him into the house.

  “He seems a fine lad.”

  “Thank you. He is. He doesn’t know you’re a conjurer.”

  “Or, I assume, that spellmaking runs in our family.”

  Bett lifted her chin. “That’s right. He’s a God-fearing young man, and I intend for him to remain so.”

  “And so he thinks the reason he never sees me is that you and I dislike each other?”

  “He knows you’re a thieftaker, and that we don’t wish to bring that element into our home.”

  “Ah,” Ethan said. After all their years of feuding, he had thought that Bett couldn’t hurt him anymore. But this stung.

  “I’d thank you to keep away from him, Ethan. He’s young still. I’m sure he finds the idea of what you do exciting, even enticing. I don’t want—”

  “I understand, Bett. Rest assured, I’ll do nothing to corrupt him.”

  Mercifully, Geoffrey arrived a moment later.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ethan,” Brower said, joining Bett in the doorway and extending a hand.

  Ethan shook it. “No, I don’t suppose you did. I won’t keep you long.”

  Brower smiled bracingly, the way he might if he were about to embark on a long and unpleasant journey. “Very well. Let’s walk.”

  “Thank you, Bett,” Ethan said, glancing at her one last time.

  “Are those bruises on your face?” she asked, as Ethan started to turn away.

  He raised a hand to his jaw, having forgotten his injuries. The pain from Gant’s blows the other night had abated, but it seemed the marks remained.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just part of my exciting life.”

  He started down the path toward the cobblestone lane. Geoffrey caught up with him as he reached Middle Street. They followed the thoroughfare to Princes, and Princes around the base of Copp’s Hill up toward the Charlestown ferry, walking into the teeth of a cold wind.

  “You have news?” Brower asked at last.

  “You should have the sheriff look for a man named Simon Gant,” Ethan said. “He’s a conjurer, and so he’s dangerous. He’s also a former associate of Sephira Pryce.”

  “Gant,” Geoffrey said. “That name is very familiar.”

  “He’s the soldier who was missing from the Graystone. You would have already been told that he’s a deserter.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Unfortunately, the sheriff is busy with the rabble occupying the Manufactory. Aren’t officers in the army already looking for this man, Gant?”

  “You would think they would be,” Ethan said, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. “But they give no indication that they’re interested in finding him. That’s why I thought that if you could convince Sheriff Greenleaf to join our effort, we might have a better chance of apprehending him.”

  “I see,” Geoffrey said. “And you’re certain now that he’s the one who killed all those men?”

  “As certain as I can be.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out. It may have had something to do with a lost parcel of smuggled pearls. Sephira Pryce is looking for him, too. Or more precisely, she’s after the pearls.”

  “I take it he’s also the one who beat you.”

  Ethan glanced Geoffrey’s way, expecting to see a mocking grin on the man’s face. But he appeared to be
in earnest.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Is that common in your line of work? Being assaulted?”

  “Are you contemplating a change in profession, Geoffrey?”

  Brower’s laugh was high-pitched and very loud. Ethan was certain he had never heard it before.

  “Hardly,” the man said. “I was merely … curious.” Ethan noticed with some surprise that his cheeks had turned crimson. “I find what you do intriguing.”

  “Bett’s worried that George will follow my example and become a thieftaker. Maybe she should be more concerned about you.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Geoffrey said with a bit more of his usual stiffness. He halted. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? That I should enlist the sheriff’s aid in finding Gant?”

  They hadn’t yet reached the ferry, but Ethan was ready to turn around, and Brower seemed to be, too. The wind still blew a gale and the clouds overhead were darkening with every gust.

  “Aye,” Ethan said.

  They started back the way they had come, falling into an uneasy silence. After walking some distance, Geoffrey cleared his throat and glanced Ethan’s way.

  “Have you been to the Common to speak with the commanders there? Are you sure they know of Gant?”

  “Oh, they know of him,” Ethan said. “I was on the Common this morning, trying to interest Gant’s captain, a man named Preston, in the matter. But he’s more concerned with keeping the men he has than with pursuing one who’s already deserted.”

  “To be honest, I cannot blame him,” Geoffrey said. “Desertion has been a problem among the regulars in the other colonies. Now that they’re here it will be for us as well. I’ve heard that Dalrymple has already lost soldiers in the one day they’ve been in the city. The army doesn’t pay their men very well, and this occupation is a good deal more than most regulars signed on for.” Again, they walked a distance in silence. Their moment of mirth had passed, and it seemed that once more Brower didn’t know what to say to him. When at last they came within sight of Geoffrey’s home, he stopped again and extended a hand. “Well, thank you, Ethan. I’ll see to it that the sheriff is told of this man. And if we find him, I’ll also see to it that you receive the ten pounds’ reward I mentioned the other day.”

  “Thank you, Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey hurried off to his house, and Ethan walked toward the Dowsing Rod, his collar turned up against the wind. Before he was halfway to Kannice’s tavern, large cold raindrops began to pelt down on him. He kept his head down and cursed himself for not wearing a heavier coat. By the time he reached the Dowser he was soaked and bone-cold.

  Just as he stepped through the door, he felt power surge through the stone under his feet. He spun, half expecting to see Gant standing behind him, a bloodied blade in his hand. But the street was empty, and the casting, powerful though it was, had passed him by. Too many spells, too much power. He wasn’t used to sensing so many conjurings. Most spells in Boston came from him or from Janna. But with Mariz and now Gant walking the streets and conjuring every day, he felt vulnerable. He wondered if this was how other conjurers in the city felt when he cast.

  He thought of going back out into the rain to see if he could find whomever it was who had cast that spell. But Kannice had spotted him, and she hastened to the door and tugged him inside. Seeing how wet he was, she ordered him up to her room for a dry pair of breeches and a shirt. When he came back down, she hung his coat and waistcoat, as well as the damp breeches and shirt, over chairs that she positioned by the bright fire burning in her hearth. She sat him at a table and brought him a bowl of the previous night’s stew that she had heated on the cooking fire in her kitchen.

  He ate two bowls and though he still wondered about the spell he had felt, he also had to admit that it was better to be inside by the fire than out in the rain and wind. He shifted his chair closer to the hearth and sipped a glass of Madeira that Kelf had poured for him. Kannice had given him the chowder, as she so often did, but Ethan insisted on paying for his wine. He rarely allowed himself such luxuries, but the drink warmed him, calmed his head.

  Having spoken with Geoffrey, he felt for the first time in days as though he had the advantage on Simon Gant. He might not have been able to find the man again on his own, but soon Brower would have the sheriff looking for Gant as well. During their few encounters, Gant had not exactly distinguished himself with his intelligence; he wouldn’t be able to evade capture for long. Ethan had to hope that the Crown’s men found the smuggler before Sephira did.

  But this new spell gave him pause. Perhaps he had been wrong to get Diver involved in his affairs. Sephira was dangerous enough. But sending Diver out to do business with a conjurer had been damned stupid, even if that conjurer felt more comfortable with a pistol in his hand than with blood on his arm. He would tell Diver so tonight, as soon as his friend came in from the wharves.

  As he sipped the wine and stared at the flames, he heard the tavern door open behind him. He glanced back and saw a British officer shaking the rain off his cloak and hat. Turning once more to the fire, he settled back into his chair and stretched his legs out before him.

  It was only when he heard the officer speaking to Kannice, and asking for him, that Ethan turned again.

  “Mister Kaille!” the man said.

  Ethan stood. “Doctor Rickman.”

  The surgeon crossed the great room in three long strides and shook Ethan’s hand.

  “I hadn’t thought to see you again,” Ethan said. He pulled a chair away from the nearest table and set it opposite his own. “Can I buy you a glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you,” the doctor said, lowering himself into the chair. “You’re a most difficult man to find. I’ve been to your home, and was sent here by the cooper.”

  “Well, I’m glad you found me.” He allowed a conspiratorial smile to touch his lips. “I spoke yesterday with a friend of yours.”

  Rickman looked puzzled. “Oh?”

  “He claims you as a friend, anyway. Although, I don’t think you would want anyone in military uniform to hear him do so.”

  The doctor’s face went white. “He should know better,” he said in a whisper.

  “He did his best to be discreet,” Ethan said. “I guessed that he referred to you, based on our conversations at Castle William.”

  Rickman exhaled through his teeth, calming himself with a visible effort. “Well, I suppose I ought to blame myself as much as Samuel.”

  “I didn’t mean to trouble you so.”

  The doctor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve come about something far more important.”

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “I have questions for you first. Using your—” He glanced back toward the bar. “Your abilities,” he said, whispering again, “could you bring a dead man back to life?”

  Ethan shuddered, as if someone had dripped icy cold water down his spine. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t, and I don’t know of any conjurer who could. I’ve seen conjurings used to take lives, but never to restore them.”

  “Well, could one of your kind use witchery to mimic death, to make himself appear dead, so that he might revive himself later?”

  “Doctor, tell me what’s happened.”

  “A second body is missing from among the dead of the Graystone. He was there when last I visited Castle William two nights ago, still in the vaults with the others. But by this morning he had vanished.”

  “Who?” Ethan asked. But of course he knew already.

  “One of the conjurers you pointed out to me. Caleb Osborne.”

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  “Did someone come to the island?” Ethan asked. “Is it possible that Simon Gant was there?”

  “Who is—?”

  “The man who was missing. The first one,” Ethan added. “Was he there, perhaps with a group of regulars, so that no one would notice him?”

  “I don’t think so,” the docto
r said. “The regulars are all garrisoned in the city, at least for now.”

  “Has anyone else visited the island? Anyone at all?”

  “Naval officers, the commissioners from the Customs Board, the governor and lieutenant governor. But really that’s all.”

  “Assuming that Osborne could feign death as you suggest, could he have left the fort? Did any boats leave during the night?”

  “Not that I know of. But if he was capable of the rest, surely he could have swum from the island. The distance to Boston is great, but it’s less than a mile to Dorchester Point.”

  Ethan dragged a hand over his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that a man might escape Castle William in that way, but of course the doctor was right. The air had turned cold, but the Atlantic waters held their warmth well into autumn, even this far north.

  “Damn,” he muttered. He had never heard of a conjurer faking his or her own death in this way, but he couldn’t say for certain whether it was impossible. He could think of only one person in the city who knew spellmaking well enough to tell him that. “I need you to come with me to the Neck,” he said to the doctor.

  “Why?”

  “There’s a woman there—another conjurer. She’ll be able to tell us if any of this is possible. And she might have questions for you that I can’t answer.”

  Rickman nodded. “Yes, all right.”

  Ethan stood and reached for his waistcoat and coat. They were still damp, though the fire had warmed them.

  “Where are you going?” Kannice asked, coming out into the room from behind the bar.

  “We have to get to Janna’s,” Ethan told her.

  “What’s happened?”

  He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. That’s why I need to speak with her.”

  Kannice glanced at Rickman, her expression wary, even hostile. “He’s with the army?” she asked.

  “He’s a ship’s surgeon in the navy. Do you remember who I went to see first thing yesterday morning?”