Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by Jackson, D. B.

  Ethan’s one hope was that Hester and Molly might help him once their father was gone. That hope evaporated as soon as Osborne was out of earshot.

  “You’re a fool!” Hester said, rounding on him, her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t listen to me. You couldn’t just leave when I told you to.”

  Ethan flicked his gaze to Diver and back to her.

  “Yes, I know. Your friend. He’s as stupid as you are. You can’t save him. So you’re both dead, and Molly and I will have two more souls to worry about.”

  “I don’t want to do any more conjuring, Hes,” Molly said.

  Hester took her hand. “I know, love. Neither do I. Why don’t you sew some more? That always helps.”

  Molly cast a furtive glance Ethan’s way one last time and crossed to a chair at the far end of the room. One of her bright, patterned cushions lay on the floor, and several more scraps of matching material rested on the arm of the chair. Molly sat, took up the material, and soon was absorbed in her craft. She didn’t look happy, but the sewing did seem to calm her.

  Hester, on the other hand, remained where she was, watching Ethan, the pistol still in her hand.

  Ethan thought once more of the mullein in his pocket. He thought he could make a spell work without speaking it aloud. The problem was, two leaves weren’t enough for any casting that could overcome the combined might of the sisters Osborne. He couldn’t defeat their binding spell. He might be able to heal the worst of Diver’s injuries, but the women would use a conjuring to bind his friend, or worse. He could light a fire, or bring the roof of the shack down on them all, but he and Diver were both helpless to escape. He was more comfortable than he had been in the gaol, but the invisible shackles conjured by Hester and Molly were no less effective than Greenleaf’s chains.

  The wood of the shack was too old and lifeless to provide much power for a spell. On the other hand, there was more than enough grass outside for several castings. But bound as he was, by both conjuring and rope, he would have to give much thought to which spell he chose to cast. Hester had the pistol, both women could conjure, and Ethan had Diver to worry about as well as himself.

  He considered an illusion spell. Though the rain had stopped, leaving him with little water for an elemental spell, there was no reason he couldn’t use grass to send for help using an image of himself as he had at the prison. But as soon as he cast the spell, and sent such an image to Kannice or Pell or anyone else who might have been able to come to his aid, Hester would feel the spell and know that Ethan was conjuring.

  Which left him back where he had been before he started thinking in circles: helpless, a captive.

  He again glanced at Hester, but then looked away, and let his gaze settle on Molly instead. At first she took no notice of him, so intent was she on her sewing. After some time, though, she happened to look up and catch sight of him watching her. She dropped her gaze, but a few seconds later her eyes flicked his way a second time.

  Looking down once more, she shifted in her seat, bent lower over her work, and stared hard at the thread and cloth, seeming to will herself not to glance his way anymore. And yet, seconds later she did.

  A small whine escaped her and she looked over at her sister.

  “Hester?” she said.

  “Stop it, Kaille.”

  Ethan didn’t look away.

  Hester stepped forward, planting herself directly in front of him so that he could no longer see Molly. He raised his eyes and she slapped him hard on the cheek. Not only did it sting, but it also turned his head enough that he could no longer see Molly. Hester smiled with grim satisfaction and took a seat near her sister, in a chair that was also outside of Ethan’s line of sight.

  After that, time slowed to a crawl. Hester remained where she was, Molly sewed, and Ethan sat doing nothing, waiting to be killed.

  He must have dozed off, because the next sound that reached him was a low groan that cut through his slumber. He woke with a start, his neck and arms and legs feeling stiff. Someone—Hester—walked to his chair and roughly turned his head so that he could see Molly again, and, more important, so that he could see Diver.

  His friend groaned a second time, and his eyes fluttered open. He started to sit up, but stopped when he saw Hester standing over him, the pistol trained on his heart.

  “Stay right where you are,” she said.

  Diver nodded, groaned again, and raised a hand to the gash on the side of his head. “Where are—?” he started to ask, looking around the shack. But when he spotted Ethan, he stopped, his mouth falling open, astonishment and despair in his gray eyes.

  “Ethan! What are you doing here?”

  “He can’t answer you,” Hester said.

  “Why not? What have you done to him?”

  “It’s called a binding spell. He can’t move at all, not to speak, not to conjure, not to help you in any way. It’s just you against the two of us, and we’re both capable of doing to you what we’ve done to him. So sit still, and keep quiet.”

  Diver faced Ethan again, a question on his youthful face. All Ethan could do was stare back at him. After a moment or two of this, Diver seemed to realize that the woman had spoken the truth.

  “What happened to his arm?” Diver asked. “And that bruise on his face—where did that come from?”

  “My father,” Hester said, as if the words tasted bitter in her mouth.

  Diver slumped against the wall and reached up once more to the gash on his head. “Your father,” he repeated. “A fine man. He’s the one who did this to me, too.”

  “Keep quiet,” Hester said, taking her seat once more, the pistol still held ready.

  Diver fell silent, but not for long. “He wasn’t happy when he found out I didn’t have the pearls. The first time we met, I was able to put him off, but not the second. When I didn’t have them, he got angry, pulled out a gun. I tried to run, but he must have used a spell on me, brought me back here.” He gestured at the bruises on his face. “The rest you can see.”

  Hester leaned forward in her chair. “Stop talking! We don’t want to hear this.”

  But of course, Diver was saying it for Ethan’s benefit, not hers.

  “The first time we spoke, he offered me twenty pounds—not a lot for pearls, but enough to make me think that he must think he can get a lot for them. He wanted to know where in New Boston I found them. He asked if they had been near the church. And I told him that they had. That seemed to be the right—”

  Hester was on her feet again, standing over Diver, the pistol pressed against his chest.

  “Another word, and I swear I’ll kill you!”

  Diver stared up at her, his mouth clamped shut.

  “Don’t you think I understand what you’re doing?” She gestured back at Ethan, waving the pistol. “You’re telling him all of this. And I want you to stop!”

  “Hester, it’s all right,” Molly said, meek and scared.

  “No, Molly, it’s not! So just shut your mouth. All of you, keep quiet!”

  Molly’s face crumbled and tears slipped from her eyes.

  “You see?” Hester cried, glaring down at Diver, looking and sounding more like her father with every word. “If you would just keep silent—”

  The report of the pistol was deafening, and for the span of a heartbeat or two, no one moved or said a word. Gray smoke filled the room, along with the acrid scent of gunpowder. At last, Hester looked down at the pistol, which she still held, a look of stunned incredulity on her face.

  Molly screamed and pointed at Diver with a trembling hand.

  Blood had begun to spread over his chest, staining his shirt and waistcoat. He looked toward Ethan for an instant before his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Ethan struggled with all his strength to break free of the binding spell, to bolt from his chair to Diver’s side, to roar his friend’s name. But the binding spell held him fast. He could do nothing but watch as his friend’s life bled away.

  “Molly, quickly!�
�� Hester said.

  Their eyes met. Molly nodded, pale, her lips trembling.

  “Extrica ex alligatione!” the two women said as one. “Ex cruore evocatum!” Release binding! Conjured from blood!

  The two ghosts appeared again—red and yellow—and at the same time the blood on Diver’s clothes vanished. The shack was electric with their conjuring. And Ethan felt life flow back into his limbs.

  “Get this rope off me!” he said.

  Hester rushed to him and cut the rope.

  Once free, Ethan flung himself out of the chair to the floor by Diver’s side. His friend’s skin had turned cold and gray. He was breathing still, but already each breath sounded labored, and as thin as parchment. Blood had started to soak the front of his shirt again, but much less this time. He had lost too much already.

  Hester hovered at his shoulder. “Do you know how to … how to get it out of him?”

  “There’s no time for that! He’s dying!”

  “So what do we do?”

  “A healing spell,” Ethan said. “All three of us.”

  “Have you ever cast a spell with another conjurer, Mister Kaille?” Hester asked him, her expression grave.

  His mouth twitched. “No.”

  “Then you aren’t ready. It’s not just a matter of casting at the same time. It’s … I haven’t time to explain it. Molly and I will do this. We owe him that.” She grimaced; Ethan thought she might have meant to smile.

  “Your knife, Molly,” Hester said to her sister. “He hasn’t enough blood for another casting.”

  Molly stood beside her sister, a blade in her hand. The two ghosts joined them, holding hands, so that where their fingers met, the light turned to that familiar orange Ethan had seen so many times in the past few days. He stood and backed away, allowing Hester and Molly to kneel on either side of Diver. The two women cut themselves, dragging the blades over the backs of their wrists in unison, performing a ritual he was sure they had practiced for years. Dropping their blades, they both touched their free hands to the cuts they had made, covering their palms and fingers with blood. Then each laid a crimson hand on Diver’s wound, Molly’s beneath Hester’s.

  “Remedium ex cruore evocatum,” they said together, their eyes closed. Healing, conjured from blood.

  The surge of power felt different this time. It wasn’t a single pulse that came and went. It growled in the wood of the house, like some mammoth beast. Ethan said nothing. He watched, tight-lipped, his heart pounding, racing.

  Hester and Molly looked like marble statues, their bodies rigid, their faces as pale as bone. Had it not been for the sweat on their faces, Ethan might have wondered if they had reached too deep with their casting.

  Ethan couldn’t see Diver’s wound, so he didn’t know if it had closed up. The bloodstain on his shirt hadn’t spread further, but that could mean that he had died. The gray pallor—the color of death—clung to his face, his hands, and with the women’s hands on his chest it was hard to see if he still breathed. But neither Hester nor Molly paused in their efforts, so he refused to give up hope.

  So intent were all three of them on Diver that they heard nothing from outside until a boot thudded on the wooden stairs and porch, and the door swung open once more.

  The women turned as one toward the door, their faces like those of children caught playing some forbidden game. Ethan turned, too, a whispered curse on his lips.

  Caleb Osborne stood in the doorway, his pistol aimed at Ethan, his dark, angry glare fixed on his daughters.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-TWO

  “What, in the name of all that’s holy, do you think you’re doin’?” Osborne demanded. He stormed into the house and kicked the door closed.

  Ethan kept quiet and watched Hester and Molly. They stared back at their father, also saying nothing. Hester raised her chin, defiance in her hazel eyes. Molly gaped at Osborne, terror etched on her face.

  “I asked you a question, girls! I want an answer!”

  “The pistol went off,” Hester said at last, stooping to retrieve the weapon. “He was talking and I wanted him to stop. And I yelled at him, and I must have … I don’t know. But it went off and— The bullet hit him in the chest. There was blood and— We released Kaille so that he could help us heal him. He would have died.”

  Osborne rubbed a hand over his mouth, his face reddening. “I see. And you never gave a thought to what I said before I left? That he was gonna die anyway?” His voice grew louder with every question. “That I intended to kill him? Did you forget everythin’ I said?”

  Molly had covered her ears. Hester’s cheeks burned bright red.

  “Didn’t I tell you to bind him if he woke? Do you remember me sayin’ as much? He’s dangerous, I said. Just like Kaille. And still you didn’t bind the one, and you released the other. It’s like I raised simpletons.” He looked down at Diver, squinting. “Doesn’t even look like you saved him.”

  “Yes, we did!” Molly said through tears.

  “Looks dead to me. But if you say so, I’ll believe you.” Osborne still had his pistol aimed at Ethan, and now he turned his full attention to the thieftaker. “I want you t’ tell me how you heard about the pearls.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Ethan said. “Just as I’m sure you’ll kill me—and Diver, too—as soon as I tell you what I know.”

  “Maybe not. But I will if you don’t tell me what I want to know. And I’ll start with him.”

  “Fowler,” Ethan said.

  Osborne stared back at him. Ethan sensed that this was the last name he had expected to hear. “Jon Fowler?”

  “That’s right. He made it sound as though Gant talked about them day and night. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the British army is out there looking for them.”

  “You’re lyin’.”

  Ethan shrugged. “I knew about them. And I promise you that Fowler’s the one who told me.”

  Osborne indicated Diver with a lifted chin. “And why’d you send this one out into the streets with that fool story about havin’ them to sell?”

  “Because I knew that would be the quickest way to find you and Gant. It was clear to me that Gant had no idea where they were. Just yesterday I saw him at the Manufactory. He was probably looking for them there.”

  Osborne’s face went white.

  “He was looking for them there,” Ethan said. “Wasn’t he? What’s more, I’d wager that he found them.”

  “You can believe that if you want,” Osborne said. But his tone told Ethan that he had hit too close to the truth for the man’s comfort.

  “No, he didn’t find them,” Ethan said, guessing now, and eager to keep Osborne talking. “But he told you they were still there, and that’s when you killed him. Or had your daughters do it for you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Kaille.”

  “Do you have them?” Hester asked her father.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Why wait?” she said. “He knows what happened, and you’re going to kill him anyway. So answer me. Did you get them yet?”

  “Aye, I’ve got them,” Osborne said. “But not here. They’re in a safe spot. That’s all you need to know.”

  “But he hasn’t sold them yet,” Ethan said. Another guess.

  “I told you to be quiet.”

  “Sephira wouldn’t agree to a price, would she? That’s not her way. She’d demand to see them first, and you, knowing her as you do, would understand that bringing her the pearls, even if it was just for her to look at, would be like putting that pistol to your head and pulling the trigger. Which means that you have the pearls, but you have no agreement, and you don’t know what to do next. She’s probably got her men watching you, and so she’ll know if you try to sell them to anyone else.”

  “That’s enough!”

  “She knows about this place,” Ethan went on. “Nigel and Nap were here just a couple of days ago. She’s going to come looking for you. And then you’ll really be in trouble.�
�

  “How do you know so much about it?” Hester asked.

  Ethan laughed, his gaze still on Osborne. “There’s no one in this city who knows Sephira Pryce better than I do. If your father was smart, he’d let me help him. But that would mean splitting his share of the sale, and we know how he feels about that. Certainly Simon Gant does.”

  “I said that’s enough!”

  Ethan knew what was coming, but he held his ground and braced himself. Osborne took two quick steps in his direction and hit him again with his pistol, this time connecting just above Ethan’s left eye. Ethan staggered but stayed on his feet. Osborne struck him again in the same spot and Ethan collapsed, pain clouding his vision, and blood running down his face.

  But if there had been any doubt in Ethan’s mind, Osborne’s assault erased it. For all his bluster, the man had no intention of shooting him or Diver. He had let his daughters do all the killing up until now, and he would be content to let them do the rest. That was Ethan’s best hope.

  The man dragged Ethan back to the center of the room.

  “Help me, Hes,” he said.

  Osborne’s daughter joined him at Ethan’s side, and together they lifted him into the same chair he had been trapped in earlier.

  “Now, bind him like you did before. Both of you.”

  “How much do you think you’ll get for the pearls, Osborne?” Ethan asked through the throbbing pain. “Were they worth the lives of all those men on the Graystone?”

  This blow Ethan hadn’t anticipated. Osborne hit him in the jaw with what felt like a cobble from King Street. He flew off the chair, landing hard on his side and smacking his head against the floor.

  “Shut your mouth!” the man hollered at him.

  Ethan tried to push himself up off the floor, but he couldn’t seem to make his arms or legs work. He lay there, trying to clear his head and waiting for the pain in his jaw and teeth to subside.

  “What did he mean by that?” Hester asked after a brief, tense silence.