D. Jackson: A Plunder of Souls

She loved Ethan, and had suggested with ever greater frequency that perhaps the time had come for him to join her in running the Dowser.

“You could live with me,” she had said, the last time they discussed the matter, a few nights before. “We would share in the work and the profits, and you wouldn’t have to worry anymore about Sephira Pryce and her ruffians.”

It was never easy to say no to Kannice, and it was particularly difficult when she was resting on top of him, her smooth skin against his, her silken hair shining with candlelight.

“That’s a generous offer,” Ethan had said, taking care with his choice of words.

She smiled down at him. “But you’re going to refuse it anyway.”

“I’m a thieftaker, Kannice. It’s what I do.”

“Maybe. But you can’t do it forever,” she said. “Sephira can hire new toughs when the ones she has now grow too old. You’re on your own.”

“You’re saying I’m old?”

She ran her fingers through the hair at his temples, which had long since turned gray. “You’re seasoned.”

Ethan laughed. “And you have a silver tongue.”

“Think about it?” she said, a plea in the words. “For me?”

He kissed her. “I will. For you.”

They both knew that he would have done just about anything for her, except he would not marry her-after losing his betrothed when he was imprisoned, he had vowed never to wed-and he could not yet bring himself to give up his work as a thieftaker. Of course he hated contending with Sephira at every turn, and looking over his shoulder for Nigel and her other toughs each time he ventured out into the streets. And it was true: He couldn’t do this forever. He would be forty-three in October, and there were mornings when he felt every year in his bones and aching muscles. Odd as it seemed, though, he enjoyed thieftaking. The challenge of each new inquiry, the pursuit of those who had done wrong, even the danger-he found all of it intoxicating. In his heart, he knew that any other profession would bore him.

Kannice glanced up from the bowl she was filling and saw that he still watched her. Her cheeks colored, even as her lips curved upward again. After a moment though, her brow creased and she reached a hand to her jaw. She had noticed the bruising on his face. Ethan mirrored the gesture and gave a small shrug. Kannice shook her head, though with a touch of humor in her eyes.

“Are you trying to avoid us?” Diver’s voice.

Ethan turned. Diver and Deborah had halted a pace or two shy of where he sat.

“Not at all,” Ethan said. He stood and indicated the empty chairs at his table with an open hand. “Sit. Please.”

Deborah took the chair to Ethan’s left. Once she was seated, Ethan and Diver sat across from each other.

“I didn’t wish to disturb you,” Ethan said. “You appeared to be deep in conversation.”

She cast a look Diver’s way. Diver’s face turned red.

“That was kind of you,” Deborah said.

And at the same time, Diver said, “We weren’t talking about anything important.”

They looked at each other. Diver smiled; Deborah didn’t.

“You didn’t think it was important?” she asked.

Diver’s face fell. “I meant it wasn’t so important that he couldn’t have joined us. Of course it was imp-”

“You tell me if you think this is important, Mister Kaille. Derrey is thinking of asking the selectmen to appoint him as watch on one of the infected houses.”

“Pat Daily is doing it,” Diver added quickly. “He’s working just down the street at the Tyler’s place. And Ed Baker is doing it, too. They’re making good money at it. Three shillings and four for each of them. That’s per day,” he said, glancing at Deborah. “I was making less than half that at the wharf. And with these nonimportation agreements in place, a cove can’t even make that much.”

“Maybe,” Deborah said. “But at the wharf you don’t run the risk of being infected with smallpox.” She faced Ethan, looking very young and very pretty. “Don’t you agree, Mister Kaille?”

“It’s Ethan,” he told her, as he had several times before. “And I’m afraid I can’t agree with you entirely. Diver risks infection each time he leaves his room. All of us do.”

“But surely he would be in far greater peril were he to stand watch outside a house that had been visited with the distemper. Won’t you even agree with that?”

Ethan chanced a brief look at his friend, who sat with his hands folded and resting on the table, his eyes downcast.

“I’m not sure I want to answer, Deborah,” he said, meeting her gaze once more. “This is a matter for you and Diver to decide. I’ve no part in it.”

Her expression turned cold. “I see.” She cast a glance Diver’s way, her lips pressed thin. “In that case, I don’t have more to say to either of you. You should do as you please, Derrey. I believe you intended to anyway.”

She pushed back from the table and stood. Ethan and Diver both jumped to their feet, but she didn’t appear to notice. She walked to the tavern door without a backward glance and strode out into the night.

Diver stared after her, his mouth open in a small o . Once the door had closed behind Deborah, he turned to Ethan. “What should I do?”

“You should probably go after her.”

“And should I tell her I won’t take the job?”

“That’s for you to decide. I can’t help you.”

“I need the money, Ethan. There’s little work to be had on the waterfront right now.”

“I know.”

Diver stared at the door, a pained expression on his face. “I’m not very good at this.”

Ethan schooled his features. A year ago, this would have been the moment when Diver threw up his hands in frustration and moved on to the next girl. Deborah had changed him, and Ethan was glad. It seemed his friend was finally becoming an adult.

“You’re better at it than you think,” Ethan said. “Go on. If you don’t catch up with her soon, she’ll really be angry.”

A weak smile flickered across the younger man’s face. “Right. Good night.”

“Good luck.”

Ethan sat again, caught Kelf’s eye, and held up a finger. The barman nodded and reached for another tankard.

Long after Kelf brought him the second ale, Ethan continued to sit and gaze out over the throng of customers. The Dowser was more crowded than usual this night, which was surprising with word of the distemper spreading through the city. But at last, as the hour grew late, the crowd began to thin.

Kannice made her way to Ethan’s table, her cheeks flushed, wisps of loose hair falling over her forehead. Reaching him, she stooped and kissed him lightly on the lips. Her breath smelled of Irish whiskey, as it often did after a long night in the tavern, and her hair smelled of lavender.

“I see you’ve managed again to hit someone’s fist with your jaw,” she said, taking Deborah’s seat. She grinned to soften the gibe.

“Aye,” Ethan said, smiling as well. “I gave his knuckles quite a beating.”

“And who was this unfortunate soul?” Before Ethan could reply, she held up a hand. “No, wait. Let me guess. The yellow-haired one.”

“Nigel. Very good.”

She scrutinized the bruise, grimacing as she did. “Can I do anything?”

“I’ll heal it later.”

Kannice took his hand in both of hers. “You know, I was here all night, working. So was Kelf. And neither of us was hit even once.”

“Well, obviously you weren’t doing it right.”

Kannice laughed, throwing her head back.

Ethan dug into his pocket, pulled out the coins Ellis had given him, and placed them on the table in front of her.

Her eyebrows went up.