D. Jackson: A Plunder of Souls

“My jaw will be fine by morning,” Ethan said. “And meanwhile I have this to show for my labors. And my bruises.”

“It could have been worse.”

“I passed the Tyler house on the way here. The flag is still out, and a man is standing watch on the street-a friend of Diver’s, I think. I don’t need Sephira and her brutes to make things worse.”

“I know that but-”

“Let it be, Kannice.”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. “Deborah looked unhappy when she left.”

“Aye. Diver wants to ask the selectmen to put him on the watch.”

“To guard a quarantined house?” Kannice asked.

“Aye. And she doesn’t like the idea.”

“I can’t say that I blame her.”

“It pays well,” Ethan said. “And every job carries some risk.” She started to object, but he raised a finger, stopping her. “Even running a tavern. There are fewer regulars in the city now, but remember how worried you were when the occupation began. If General Gage had chosen to billet his men in Boston’s publick houses, it might have put you out of business.”

He saw that she wanted to argue. They both knew, though, that he was right.

“It’s not quite the same,” she said after a brief silence.

“No, but a man has to make a living.”

“I know.” She pushed herself up out of her chair. “I’ve a bit more to do in the kitchen.” She canted her head to the side, candlelight in her eyes. “You’re staying the night?”

“You don’t mind sharing your bed with a bruised old man?”

“Not any more than I did last night.”

He grinned. “In that case, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She started back toward the bar before facing him again. “If you find yourself without anything to do, you can join us in back. There are a few dozen bowls that need cleaning.”

He lifted his tankard. “I’ll be working on this, I think.”

“Aye, I’m sure you will.”

Ethan slept fitfully, awakened several times by what he thought were pulses of conjuring power shuddering in the walls of Kannice’s tavern. He couldn’t tell if the spells were real or if he had dreamed them, but imagined or not, they troubled his sleep. He woke for good early the next day. He had expected to slumber through much of the morning-it had been late when he and Kannice finally went to sleep, and he was exhausted from his recent inquiry. But though he did not feel refreshed when he woke, he could not fall asleep again. He lay still, not wishing to wake Kannice. And his thoughts churned.

For all of his certainty about not wanting to give up thieftaking, he also knew that jobs were harder to come by now than they had been as recently as a year before. The arrival of British troops in the city had frightened away some of Boston’s less desirable citizens. And, of course, Sephira had used every tool at her disposal to take the lioness’s share of those clients who still required the services of a thieftaker. Despite Ethan’s success the previous evening, he knew that his prospects were not good. Before Ellis hired him, he had gone two months without conducting an inquiry. Now that this one was finished, he wondered when he would be hired again.

He could live for some time on the coin Ellis had paid him, but he owed a month’s rent to Henry Dall, the cooper from whom he let a room, and would owe him again come the middle of July. He didn’t dare express his concerns to Kannice, lest she take this confidence as a sign that he was thinking of leaving Henry’s shop to come live and work with her in the Dowser.

It occurred to him that he, too, could earn some coin watching a quarantined house. He couldn’t ward himself against smallpox, but if Pat Daily and Ed Baker managed to take on these duties without being afflicted, so could he. Were it not for Diver’s determination to secure one of the appointments, Ethan might have tried. But there weren’t many watch postings available, and Diver needed the money more than Ethan did. For now, at least.

Work will come, he told himself. It always does. The king’s army had not driven away every thief in Boston, and Ethan was not willing to concede every client to Sephira. He needed only to remain patient.

On this thought, he swung himself out of bed, taking care to make no noise. He dressed, let himself out of Kannice’s room, and descended the stairs to the tavern’s great room.

There, he walked back into the kitchen and took some bread and butter from Kannice’s larder. He dropped a few pence in the bar till, and took a seat at the nearest table. He was just finishing his piece of bread when Kannice descended the stairs, dressed, her face still puffy with sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “I tried to be quiet.”

“You were. I just can tell when you’re gone. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Restless.”

She nodded. “I can make you something. There’s bacon, or a bit of last night’s chowder.”

He shook his head. “My thanks, but no.”

Kannice narrowed her eyes. “You paid for that, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Ethan-”

Before she could say more-no doubt about how she didn’t like to take his money-there came a knock on the tavern door.

They shared a look.

“Kelf?” Ethan asked.

“It’s too early for Kelf.”

He thought back on his encounter with Sephira Pryce the night before. It wasn’t like her to knock, but again, she was never one to limit herself to doing what was expected. He drew his knife and pushed up his shirt sleeve.

He nodded once to Kannice, and followed as she walked to the door.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“Um, Robert, ma’am,” came the reply. The voice was that of a boy.

The tension drained from Kannice’s face. Ethan kept his knife poised over his forearm, but when she reached for the key, a question in her eyes, he nodded again.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open, revealing a boy in torn breeches and a white linen shirt that was far too small for him. He was alone, and he clutched a piece of folded parchment in one hand.

“I gots a message for Ethan Kaille,” the boy said.

Ethan sheathed his blade and pushed down his sleeve before advancing into the daylight.

“I’m Kaille.”

“In that case, this is for you, I guess.”

Ethan glanced at Kannice and took the parchment. Unfolding it, he saw written in a neat hand,

Please come to King’s Chapel at your earliest convenience.

— T. Pell

“It’s from Mister Pell,” he told Kannice.

“Aye,” the boy said, eager. “That’s who gave it to me. The minister at the chapel; the young one. He said you’d give me a bit of coin for my trouble.”

Kannice looked away, her eyes dancing.

“Did he?” Ethan asked. “Was this before or after he paid you?”

“Oh, aft-” The boy clamped his mouth shut, his face coloring.

“It’s all right, lad,” Ethan said, laughing now. He fished in his pocket for tuppence. “Here you are.”

“My thanks,” the boy said, beaming as he pocketed the coin. He started to turn away.

“Wait, boy. Did Mister Pell say anything more?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. On your way then.”

The boy hurried away.

Ethan pulled the door closed once more.

“I should go without delay. Pell wouldn’t send for me if he hadn’t need.”

“Of course,” Kannice said. “Come back later?”

“Gladly.” He kissed her cheek and left the tavern.

King’s Chapel stood a short distance south of the Dowser, on School Street, just off of Treamount. In order to reach it, Ethan had to walk back past the Orange Tree tavern and the Tyler house with its bright red flag. Daily was out front again, standing watch and looking glum, but unmarked by the distemper. Perhaps Deborah would be reassured.