D. Jackson - Thieftaker

Sephira glanced past him again, which gave Ethan at least some warning that another blow was coming. Not that it helped much. One of Pryce’s men grabbed his chair from behind and pulled it out from under him, so that Ethan fell face-first to the floor. Two others lifted him and pinned his arms to his sides, and Yellow-hair resumed the beating. This time Sephira let them have their fun for what felt like an eternity before finally calling them off. Yellow-hair drove one last punch into Ethan’s side before the other two released him, leaving him to crumple to the floor.

Every inch of Ethan’s body hurt, and he could feel blood flowing freely from his nose, his split lip, and more cuts on his face than he could count. He didn’t try to move, not even when he felt one of the men rifling through his pockets.

“Here it is,” the man said.

Ethan heard the ring of coins, and knew that they had found Berson’s money pouch.

“Found these, too.”

More coins. Those would have been the shillings Corbett had given to him.

“Take it all,” Sephira said, standing over him. “You’ll make more, won’t you, Ethan?”

“Sure,” Ethan said, the word coming out as a whisper. “What’s a few pounds between friends?”

“Well said. You know, Ethan,” she went on, though Ethan just wished the woman would shut up and go away. “You need me as much as I need you. More really, though you don’t know it.”

“Would you care to tell me why?”

“Not really.”

“You know, I don’t need my knife to cast,” Ethan said. “There’s blood on my face. I could speak a spell that would kill all four of you.”

“Actually,” Sephira said, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Ethan heard something clatter on the floor next to his head. Opening his eyes, he saw his blade lying beside him.

“But we both know that you’re not going to do that,” she went on. “It hasn’t been that long since you were a prisoner in Barbados, or wherever it was. And I imagine those memories fade rather slowly.”

“Many people know I’m a conjurer.”

“I’m sure. But it’s one thing for people to know that, or to hear rumors of a few small spells cast in the capture of a thief. It’s quite another for you to use your witchery to kill a person, especially someone like me. They’d have you in shackles faster than you could say ‘God save the king.’ Or maybe they’d just hang you. Don’t you agree?”

Ethan gave no answer.

Sephira laughed again. “Nothing to say? Very well, then. Good-bye, Ethan. I hope you find the girl’s killer. It would be unfortunate if you mucked it up.”

He heard them leave, listened as they descended the creaking stairway. But even after they were gone, he simply lay there, his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.

“ Ethan? Ethan, y’all right?”

The voice reached him from far away, as from a distant passing ship on still waters.

“Ethan?”

But as soon as he felt someone touch his shoulder, his hand shot up of its own volition and grabbed the speaker’s wrist. He heard a small gasp and, opening his eyes, saw poor Henry kneeling beside him, staring wide-eyed at Ethan’s hand. Ethan let go of him and let his arm fall back to his side.

“Sorry, Henry,” he muttered.

“Godth, Ethan!” the cooper lisped. “What happened to ya?”

Ethan forced himself up off the floor into a sitting position. His head spun a bit, but less than he had feared it might. Still, his body ached as it hadn’t since his days laboring on the plantation; he wondered if Yellow-hair and his friends had broken a few of his ribs.

“Sephira Pryce was here,” Ethan said. “She and her men were waiting for me.” He glanced at Henry. “You didn’t hear them earlier?”

Henry looked hurt. “O’ course I didn’t. Ya think I’d let ya come up, knowin’ they was here?

Ethan shook his head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, Henry.”

The cooper’s face colored. “I did hear some commotion and… well, I was afraid to come up. But then I heard them leave. That was all I heard, though. I swear it.”

“I believe you. And it’s probably best that you waited. There’s no telling what they might have done to you.”

“She was really here, eh?” the old man said, gazing wistfully at the door, as if he might still catch a glimpse of Sephira and her men. “Th’ Empress herself?”

Ethan had to laugh, though it hurt to do so. “Aye. It’s my own fault. I saw one of them coming up behind me on the stairs. I should have realized that he wouldn’t be alone.”

“Wha’ does Sephira want with you?”

“New job I’m working on,” Ethan told him. “You really don’t want to know.” He probed his face gingerly with his fingers. Everything felt swollen. “I must look a mess.”

“Ya do,” Henry said. “I’ll get some water and help ya get cleaned up.” He stood, hitting Ethan’s knife with his foot as he did. “They leave that?” he asked.

Ethan shook his head. “It’s mine. It’s pretty much the only thing they didn’t take.”

Henry glanced around the room. “They took stuff?”

“Just my money. Good thing I paid you before coming up here.”

Henry grimaced sympathetically, but he didn’t offer to give Ethan back any of the rent money. He left the room, still looking around, perhaps, Ethan thought, hoping that he might spot something that Sephira had left behind. Ethan thought it likely that nothing he had done before had impressed the old man as much as getting thrashed by Sephira Pryce’s men.

While Henry was gone he gently probed his ribs with his hands, trying to decide if any were broken. It felt like at least one of them was, but Henry entered the room again before he could cut himself and cast a healing spell. For all their years of friendship the old man didn’t know that Ethan was a conjurer. Or if he did, he acted as though he assumed Ethan didn’t cast anymore, for he never mentioned spellmaking or “witchcraft” in front of Ethan.

Henry had brought a bucket of cold water, several pieces of clean cloth, and a bottle of what Ethan guessed was rum. He helped Ethan climb into the chair and then began to clean the wounds on his face. The old cooper was surprisingly gentle and deft, though he worked slowly. It wasn’t long before the cloths were stained red with blood. Henry continually wrung them out into the bucket, and soon the water had shaded toward pink.

“Lot o’ blood,” the cooper said after a lengthy silence.

“I was noticing that. I think I’m glad I don’t have a looking glass.”

“I have one,” Henry told him. “I can get it if you like. Ya don’t look so bad. Probably feels worse than it looks.”

“Aye, probably. My thanks, Henry.”

The cooper finished cleaning him up, and then opened the rum and poured a bit onto a clean cloth.

“Is that necessary?” Ethan asked.

Henry shrugged. “They say i’ keeps away infection.”

“I’m going to smell like a distillery. People will think I’ve been drinking.”

“I’d drink if I looked like you do,” Henry said, cackling.

Ethan frowned, but then gestured for the cooper to use the rum.

Henry leaned forward and began applying the soaked cloth to Ethan’s various cuts.

Ethan spent the next several moments inhaling sharply through his teeth again and again. “Damn!” he said after the sixth or seventh time. “Do you have to use that much?”

The cooper glanced doubtfully at the bottle. “I didn’t think I was using a lot.”

Ethan closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I’m sure you weren’t. Just… keep doing what you were doing. I’ll keep my mouth-” He winced again as Henry touched the spirit-soaked cloth to another spot on his temple. “-closed.”