D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“All right,” Ethan said. “Why did you hire me, sir?”

The man stared back at him, his expression unreadable. Finally, he looked away and said, “You’re a thieftaker, aren’t you? I’m paying you handsomely. I thought you would be eager-”

“Why not Sephira Pryce? She’s far better known than I am. To be honest, I’m surprised you had even heard of me.”

A humorless smile flitted across Berson’s face. “Come now, Mister Kaille,” he said in a low voice. “There was a time when everyone in Boston knew your name. You and the Ruby Blade were quite the sensation some years back.”

“It’s not the same,” Ethan said. “Sephira Pryce is the most renowned thieftaker in all of Boston. So again I ask: Why did you hire me?”

Berson eyed him a moment longer, and then sagged. “You saw her,” he said. “There wasn’t a mark on her, nothing to tell us what had killed her, much less who. At first we didn’t even suspect foul play. But then we realized that the brooch was gone. And that mob was still in the streets.”

“Did you think perhaps that she had died of natural causes, and that the brooch was stolen after?”

A spark of hope lit Berson’s eyes. “Is that what you think happened?”

The man deserved the truth, but Ethan needed answers first. “I’m trying to understand how you came to hire me, sir.”

“Isn’t it clear? Jennifer was dead, and for no reason we could see or understand. She was a healthy girl, and there was no indication that anything had been done to her. It had to be… devilry.” He stumbled over the word and his face went white at his own mention of it. He even took a step back from Ethan, seeming to realize that he ought to be frightened of him. But then he went on.

“That’s the only explanation for what happened to her. I thought about going to Pryce. Of course I did. But she would be the first to admit that she doesn’t know much about your kind. And so we… we asked around. I’ve always known there were spellers in Boston. A person just needed to know where to look. And when I heard that there was a thieftaker who was also a speller…” He shrugged. “Well, how could I not seek you out?”

“Who told you I was a conjurer?”

“I don’t know. I have men who work for me. I’ve had them combing the streets for information since last night. I suppose one of them heard of your… talent.” Berson said all this without meeting Ethan’s gaze, leaving the thieftaker to wonder if he was being completely truthful.

Still, the events of the last day had made it clear to Ethan that too many people knew his secret. The last thing he wanted or needed was for every man and woman in the city to be talking about his past and the fact that he was a conjurer.

“I won’t tell anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Berson said. “You have my word.”

“Too many people know already.” He exhaled heavily and raised his gaze only to find the merchant already eyeing him. “It was a conjuring that killed her. I know that beyond a doubt. I used a spell at the chapel and… well, you don’t need to know the details. But there is no doubt in my mind. I don’t know who cast the spell that killed her, but he or she is powerful. There can’t be more than a handful of people in all the colonies who could have murdered her that way.”

“So, do you… do you think you can find the person who did this?” the man asked, sounding both hopeful and frightened.

“Yes, sir. I believe I can.”

Berson nodded, his gaze drifting toward the door.

“I’ll leave you to your family, sir,” Ethan said. He started to leave. Then he halted and faced the merchant again. “Is there really a brooch, Mister Berson, or was that just something you and your man made up to get me to take the job?”

Berson shook his head again, his eyes wide. “No, the brooch is real, and it’s missing.”

“All right,” Ethan said. “Then if you’ll direct me to your daughter’s servant, I’ll begin my inquiry straightaway.”

Berson led Ethan out of the study back into the large chamber with glazed windows. The merchant called for William, the white-haired man who had come to the Dowsing Rod that morning, and sent him in search of Jennifer’s servant. He then bade Ethan farewell.

William returned a few moments later accompanied by a plain-looking young woman with reddish hair and freckles. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was blotchy, and even after William introduced Ethan to her she continued to stare at the floor. She looked frightened; Ethan thought it likely that his bruised face did nothing to set her mind at ease.

Ethan smiled at her, but she barely met his gaze. “This won’t take long,” he said gently. “I just need you to tell me about the brooch stolen from Miss Berson.”

A tear slipped from the girl’s eye and ran down her cheek. “It was oval,” she said in a low voice. “With a gold setting. There was a large round ruby in the center, and it was surrounded by small diamonds. And then around them were more rubies. Small ones.” The ghost of a smile touched her lips and was gone. “It was my mistress’s favorite. Mine, too.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about it?” Ethan asked.

The girl shook her head.

“It belonged t’ Jennifer’s grandmother,” William said. “Missus Berson’s mother. Her initials are etched in th’ back: CN. Caroline Neale.”

“I didn’t know that,” the girl whispered.

“I’ve worked in this house a good many years,” William said, eyeing Ethan. “Little escapes my notice.”

Ethan heard a warning in the words. He held the man’s gaze until at last the servant looked away. After thanking the girl, he allowed William to lead him to the entrance.

“Th’ brooch is worth more than they’re paying ya,” the Scotsman said, as Ethan stepped past him out into the cool twilight air.

“That’s usually the case,” Ethan told him. “It’s never stopped me from returning an item.”

“An’ why is that?”

“People won’t hire me if they don’t trust me.”

“One brooch like this one an’ you’d never need t’ work again.”

“Are you trying to tempt me, William, or warn me?” Ethan didn’t give the man a chance to respond. “I have no interest in stealing from the Bersons, or anyone else for that matter. Believe it or not, I like my work.”

“Ya can say tha’ looking as ya do right now?”

Ethan laughed. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”

The man surprised him with a smile. “Rather, yes.”

“Good-bye, William.” Ethan started down the stairway.

“Wait.”

Ethan turned again. The servant stared at him another moment, tight-lipped, his brow creased. He glanced behind him into the house, before descending the steps to where Ethan had stopped.

“Ya know tha’ Miss Berson was… was being courted?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“By Cyrus Derne,” Ethan said. “Mister Berson mentioned it.”

“Not all of us were as pleased with th’ match as Jennifer,” the man said.

William sounded more like a concerned uncle than a servant. Abner Berson probably would have thought it impertinent had he heard. But this man, whatever his station, cared about the family he served.

“Do you suspect Mister Derne of doing her harm?” Ethan asked.

William shook his head. “Nothin’ so… heinous,” he said. “But he strikes me as a careless man, someone who coulda led her int’ peril.” He glanced back toward the door. “If my master knew that I was telling ya this-”

Ethan raised a hand, stopping him. “He’ll hear nothing of this conversation from me. Derne would have been the first person I sought out regardless. Now I’ll meet the man armed with your perceptions of him. Thank you for that.”