D. Jackson - Thieftaker

Another carriage rumbled down the street, harnesses creaking, the dry clop of unshod hooves echoing off nearby buidlings, and as it rolled past Ethan stepped out of the alley and walked with it, again taking care to keep the carriage between himself and Yellow-hair. If he could keep out of sight long enough to reach Leverett’s Lane, he could cut back to Water Street and make it home without being seen. That was the plan, anyway.

He hadn’t gone far, however, when he caught sight of another familiar face. Thick features, a ruddy complexion, widely spaced eyes and a wide mouth. Gordon. Another of Sephira’s men. And this time Ethan had no chance to hide. The man spotted him, a broad grin splitting his face to reveal crooked, yellow teeth.

Ethan halted, glanced back over his shoulder, and saw Yellow-hair walking his way, though the man hadn’t seen him yet. Gordon whistled sharply, no doubt to point out Ethan to his friend. Ethan didn’t wait to see what Yellow-hair did.

His route home was blocked, so he went north instead, dashing up a small lane-he thought it was called Pierce’s Alley-toward Faneuil Hall. He could hear footsteps behind him, and so knew that both men were after him. He assumed that Sephira’s other henchmen were close by.

It didn’t take long for his bad leg to start aching, but he couldn’t allow his limp to slow him down. Emerging from the shadows of the alley into the afternoon sun, still at a full run, Ethan chose to cut through Dock Square toward the Dowser.

Before he had gotten far, however, he spotted two more of Sephira’s men. One of them, another brute, stood at the southwest end of the square, blocking his access to Cornhill Street and Hillier’s Lane. The fourth man-Ethan remembered once hearing Sephira call him Nap-stood opposite this other, guarding the corner of Union Street. Nap was muscular and tall and Ethan had no doubt that he was a competent fighter-better than Gordon and the brute, probably. But he was the smallest of Sephira’s crew, and, like the other man, he hadn’t yet caught sight of Ethan.

That wouldn’t be true for long.

He ran hard toward Nap, sweat soaking his face, his limp worsening. Another shrill whistle cut across the normal street noise of the square. Gordon, no doubt. Nap whirled at the sound, searching for its source. A moment later, he looked directly at Ethan, recognition making his eyes widen. He reached frantically for his blade, but by then Ethan was bearing down on him.

Lowering his shoulder, Ethan rammed into the man, hitting him full in the chest. Nap and Ethan were about the same size, but Nap hadn’t managed to brace himself. He flew off his feet and crashed into a group of ladies wearing fine linen dresses. All of them wound up in a heap on the cobblestones. Ethan stumbled, but kept his feet and ran on, his shoulder screaming agony.

He was on Union Street now. He had no doubt that the others were right behind him. Rather than continue toward the Dowsing Rod and risk leading Yellow-hair and the others right to Kannice, Ethan followed Ann Street eastward, down along the wharves and warehouses.

His leg was growing worse by the moment, and his lungs burned. He didn’t slacken his pace, but he knew he couldn’t outrun Sephira’s men forever. They were younger than he was, stronger. He scanned the street for somewhere he might hide, even as he continued to run. Too late he realized that the lanes were less crowded here, that he was more alone than he would have been had he taken a different route.

At the next corner, he turned, intending to head up into the central part of the North End. But he halted immediately, his chest heaving with every breath.

“Damnit!” he said.

A single man stood at the corner of the next street, waiting… For him. Seeing him, the man smirked and started in his direction. Ethan backed away, and then ran back onto Ann Street, still heading north.

“Kaille!”

Ethan spun. Yellow-hair was behind him with Nap, who didn’t look at all pleased to see him. Yellow-hair was grinning, though, standing in the middle of the lane, a pistol held loosely in his right hand.

Ethan started away again, but a moment later, two more men emerged onto the street a block in front of him. He slowed. Gordon and the brute who had been with Nap stepped onto the lane from Cross Street, joining the two other toughs who had blocked his way.

They had herded him to this spot, like wolves nipping at his heels. And he had let them do it. He had been too quick to run, too predictable.

Ethan stopped and positioned himself so that he could watch Gordon and the men approaching from the north while also keeping an eye on Yellow-hair and Nap.

“What does Sephira want with me now?” he asked, still breathing hard. “She’s not satisfied with having you beat me to a bloody mess… now she wants you to finish the job?”

“If only,” Yellow-hair said. “She wants us t’ deliver a message. Tha’s all.”

Ethan cast a quick look toward Gordon. He and the brute were closer than Ethan expected.

“Stop there,” Ethan called to them, pulling out his knife.

Gordon laughed. “Ya think ya kin kill us all with tha’ blade?”

“He’s a speller, fool!” Yellow-hair said. “He doesn’ have t’ kill us with th’ knife.”

Gordon halted in his tracks, throwing out a hand to stop the other men. His face had gone white.

“I’ll conjure if I have to,” Ethan told them, looking first at Yellow-hair and then at the rest. He pushed his sleeve up, exposing his scarred forearm. “I could kill all of you, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

“Easy, Kaille,” Yellow-hair said. He had stopped, too, and now he raised his pistol for Ethan to see and then slipped it back into his coat pocket. He opened his hands. “Ya see? I jus’ wanna talk t’ ya.”

“All right,” Ethan said. “Talk.”

Sephira’s man beckoned to him with a wave. “In private. Come with me.”

Ethan didn’t move. “I don’t think so.”

Yellow-hair frowned, but said, “Miss Pryce heard tha’ ya’d been offer’d Jennifer Berson’s missin’ brooch.”

Ethan stared at him, at last letting out a small, breathless laugh. “Where did she hear that?”

“Is it true?”

“Retrieving the brooch means nothing if I don’t find her killer.”

“Miss Pryce disagrees,” he said. “Ya’re a thieftaker. Yar job is t’ retrieve stolen goods.”

Ethan was fast tiring of Sephira and her men always being a step ahead of him.

“Is it true?” Yellow-hair asked again. “Have ya been offer’d th’ brooch?”

“Yes.”

The man smiled. “Tha’s good, Kaille. Miss Pryce says tha’ ya’d be wise t’ take it, return it t’ Berson, an’ be done with this bus’ness.” His smile widened. “She also said tha’ this time ya can keep whatever he pays ya.”

“That’s generous of her. But why should she care? I happen to know that this is one crime you and your friends didn’t commit.” Ethan glanced back at Gordon, who had started to creep forward again. Immediately he raised his blade to his bared forearm. Gordon froze. Ethan gestured with the knife, and the man took a few steps back.

Yellow-hair beckoned once more for Ethan to join him. “Come on, Kaille. There’s somethin’ she wanted me t’ show ya. These others’ll stay here. It’ll jus’ be th’ two of us, an’ ya can keep yar knife.”

Ethan eyed the other men. He didn’t trust any of them, but he had a better chance of escaping if he was only with Yellow-hair. He walked to where the man stood and indicated that he should lead the way. Yellow-hair grinned and started down a narrow alley that ran parallel to the waterfront. Ethan followed.

They walked a short distance in silence, before Ethan asked, “What’s her interest in this? Do you even know?”