D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“They killed a man whose life I had spared,” Ethan finally said. “He had stolen some jewels, and the merchant who hired me wanted me to have him arrested when I got the gems back. Failing that, he wanted me to kill him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ethan glanced his way. The boy was watching him, looking pale and young, and a bit frightened.

“British justice can be hard-harder than I felt this man deserved. And it’s no trifle taking a life. I didn’t think he deserved to die. I took the jewels, I took his weapons, and I told him to leave the city.” Ethan shrugged. “He didn’t. Not in time, at least.”

“So Miss Pryce killed him to make the merchant happy?”

“Sephira killed him because she knew it would make me angry, and because she wanted me to know that she’s watching what I do.”

Holin said nothing.

“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted me to tell you that. She would have preferred that I lie to you this one time, tell you something that would be less likely to… to trouble you.”

“You mean scare me.”

“Are you scared?” Ethan asked. By now they were on Charter Street, approaching Elli’s house. But they stopped short of it and stood facing each other.

Holin considered this. “I’m afraid for you,” he said at length. “It sounds like Sephira Pryce is your enemy, and I think that could be dangerous.”

Ethan smiled, thinking in that moment that Holin would grow up to be a wise man. “It probably is,” he admitted. “But that ship’s long since put out to sea.”

“Well,” Holin said, “you don’t have to worry about me telling Mother.”

“Thank you.”

Holin hesitated a moment. Then, “You ever seen a man hang?”

Too many times. He had seen prisoners hanged in the West Indies, and he had seen enemy soldiers hanged during the war. “More than once,” he said. “And I can tell you that some dance, and some don’t. It’s all in the way the rope snaps tight. It’s nothing to do with spirits.”

“You’re sure?”

Ethan gently laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure.”

The door to the house opened and Clara stepped outside, her dark hair tied back from her face to reveal a smooth high forehead.

“It is Holin,” she called over her shoulder. “And Ethan’s with him.”

“Good evening, Clara,” Ethan said, smiling at her, even as he surreptitiously sheathed his blade.

She smiled back but didn’t say anything. A moment later, her mother appeared behind her, her expression severe. Elli wore her hair just as Clara did, so that it accentuated her high cheekbones and the graceful curve of her neck.

“Why are you with him?” she asked, her voice as cold as her eyes. “Has something happened?” And then, before he could answer, “Where did you get all those bruises? What have the two of you been doing?”

“I’m fine,” Ethan said pointedly. “Thank you for asking.” He paused, hoping to see some sign that she regretted speaking to him as she had. He was surprised to see a bit of color warm her cheeks. “The bruises are from yesterday,” he said. “They had nothing to do with your son. Holin and I ran into each other down by the harbor, and I offered to walk him home.”

“Mother and I have made a pudding,” Clara said. “There’s plenty.”

The look Elli gave her daughter would have made King George flinch, but the girl showed no sign of noticing.

“Thank you, Clara,” Ethan said, his eyes flicking to Elli’s face. “But I can’t stay long.”

Elli scowled, understanding from his words and quick glance that he wanted to speak with her. It had been years since they had been in love, but still she knew him as few people did. “All right then,” she said, sighing. “You can come in for a moment or two.”

Holin and Ethan ascended the low steps leading to the door and entered the house. It had been warm out on the street, but it was cooler inside. Candle flames reflected off the polished wood floor of the sitting room and the warm scent of that pudding Clara had mentioned made Ethan’s stomach growl. He crossed to the empty hearth to wait for Elli.

“Holin, get out of those clothes,” she said. “And Clara, darling, why don’t you check on the pudding again.”

“But, Mother, it’s done.”

“Yes, well, you can make certain it’s still warm.”

“Yes, Mother,” Clara said in a flat voice.

Elli walked into the room but halted several feet from him. Ethan silently cursed himself for wishing that she would come closer. She had always been stunning-black hair, green eyes, olive skin-and the years had done nothing to diminish her beauty. But through all the time he had spent in the cane fields she had remained frozen in his mind as the young woman he had left at the wharves when the Ruby Blade sailed. To this day that memory lingered. When he dreamed of her, as he still did, though with ever less frequency, she looked just as she had that day twenty years ago.

Even now, after five years in Boston, he was still mildly surprised each time he saw her, though not by the small lines in the skin around her mouth and eyes, or the few narrow streaks of silver shining in her hair. Rather, it was the hardening of her beauty that gave him pause. He had to remind himself that she had borne these two children and a third who had died at birth; that she had lost a husband; and yes, that she had lost him as well. Difficult as it was to credit now, he knew that had pained her once.

She had always been reserved, slow to smile, and slower still to laugh. But the years had left her grave, and as remote as the moon.

“You look awful,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know.”

He thought she might say more about his bruises, but she merely regarded him for another moment before saying, “You wanted to speak with me.”

“It’s about Holin. He tells me he’s working at Hunt’s Wharf.”

“What of it?”

“I’ve learned of two murders that have been committed in the streets over the past several months,” Ethan said, lowering his voice. “Both victims were young-one was older than the boy, the other younger. I think they’re connected in some way, though I don’t know how. But the point is, I want him to have a care as he walks through the city.”

All the color drained from Elli’s face. “You don’t know who’s doing it?”

“No. They’ve been killed with powerful spells, but beyond that I know nothing.”

“God have mercy,” she whispered.

“He mentioned a boy to me,” Ethan said. “Rory?”

“Rory Harren,” Elli said. “His father’s a sailor on a merchant ship. Rory’s a bit older, and he started at the wharf first; I didn’t want to let Holin go down there at all, but with Rory working, too, I thought it would be all right.”

“If they could walk home together in the evenings, I think they would be fine.”

“But if this… this conjurer-”

“It would be harder to attack two.” He hesitated, his mind going back over what he knew of Jennifer Berson, and what Pell had told him about the Brown boy. Two victims, both alone, but in the vicinity of large crowds. “He wants his victims isolated,” Ethan said. “It’s easier that way.” He couldn’t say how the insight came to him, but as soon as he spoke the words he knew it was true.

“All right,” Elli said. “I’ll make sure he goes down there with Rory.”

“And comes back with him, too. Dusk is the more dangerous time.”

“Of course.” She still sounded frightened, but her cheeks had regained some of their color.

They stood in silence for a moment or two, until Ethan looked away, smiling self-consciously. “Your pudding is getting cold.”

“Probably.” She started to say something, stopped, biting her lip. “Clara is right,” she told him at last. “There is plenty.”