D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“You’re my guest,” she said, laughing and purring at the same time. She took his hand. “What would you like to do?”

He disentangled his fingers from hers. “I’d like to leave.”

She offered that same little pout he had seen in his room a few days before. He glanced around quickly, half expecting Nigel to be there, his fist raised.

“So soon?” she asked. “At least do me the courtesy of supping with me.”

She left the room before he could refuse. Ethan followed reluctantly, stepping into the common room once more. Seeing no sign of her, he faltered, tensing. He even went so far as to begin speaking an illusion spell, just in case her toughs showed up.

“In here,” she called from another chamber at the rear of the house.

Ethan followed Sephira’s voice and found her seated at the head of a long table. Several platters of cheese, bread, fowl, and fruit sat before her, and a place had been set for him at her right hand. Sephira held a flask of red wine, and she poured out two goblets.

“Sit, Ethan. Join me. There’s plenty for both of us.”

“I haven’t time for this.”

She regarded him mildly. “You haven’t time to eat?”

He started to say that he needed to get on with his inquiry, but he managed to stop himself. He had just asked Berson to help him maintain the fiction that his investigation was at an end, and here he nearly revealed the truth to the most dangerous person in Boston.

“Come.” She flashed that charming smile. “I promise we’ll only speak of important matters. No more nonsense about my collections or anything like that.”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” he asked, taking the seat beside hers and pointing to his wineglass.

“You don’t,” she said. “But that makes it all the more exciting.” She lifted her goblet and held it before her. Ethan lifted his as well. “To friendly rivals,” she said, touching her glass to his.

Ethan had to laugh. He sipped the wine, which was excellent, and not watered at all. After a moment, he took some cheese, bread, and fowl. He left the fruit, though, because she took none. He didn’t really believe that she intended to poison him, but he made a point of eating only the same foods as she.

She nodded approvingly as he began to eat, and then said, “You’ve been to see Abner Berson.”

He eyed her for a moment before answering. “I have.”

“And what did you two discuss?”

Apparently when Sephira said that they would “speak of important matters” she meant that he would answer her questions about his business.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern, Sephira.”

“So you’re not going to tell me.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You keep forgetting that I don’t work for you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Not this foolishness again.”

“I know that you have it in your head that I’m just another man in your employ, but I’m not. I never will be.”

“We’ll see about that last point,” she said. “But even if we are rivals, don’t you think that when Berson and, say, Fergus Derne sit down together for a meal, they discuss trade?”

“Maybe,” Ethan conceded. “But I’m pretty certain that Derne never sends his toughs to Berson’s home to beat the man within an inch of his life.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” she said, waving the comment away. She studied his face briefly. “You’re healing quite nicely. A few more days and no one will ever know it happened.”

“What did you mean a minute ago? Are you suggesting that I should come and work for you?”

She smiled again, leaning closer to him. “What do you think I meant?”

“I think that I must have scared some people while I was working for Abner Berson. Nobody wanted me to find out too much, and now you’ve gone so far as to offer me employment.”

“I haven’t offered you anything, yet. Tell me what you discussed with Abner Berson.”

“No.”

She had started to sip her wine again, but she stopped herself and carefully placed the goblet back on the table. “There are other ways for me to find out, you know.”

“Are you planning to ask Berson?”

Sephira smiled thinly, but didn’t answer.

A part of him enjoyed goading her, perhaps too much. Her kind manners and beguiling smiles notwithstanding, she hated him. The last time they met she had threatened to kill him, and she might well follow through on that threat the next time. Usually, the fact that she wanted information from him was enough to convince Ethan that he ought to keep to himself whatever he knew. In this instance, however, he could help himself by telling her the truth, or at least part of it.

“I gave him Jennifer’s brooch,” Ethan said at last.

“Her brooch?” Sephira repeated. “Really?”

“Yes, and he paid me.” Ethan patted his pocket, making the few coins Berson had given him jingle. “You’re not going to steal these from me, too, are you?”

She raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “Do you really think I need to? I took those other coins to make a point,” she went on before he could respond.

“Right. Because the beating wouldn’t have been enough.”

She ignored that. “So, you’re no longer working for Berson?”

“Why? Do you have a job for me?”

“Answer the question.”

“I found the brooch, which is what I was hired to do. And I was paid for my trouble. You may not think much of my business sense, but I know better than to work for free.”

She laughed, low in her throat. “Very good, Ethan. I didn’t know if you were smart enough to do the right thing. I suppose, I underestimated you.”

His shrug was meant to reveal little. “Now will you answer a question for me?”

She picked up her cup and drank a bit of wine, her eyes never leaving his. “Perhaps,” she said, replacing the goblet.

“Who first told you that I was working for Berson?”

“As I’ve explained to you before, Ethan, very little happens in this city without my knowledge.”

“But you knew everything, and quickly. You knew I had been hired, you knew why, and somehow you even knew when I had been to King’s Chapel and when I intended to meet with Berson himself. I’m wondering how you learned all of this.”

“I have sources,” she said coyly, enjoying herself too much for his taste.

“I’m sure-” He stopped, still staring at her. I have sources, she had said. And what was it Berson had told him during their first conversation. Ethan asked him why he had been hired instead of Sephira, and Berson said that he had considered Pryce but that she would have admitted herself that she knew little about conjurings. And so we… we asked around, Berson had said. 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…

Who had he meant when he said “we”? His wife? Ethan couldn’t imagine that he had consulted her in this matter. She had been too distraught to see Ethan that night. Berson wouldn’t have spoken to her about hiring a thieftaker. His younger daughter? That made no sense. William or another servant? Ethan couldn’t imagine Berson asking for their advice, either. Which left Cyrus Derne.

“Ethan?” Sephira said, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” he said. He forced himself to concentrate. It wouldn’t do for him to lose himself thinking about an inquiry he claimed already to have concluded. “I’m sure you do have sources, Sephira, and they must be the envy of any thieftaker in Boston.”

If it turned out that Berson had spoken to Derne, how would the young merchant have known that Ethan was a conjurer? Unless Derne had gone to another thieftaker first-Sephira, of course-and she had steered him to Ethan when she realized that Jennifer was killed by a conjuring. After speaking with Derne two nights before, Ethan had assumed that the man knew nothing of his abilities. Perhaps Cyrus Derne was a better liar than Ethan had thought.