D. Jackson - Thieftaker

Two formidable men stood guard at the base of their wharf, and one of them stopped Ethan as he tried to set foot on the dock.

“Who’re you?” he asked, studying Ethan’s bruised face.

“Ethan Kaille. I’m here to see Cyrus Derne.”

The man eyed him dubiously.

“I work for Abner Berson,” he added.

That convinced him. “Aye, all right,” he said, and waved Ethan onto the wharf.

Ethan made his way down the dock past shops and storage buildings, until he came to the largest of the warehouses. A sign over the door read “Fergus Derne and Son, Boston. Established 1715.”

Dockworkers were carrying crates, burlap sacks, and cloth-wrapped parcels into the building. A few rolled barrels, and others worked in tandem to carry timber. Ethan waited until several of the men had entered, and then followed them inside, pausing by the door to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the dim light. Shouted conversations echoed through the building, an incomprehensible din that made the space feel smaller than it was.

Wares were stacked everywhere, and in addition to the workers who off-loaded the ship, a host of others sorted items into different areas, supervised by a number of foremen. At first it struck Ethan as chaotic, but it didn’t take him long to discern a rhythm and pattern to what everyone was doing.

He began to walk through the building, taking care to stay out of the way, even as he searched for Cyrus Derne. He didn’t see either Derne or his father, and he wondered if perhaps they were elsewhere on the wharf. But as he reached the back of the warehouse, he spotted both merchants in a small office.

They were speaking in low voices to a man of medium build who couldn’t have been much older than Ethan’s thirty-nine years. After a moment, Ethan recognized him as Gilbert Deblois, the brother of a wealthy merchant and a successful dealer of firearms in his own right. Ethan wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Sephira had purchased some of the weapons in her collection from him.

He walked to the door leading into the office, smiling benignly as he stood watching the three men, his hands clasped behind his back.

Cyrus Derne barely spared him a glance. “Yes, what is it?” he demanded.

“Good afternoon, Mister Derne.”

Derne looked at Ethan again, more closely this time. At last, after several seconds, the man recognized him.

“Mister Kaille!” he said, making no effort to mask his surprise.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir,” Ethan said, offering a hand.

Derne stepped forward and gripped it, still looking perplexed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping for a word with you.”

Derne released his hand and cast a self-conscious look at Deblois and then at his father. Fergus Derne had paused to watch Ethan and his son, an expression of deepest disapproval on his broad face. No doubt he believed Ethan had committed an inexcusable breach of decorum by coming here. Deblois merely seemed annoyed at having his business dealings interrupted.

“This isn’t the best time for me, Mister Kaille,” the younger Derne said, facing Ethan again. “If you could come by my home later, some time this evening perhaps-”

“No, sir. I’d like a word with you now.”

“Now, see here, Kaille,” the elder Derne said. “This is a place of commerce. My son is occupied with-”

“A girl is dead, sir!” Ethan said, raising his voice enough to draw stares from the closest of the workmen in the warehouse. Deblois frowned, but he directed his gaze at Fergus Derne rather than at Ethan. “A girl your son loved and intended to marry,” Ethan went on, lowering his voice slightly. “Surely you weren’t about to tell me that whatever business you’re conducting is more important than finding her killer.”

So much for keeping secret the fact that he was still looking into Jennifer’s murder. But Sephira already knew, which meant that everyone else who mattered soon would as well. Besides, he wouldn’t have traded the look on Fergus Derne’s face for anything.

“Well… I…” The older man turned to his son for help, his cheeks crimson.

“Can we speak of this outside, Mister Kaille?” Cyrus asked, indicating a door at the back of the warehouse that opened onto the wharf.

“That would be fine.”

“I shouldn’t be long,” the younger Derne told Deblois. He gestured for Ethan to follow and led him to the door.

Once outside, they walked a short distance from the building so that they would be beyond the hearing of anyone standing by the door. Derne pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and glowered at Ethan.

“Now then,” he said, halting and drawing himself up to his full height. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until this evening?”

“I want to know why you lied to me the other night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Derne said. He sounded indignant, but his gaze slid away.

“You told me that you had no idea why Berson had hired me, and you said that you had no idea how Jennifer died. The truth is you knew she had been killed by a conjuring, and you recommended to her father that he give me the job.”

Derne didn’t answer at first. He stared out across the harbor at a vessel putting to sea, a mist-laden wind stirring his dark hair. Two workers lingered in the doorway to the warehouse watching Ethan and Derne.

“Who told you?” Derne finally asked. “Was it Abner?”

“No. I worked it out for myself. I would guess that he asked you who he ought to hire and you offered to find someone for him. You went to Sephira Pryce first, but once she realized that a speller was involved, she sent you to me.”

The young merchant twisted his mouth sourly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you reasoned it out.” He took a breath and faced Ethan. “I’m sure deception comes naturally to men in your line of work.”

Ethan ignored the remark. “Why not tell me the truth from the beginning?” he asked.

“That was Miss Pryce’s idea. She indicated that the two of you are rivals and she suggested that if you knew the idea had come from her, you would refuse the job.”

Sephira knew him well; he would have done just that. But why had she been so eager for him to take a job she claimed she didn’t want him to have? Unless she knew from the start just how dangerous the conjurer who killed Jennifer was. That might have made her wary of taking the job herself, and all the more eager for Ethan to take it, particularly if she thought that the conjurer would eventually kill him. But then why go to the trouble of having him beaten, of following him through the marketplace? Too much of this still didn’t make any sense.

Derne was growing more impatient by the moment. “Are we done?” he asked. “There are other matters that require my attention.”

“What reason did Seph-did Miss Pryce give for refusing to take the job herself?”

“It was just as you said. She realized that witchcraft was involved and told me that we would want a speller. She mentioned your name right off. I hadn’t heard of you, but later, when I told Abner, he knew who you were.”

“Who else have you told?” Ethan asked.

“Told what?”

“That I’m a conjurer?”

“No one,” Derne said. “Not even my father.”

“Good,” Ethan said. “I asked you other questions that night, about when you had last seen Jennifer, about whether you had been abroad in the city the evening she died, about other suitors she might have had. How many other lies did you tell me?”

“You have no right to speak to me this way!” the merchant said, contempt in his voice.

Ethan knew that he should have kept his temper in check. But after all he had endured the past few days, hearing this man complain about being spoken to rudely pushed him over the edge. He grabbed Derne by the collar and yanked him forward, nearly pulling him off his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two workers start in their direction.