D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“Call them off,” he said, his voice low. “Now!”

“It’s all right,” Derne called to the men, a sickly smile on his face. “Just… talking.”

The men hesitated, looked at each other. Finally, one of them shrugged, and they resumed their positions just inside the door.

“Now listen to me,” Ethan said, keeping his voice down. “Since this began I have been beaten, robbed, threatened, chased, and lied to.” He waved his free hand in the direction of the city. “Jennifer’s murderer is out there somewhere, hunting me, just as I’m hunting him. The difference is he knows my name and what I look like and where I live. And he has every intention of killing me. So do you really think I give a damn how you’d like me to speak to you?”

Derne shook his head, his eyes wide. It occurred to Ethan that in all likelihood no one, with the possible exception of his father, had ever manhandled the young man this way.

“I’m going to ask you again: Did you lie to me about anything else the other night?”

The merchant licked his lips. “Yes. I was abroad in the city that night. Jennifer wasn’t with me. I swear she wasn’t. I won’t tell you what I was doing there. But it had nothing to do with her or her murder. You must believe me.”

Ethan glared at him a moment longer before releasing him and shoving him away. “You don’t know that,” he said. “You idiot! I’m sure you would like to believe that whatever you did there had nothing to do with her death, but you don’t know it.”

“Of course I-”

“Listen to me!” Ethan closed his eyes briefly and dragged a hand over his face. “Why would she have gone into the streets at such an hour unless it was to follow you?”

Derne just stared back at him.

“What was it you were doing there?” Ethan demanded.

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You may not believe that her death has anything to do with your foray into the city, but if she did follow you-if she was curious about your dealings there, or wondered if you had a woman-” Derne started to object, but Ethan didn’t give him the chance. “If she followed you for any reason, then she might have stumbled upon something she wasn’t supposed to. Her murder could have everything to do with your business. Now you must tell me what you were doing that night!”

Derne shook his head. “No.” He shook his head again. His face was pale and his tongue flicked nervously over his lips. “No, I won’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You know nothing of my business and I’m not about to tell you. But I know you’re wrong.”

Ethan lunged for the man again, but Derne jumped back more nimbly than Ethan had expected he could.

Derne raised a finger in warning. “You’ll not touch me again, Mister Kaille! If you come near me now, I’ll call for those men. And if I see you at my home, you’ll have my father’s hired men to deal with. Not to mention Sheriff Greenleaf.” He grimaced. It took Ethan a moment to realize that he had intended to smile. “Perhaps the sheriff would be interested to know that you’re a witch as well as a thieftaker.”

He started to back away, as if expecting Ethan to attack him at any moment. Ethan would have liked nothing more, but the two men by the door were still watching, and Ethan thought they looked eager for an excuse to intervene.

“Abner Berson won’t be happy to learn that you’ve refused to help me,” Ethan said.

Derne actually laughed at that, a high-pitched nervous bark. “Not that I care, but you’re wrong. Abner would understand completely. He’s a merchant.”

Ethan wanted to argue, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the man wasn’t right. Berson had far more in common with the Dernes of the world than he did with Ethan.

At last, Derne reached the door, still walking backward. He groped for the doorframe, found it, and quickly slipped into the warehouse.

“Stupid bastard,” Ethan muttered. But he felt sick to his stomach. Shivering at another raw gust of wind, he walked back along the wharf toward the street.

Just as he reached the thoroughfare, he saw Diver walking toward him, his eyes scanning the street warily and his hands in his pockets. He didn’t notice Ethan until the thieftaker stepped right in front of him, blocking his way.

“Ethan!” Diver said, halting and looking around again. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to speak with someone back there,” he said, nodding his head toward the warehouses. “Though for all the good it did me, I could have gone to the Dowser instead and had an ale or two. You coming up from work?”

Diver had halted in front of Derne’s Wharf. He glanced toward the storage buildings and the guards standing outside them. “That’s right. I got off early today. You were talking to someone down here? Berson was it?”

“Actually, no,” Ethan said quietly. “Cyrus Derne.”

“Derne?” Diver laughed, but Ethan could see something was bothering him. “Damn, Ethan! Pretty soon you won’t want anything to do with us poor folk.”

“Actually, Derne’s the least of it. Sephira Pryce had me to supper today.”

Diver had been eyeing the wharf again, but at this his gaze snapped back to Ethan. “You’re not serious!”

“I am. She showed me her collection of blades and pistols, she poured me wine, she even hinted at offering me work.” He took a step, intending to walk back toward the Dowser. “Come on, I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Diver hesitated, though only for an instant. Still, that was enough.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ethan asked. “You’re acting like I was the last person in the world you wanted to see.”

“I am not,” Diver said unconvincingly. “I was… I was headed home. I’m tired; it’s been a long day. But… but sure, I’ll come to the Dowser with you.” His voice sounded falsely bright.

Ethan eyed him curiously as they began to walk.

“What were you talking to Derne about?”

Ethan hadn’t expected Diver to ask about Derne before hearing of his latest encounter with Sephira. But he recounted his conversation with the merchant as they headed up to Middle Street and across Mill Creek into the center of the city.

When Ethan had finished, Diver said, “I didn’t know that he and Berson’s daughter were engaged.”

“You wouldn’t have known it to listen to him today, either.”

“Do you really think she was killed because of something Derne was doing?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I can’t think of any other reason she would have been out on the streets alone at night. And I can’t imagine why a conjurer would have chosen to kill her unless it had something to do with her father or Derne.”

“But maybe she was taken into the streets after she was killed. Or maybe someone made her go there. They could even have used a spell on her.”

Ethan shook his head. “No, that’s too powerful a con-”

He stopped in the middle of the street, swaying slightly, his head spinning. “I’m an idiot!” he whispered.

“What? Are you all right?” Diver laid a hand on Ethan’s back and peered into his face.

Ethan barely noticed. It was right there in front of him, like a trail of blood on an empty lane. All he had to do was follow the drops and they would lead right where he needed to go. And he had been too blind to do even that much.

You find out what those spells did and you’ll find your killer. That’s what Janna had told him. But even after hearing this, and recognizing the wisdom in her words, he hadn’t altered his approach to his inquiry. Ethan had been assuming that the murderer killed Jennifer Berson because of who she was or who she knew. But what if she was killed simply because she was there, in the streets of Boston, at precisely the wrong time? What if her murderer had never intended to kill the daughter of a wealthy merchant, but had been looking merely for someone-anyone-who was alone in the city and young enough to provide, through her death, the power necessary for an ambitious conjuring? Rather than trying to link the killer to Jennifer Berson, Ethan should have been searching for the object of his spell.