D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“Leave it in the streets,” she always told them. “Or you won’t be welcome here again.”

Ethan had yet to meet anyone brave or foolish enough to defy her.

Stepping into the tavern, Ethan expected to be greeted by the usual din of laughter and shouted conversations. But the Dowser was half empty, unusual even for a Monday night, and those who stood at the bar or sat at tables arrayed around the hearth spoke in hushed voices. The air within was heavy with the smell of candles and pipe smoke, and the mouthwatering aroma of one of Kannice’s famous fish stews. Though the crowd was small, Ethan saw several familiar faces, including Devren Jervis-Diver-an old friend who occasionally helped Ethan with his work.

Of all the people Ethan knew who frequented the Dowser, Diver came closest to getting himself banned from the tavern. He did so with some frequency, and, as Kannice had pointed out on more than one occasion, if it wasn’t for Ethan’s friendship with the man, Diver would have been tossed out into the street long ago. He sat alone at a table near the back of the tavern. Catching Ethan’s eye, he raised his tankard and gave it a little wave.

Ethan had to laugh. The evening mist and a few stubborn midges still clung to his waistcoat, and already Diver was asking him to buy his next ale. Ethan walked to the bar, where a few men stood drinking ale and eating oysters.

“Evenin’, Ethan,” said Kelf Fingarin, the hulking barman. “Wha’ kin I getchya?” Actually, he said it so quickly that it came out as a single word: WhakinIgetchya? Ethan understood only because he had been in this tavern a thousand times. Newcomers weren’t so lucky, and in addition to being the size of a Dutch merchant ship, Kelf also had a quick temper. He was certain that his words were as clear as an autumn morning in New England.

“What’s Diver drinking?” Ethan asked.

“Th’ cheap stuff, as usual.”

Ethan wrinkled his nose. “You have any of the pale left?”

“From Kent, you mean?”

Ethan nodded.

“I might have a bit.”

Ethan tossed two shillings onto the bar. “I’ll have two. And keep them coming.”

Kelf grinned and grabbed two tankards. “Someone jest got paid.”

“Where’s Kannice?” Ethan asked.

Kelf was already filling the first tankard. He jerked his head toward the entrance to the kitchen. “’N back, gettin’ more stew. I’ll tell ’er ya’re here.” He placed the first ale on the bar, began to fill the second.

“There’s another mob out in the streets,” Ethan said.

“Don’ need t’ tell me,” Kelf said. “Look ’round. Half them who’re supposed t’ be here are with th’ rabble, an’ th’ rest are too scared t’ leave their homes.”

“You know why?”

The barman shrugged and put the second ale on the bar next to the first. “Stamp nonsense again.”

Ethan took the ales. “My thanks, Kelf.”

He wove his way past tables and chairs, nodding and smiling to the few people who met his glance and offered a greeting. When he reached Diver’s table, he placed one ale in front of his friend and sat.

“I’m grateful, Ethan,” Diver said. “I’ll get the next one.”

“We’re paid through a few rounds,” Ethan said. “You can pay next time.”

Diver raised his ale. “Well, then!”

Ethan tapped his friend’s tankard with his own and they both drank, Diver draining most of his.

Diver wiped his mouth on his sleeve and peered down into his drink. “The good stuff, eh?”

“I got paid,” Ethan said. “Enjoy it.”

Diver sipped from his mug again. But he said nothing more and soon began to drum his fingers nervously on the table.

“You all right?” Ethan asked.

“Fine!” Diver said. “Just… I’m fine.”

A cheer went up from the bar; looking past Ethan, Diver smiled. Ethan turned in time to see Kelf and an attractive, auburn-haired woman emerge from the kitchen carrying a large tureen of what had to be more fish stew. Kannice Lester was willowy and stood at least a full head shorter than the barman, but her arms were corded from years of lifting pots of stew, of keeping her tavern clean, of making sure there was wood for the hearth and for the stove in her beloved kitchen. At a word to Kelf, she and the barman hoisted the tureen onto the bar in one fluid motion. She began to ladle the soup into empty bowls as patrons converged on her from all around the room. After a few moments she spotted Ethan, and a smile lit her face. She whispered something to Kelf, who immediately returned to the kitchen. Kannice continued to serve out the stew.

“So who paid you?” Diver asked Ethan, leaning close.

Ethan tore his gaze from Kannice. “Corbett,” he said. “His wife’s got her jewels back and I’ve got my coin.”

Diver’s eyebrows went up. “Already?”

“Don’t look so impressed. It was Daniel.”

“Daniel? He swore to me that he’d given up thieving.”

“Well, he’s as much a liar as he is an idiot.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Did you have business with him?”

“Of course not,” Diver said, suddenly interested in the tankard in front of him. “I know Daniel’s trouble. I stay away from him.” He glanced up at Ethan, though only for an instant. “Is he… did you…?”

“I didn’t give him up to Greenleaf,” Ethan said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And I didn’t kill him, either, though Sephira wouldn’t have been so forgiving. I told him to leave Boston, so if he owes you money, I’d suggest you collect in the next day.”

“I told you, I have no dealings with him.” Diver said the words forcefully enough, but he wouldn’t look Ethan in the eye.

Diver was nearly ten years younger than Ethan, and had long looked up to him as he might an older brother. They had known each other for more than twenty years, since Ethan first arrived in Boston and Diver was just a boy working the wharves. The younger man was clever, but he had been orphaned as a small boy and raised by an uncle who never liked him. Early on he had turned his wits to activities that might well have landed a less fortunate man in prison or on a boat to a British penal colony. He put to sea as a hand on merchant ships for a time, and about five years ago, around the time Ethan was released from his servitude in the West Indies, Diver came back to Boston to work the wharves once more. In the years since, he had also helped Ethan track down the occasional thief. He actually seemed to have a knack for such work, though Ethan often wondered if this might not be because of Diver’s own shady dealings and his connections with Boston’s less virtuous citizens.

Ethan had every intention of pressing his friend further on his association with Daniel, but before he could ask more questions he felt a smooth arm snake gently around his neck, and soft curls brush against his cheek.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Kannice whispered in his ear. Her breath smelled lightly of whiskey, her hair of lavender. Over the past few years he had grown fond of the combination. She kissed his temple, and when he turned to her, kissed his lips softly.

“This job worked out better than I hoped it would,” he said, brushing a strand of hair off her brow. “Hope you didn’t have other plans.”

She shrugged, blue eyes wandering the tavern. “I figured I’d have to make do with one of these others,” she said airily. “But since you’re here…”

He smiled, as did she. Then she looked over at Diver and straightened.

“Derrey,” she said, a trace of ice in her voice.

“Stew smells good tonight, Kannice,” Diver said with brittle cheer.

She inclined her head toward Ethan, though her eyes never left Diver’s face. “You going to make him pay for your meal, too?”