D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“I’ve helped?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t understand any of it.”

“I’m not certain that I do either,” Ethan said. “Not entirely, at least. But if I’m right, there’s a conjurer out there who’s using spells, fueled by these deaths, to make others do his bidding.”

Pell’s eyes went wide. “A conjurer can do that?”

“Absolutely. Conjurings can do most anything, if the person casting them is willing to pay a high enough cost. I could make you take your own life, but I would have to take the life of another to do it. I could destroy this entire city, but I’d probably have to bleed myself to death.”

“So this conjurer-”

“This conjurer is skilled and powerful, and entirely willing to spend the lives of others in pursuit of his aims, whatever they may be. I can’t think of anything more dangerous.”

“How will you stop him?” Pell asked.

Ethan smiled wryly. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Good night, Mister Pell.”

He left the minister beside the chapel gate and began to make his way through the streets to the Dowser, nervously surveying storefronts and alleys. He felt vulnerable; for the second time in as many days, he was forced to admit to himself that the simple act of walking through the city had him frightened. He had survived battles at sea and years as a prisoner. He had been wounded and beaten and had gone to sleep many nights wondering if he would live long enough to win his freedom. And here he was, scared of shadows on a deserted lane. A part of him wished that on that first day in the Dowser he’d had the sense to send away Abner Berson’s man…

“No.” He said it aloud, startling an elderly man who hurried along through the darkness and mist in the opposite direction.

This is what Sephira and the conjurer want, he told himself. The beatings and the threats were intended to make him give up. Or to kill him. They weren’t going to succeed at either. This conjurer had to be stopped. As Ethan had told Pell, spells cast without regard for life were a threat to every person in Boston. No one would be safe as long as this conjurer walked the streets.

Ethan forced himself to slow down, to stop peering over his shoulder every other moment. By the time he reached the Dowser, he felt better.

Stepping inside the tavern, he took a long steadying breath. This one place never really changed. The same people sat at the bar or crowded around tables, arguing over the same matters, laughing at the same jokes. As always the Dowser was warm and bright, and it smelled of pipe smoke and ale and stew. And as always, stepping inside and being greeted by those aromas made Ethan realize that he was famished.

He walked to the bar, searching for Kannice.

“HiEthan,” the burly barkeep said, running the words together as always.

“Hi, Kelf.”

“Kannice’s in back. Wan’ me t’ get her?”

“Actually, no.” Ethan felt around in his pocket for a pair of shillings and handed them to the man. “She didn’t let me pay a couple of nights ago, and she won’t tonight, either. So this is just between the two of us, all right?”

“Course. What’ll ya have?”

“What’s the stew tonight?” Immediately he raised his good hand, forestalling an answer. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll have a bowl and an ale.”

“I’ll bring it t’ ya.”

“My thanks, Kelf.” Ethan walked to the back of the tavern, winding his way past the usual crowd. Diver wasn’t there, so he sat alone, as he often did, at an empty table far from the door.

A few moments later, Kannice arrived at his table with a bowl of mutton stew and a tankard of pale ale. She placed them in front of him and kissed the top of his head.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, hovering behind him.

He took hold of her hands and kissed them both. “And I you.”

“I hate to…” She faltered. Ethan twisted around in his chair to look at her, taking care not to let her see his newest bruise. She still stood behind him, chewing her lip. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I know things have been hard for you the past few days. But I can’t… well… I need you to pay for the food and drink. I hope you understand.”

Ethan hesitated, but only for a moment. She had given him more free food than he cared to remember. He could afford to pay twice this one night. “Of course, I understand,” he said. He dug into his pocket again, searching for another coin.

Kannice stared down at him, an odd expression on her face, as if… He stopped searching for the coin just as she burst out laughing.

“You would have paid me again, wouldn’t you?” she said breathlessly.

Ethan looked back at Kelf, who grinned at him from behind the bar. Ethan leveled a finger at him and the man threw back his head and laughed.

“He promised me he would keep that quiet,” Ethan said as Kannice sat down across from him.

“Kelf works for me, not for you. Besides, I saw him putting the coins in the till and…” She trailed off, her smile vanishing as she noticed the welt on his head. “What’s happened now?”

“Sephira and her men.”

“They beat you again?” Her eyes fell to his shoulder. “And is that blood on your coat?”

He nodded.

“A knife?”

“A bullet, actually.”

“A bullet!” she repeated, so loudly that others paused in their conversations.

“It just grazed me,” he said, speaking softly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Some.” A lot, actually. “I’ve seen a doctor. I’m fine.”

She frowned. “Is that right?”

He held her gaze. “Aye.”

“All right, then let’s go back to Sephira for a minute. She’s not content with beatings and threats anymore?”

“No, I think she intended to kill me this time, but I got away with help from a minister and Sheriff Greenleaf.” He smiled self-consciously. “That sounds a little strange, doesn’t it?”

She blinked. After several moments, she shook her head, allowing herself a small, breathless laugh. “The crazy thing is I believe you.”

“Well, I should hope so.”

“And I should hope that after all this you would give up your inquiry and keep yourself alive. But that’s probably too much to ask, isn’t it?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

She took a breath, her blue eyes never leaving his. “No,” she finally said. “So then why don’t you tell me what you know so far?”

He smiled and she took his hand. He began to tell her what he had learned from Janna and Pell about killing spells and the death of the boy. He also told her about his conversations with Hutchinson and Derne, and with Adams and his friends.

“This conjurer is really that strong?” she asked when he was done.

“Do you remember Nate Ramsey, the speller who escaped me a couple of years ago?”

Kannice nodded.

“This man makes Ramsey seem weak.”

She took a long breath, her cheeks blanching. But her voice remained steady as she said, “And now you think he’s used the lives of this boy and Jennifer Berson to cast his spells.”

“He may have used a third person, too. I’m not sure. And they’re not just any spells. They’re control spells. I think he’s using the deaths to get others to do his bidding.”

“Do you think that he’s using them for whatever he needs done at the time, or do you think there’s a larger purpose behind the murders and the spells?”

Ethan considered this. It was a fine question, one he himself hadn’t thought to ask. Kannice did this for him: She forced him to see things differently. Talking to her about his jobs was often like playing a game of chess and in the middle of it, rotating the board and looking at the pieces from his opponent’s perspective.