D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“Nice t’ meet you, Mister Kaille. You a friend o’ Mister Darrow?”

“Not really, no.”

Mackintosh’s face fell, puzzlement furrowing his brow. Already people on the street had recognized the cordwainer and were crowding around them, hoping to shake the hand of the Commander of the South End and congratulate him on his release from prison.

Mackintosh turned to Darrow, perhaps hoping that the lawyer would steer him away from Ethan. But Darrow didn’t move. He was watching Ethan, wearing that same bland expression.

“I need to speak with you, Mister Mackintosh,” Ethan said. “And I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

The man glanced at Darrow again. “Well, I don’ know tha’-”

“I’m investigating the murder of Jennifer Berson, which occurred the night of the twenty-sixth. There are those in the city, many of them in positions of power, who would like to see you blamed for her death.”

A hard look came into Mackintosh’s eyes, offering Ethan a glimpse of the street fighter lurking within.

“Aye,” the man said. “All righ’. Where?”

“Come with me,” Darrow said to both of them, and started away.

It didn’t take Ethan long to figure out that the man was leading them back to the Green Dragon. He didn’t relish the idea of having this conversation with Adams, Otis, and Darrow listening in, but he would deal with that when they reached the tavern.

As they walked, a number of people approached Mackintosh offering words of support, or merely hoping to shake hands with him. And the cordwainer had a smile for every one of them. Ethan was amazed at the number of well-wishers he could greet by name. Thomas Hutchinson might have thought Mackintosh a common street tough, but Ethan thought he underestimated him. Watching Mackintosh exchange pleasantries with his people, Ethan realized that he had skills as a politician that Hutchinson simply did not possess.

But his renown had a dark side as well. Here on Brattle Street, they were as close to the North End as to the South, and for every South Ender who saw Mackintosh as a hero, there was a North Ender who glared at him with murder in his eyes, clearly incensed to see him walking the streets again.

Mackintosh, though, was oblivious of these others, or at least pretended to be. He seemed to bask in the adulation of his fellow South Enders, and he strode along the avenue like a conquering hero.

Turning onto Hanover Street, they walked past the Hallowell house. Ethan watched Mackintosh for some sign of remorse or shame or even pride in what he had wrought the night of the riots. But he gave no sign of realizing where he was. He walked and waved and smiled, and he allowed Darrow to lead him to the Green Dragon.

Once they were inside, though, some of Mackintosh’s swagger fell away. His smile vanished, leaving a wary, nervous stare. He might have trusted Darrow, but he also seemed to understand that he had few allies in the Dragon.

“We can take a table in the back of the tavern,” Darrow said, glancing back at Mackintosh and Ethan as they descended the stairs. “I’ll get you both ales, if you like.”

“Tha’s f-”

“No,” Ethan said, cutting off Mackintosh.

Darrow halted at the bottom of the stairs. Mackintosh stopped as well.

“What’s the problem, Mister Kaille?” Darrow asked sourly.

“I want to speak with him in private, without you and Adams and Otis listening to what we say.” He thinks you’re his friends, Ethan wanted to add. But you and I know better.

Darrow’s jaw muscles bunched. Mackintosh eyed them, seeming to grow more confused and nervous by the moment.

“I wan’ Mister Darrow with me,” he said at last.

Ethan sighed, but he could hardly blame the man. Mackintosh had known Darrow for a year and Ethan for ten minutes. To Darrow’s credit, he didn’t gloat at all. Rather he turned to Ethan again, a question in his eyes.

“All right, then,” Ethan said. “If that’s what he wants, you should join us.”

Darrow nodded and led them the rest of the way down the stairs to the tavern. While he crossed to the bar, Ethan and Mackintosh took a table by the hearth.

“You don’ trust Darrow?” the cordwainer asked as they sat.

“I wouldn’t say that I don’t trust him. But I’m not sure that he has your best interests at heart.”

Mackintosh laughed. “An’ you do, is tha’ right?”

“No,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t care less about your best interests. But you never would have thought to trust me, so that hardly matters.”

Mackintosh frowned. “Darrow helped me out some time back. He helped get me off after we sacked Oliver’s house, an’ jus’ this mornin’ he got Sheriff Greenleaf t’ let me go. You might not think he has my interests at heart, but he’s done me a good turn time an’ again. I know him. I trust him. You…” He shrugged.

“I understand.”

Before they could say more, Darrow came to the table with two ales. He placed one in front of each of them, and then sat.

Mackintosh still looked troubled.

“Is everything all right?” Darrow asked.

“Mister Mackintosh was explaining that he trusts you and not me,” Ethan said.

“I see,” Darrow said. “And were you telling him why he’s wrong to put his faith in me?”

“I merely told him I didn’t think you were concerned first and foremost with his welfare.”

“What do you think of that, Ebenezer?” Darrow asked.

“You’ve helped me out o’ some tough spots, Mister Darrow. Tha’s wha’ I told him.” But Mackintosh didn’t meet the man’s gaze.

Darrow regarded him for another moment before facing Ethan again.

“Perhaps you should ask your questions, Mister Kaille. Ebenezer has had several long and trying days.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. He faced Mackintosh. “As I already told you, I’ve been hired by Abner Berson to inquire into the death of his elder daughter, Jennifer. She died the night of August twenty-sixth, around the time you and your followers were abroad in the city ransacking the homes of Benjamin Hallowell, William Story, and Thomas Hutchinson.”

“And there’s folk who think I’m t’ blame?”

“Aye,” Ethan said, resisting the impulse to glance Darrow’s way. “She wore a brooch that night, and it was stolen from her. And since her father is wealthy, and a friend of the lieutenant governor, Hallowell, and Story, some have suggested there may be a connection between the attack on Hutchinson’s house and her death.”

“How did she die?” Mackintosh asked.

How indeed? They had come to the crux of the matter, and to the one thing Ethan least wished to discuss in front of Darrow. He didn’t know how to answer, or how to determine if Mackintosh was a conjurer. In the end, he decided that he had little choice but to dissemble, at least until he could contrive to speak privately with the man.

“No one knows for certain,” he said. “There are some who claim that her killer used dark powers against her.”

Mackintosh stared at him for the span of a heartbeat. Then he let out a loud, nervous laugh. “Dark powers. You’re havin’ a bit o’ fun with me, right?”

Ethan said nothing.

“Is he makin’ a joke?” Mackintosh asked Darrow. “Are you two havin’ th’ run on me?”

“I don’t know what Mister Kaille is up to,” Darrow said in a hard voice. “I was led to believe that yours was a serious inquiry, Mister Kaille,” he said. “What is this foolishness?”

“I’m only repeating what others have said,” Ethan told him.

“Wha’ others?”

“That I won’t say.”

“Well, it’s madness!” Mackintosh said, sounding truly shaken. “They wan’ me t’ hang for a murderer, an’ if tha’ don’ work, they’ll hang me for a witch instead!”