D. Jackson - Thieftaker

He wondered if he might be best off waiting back at the street, where he could pick up Derne’s trail on the cobblestone rather than on this treacherous fill. He had even gone so far as to turn back when he spotted a familiar face coming in his direction. Diver.

Ethan frowned at the sight of him, wondering whether he would be better off letting his friend pass by, or enlisting Diver’s aid. Diver could go where Ethan could not. He could find out what Derne was doing and who was with him. Except that Diver shouldn’t have been here at all. What business did he have on Derne’s Wharf? He usually worked Greenough’s Shipyard or Thornton’s. If he had been working for Derne he would have told Ethan as much several nights before, when Ethan told him about Jennifer Berson.

What was more, his friend was behaving oddly. He walked slowly, repeatedly glancing back toward the street, and warily eyeing the hired men ahead of him.

The memory hit him like Yellow-hair’s fist. The last time Ethan had seen Diver, they had been here, at Derne’s Wharf, or at least on the street just beside it. Ethan had come to question Derne; Diver, he assumed at the time, was merely passing by on his way home from work.

Diver had acted strangely then, too. At the time, Ethan had been too preoccupied with Jennifer Berson’s murder and his conversation with Derne to give Diver’s behavior much thought, but now it all came back to him: how uncomfortable Diver had been at seeing Ethan there, how reluctant he had been to go to the Dowser, even how interested he had been in Ethan’s conversation with Derne. Was it possible that Diver had business with the merchant?

He watched as his friend strode past him, and then he set out after him, moving with as much stealth as possible. When Diver reached Derne’s warehouse, he slowed. But then he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and approached the building’s entrance. The men there stopped him and said something Ethan couldn’t hear. Ethan thought for certain that they would keep Diver out. He was dressed in his usual work clothes and he looked far more like a South End tough than he did a merchant.

After a brief discussion, though, Derne’s men let him pass, and Diver entered the warehouse.

Ethan was so overcome with curiosity that he started forward to follow his friend inside. What business could Diver-Diver! — have with one of the most influential merchants in Boston? It actually took his glowing ghost throwing out a hand in front of him to keep Ethan from giving himself away.

“Right,” he whispered. “My thanks.”

Moments later, his interest in Diver’s affairs took on a far darker urgency. His friend emerged onto the wharf once more, accompanied by none other than Cyrus Derne. The two of them headed back toward the street and several of Derne’s guards fell in behind them. They walked this way for a short distance, but then Derne halted and spoke to one of the men. Their conversation lasted only a few seconds, and when Derne and Diver started away again, none of the others followed.

Ethan trailed them, walking with some care, but unwilling to risk losing sight of the pair. A few heads turned at the sound of his footsteps, but of course no one could see him. As they came to the end of the wharf, Ethan spotted Derne’s chaise, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. If they traveled somewhere by carriage, he would have little chance of keeping up.

But Derne and Diver turned northward onto Ship Street and walked past the chaise. Relieved, Ethan followed. Now that they were back on paved lanes, he could get closer to them. But though he thought he was near enough to hear anything the two men said, they exchanged no words. Ethan had the distinct impression that Derne barely tolerated Diver’s company.

At the north end of Ship Street, they headed west on another lane. Though his bad leg was starting to ache, Ethan walked quickly to the corner. Carefully he peered around the side of a wheelwright’s shop. Derne and Diver were several strides ahead of him, still unaware of his pursuit. Waiting until they had gone some distance up this new street, Ethan continued after them.

They hadn’t gone far when two more people turned onto the street some distance ahead of them and started walking in their direction. Ethan slowed, then halted. Uncle Reg stopped as well, watching him, his expression wary. Ethan’s pulse suddenly was racing. Fear, rage, confusion-his emotions were as roiled as a stormy sea. One of the people approaching Derne and Diver was dressed as a merchant, though Ethan didn’t recognize him. He looked a little older than Derne, and he wore a black suit and a tricorn hat. Ethan should have been curious about this man; learning his name or trade might have helped him with his inquiry. But he barely spared the merchant a glance. His eyes were drawn to his companion. Sephira Pryce.

Diver and Derne had halted. When Pryce and her companion reached them, they stopped as well, and the four of them stood speaking, their voices low enough that Ethan couldn’t hear any of what they said.

He knew there were spells that allowed conjurers to see in the dark and hear far beyond their normal abilities, but he hadn’t learned them. He didn’t even know if they could be cast with blood or if they needed some other source. But at that moment he would have given everything he owned to know how to cast such a spell.

What was Diver doing with these people? What business did Derne have with Sephira? He reached for his blade, thinking that he might try that spell after all. If it failed, no one would be the wiser.

And that was when he felt the pulse of a conjuring radiating up through the stones of the lane. A spell that was directed at him.

He braced himself, expecting an attack. But there was no pain, at least not yet. The spell gently coiled itself around him, like a vine climbing the trunk of a tree. He couldn’t be certain, but forced to guess he would have said that this was a finding spell. And he felt certain that if he were to cast a revealing spell he would see that golden yellow light he had glimpsed in the King’s Chapel crypt. The conjurer had found him.

Knowing that he hadn’t much time, he ducked back around the corner, away from Diver and the others, and then found a narrow byway. If the conjurer struck at him with the right spell, it would overmaster his concealment charm. The last thing he needed was for Sephira and the conjurer to attack him at the same time.

Once he was out of sight, he pulled his knife from his belt and pushed up his sleeve. Before he cut himself, though, he remembered the mullein leaves that Janna had given him. Pulling out the pouch he quickly counted out how many remained. Eleven. Three spells, if the castings were to amount to anything. After that he would have nothing but blood to use as a source for his conjurings. He pulled three leaves from the pouch.

“ Tegimen ex verbasco evocatum. ” Warding, conjured from mullein.

He felt the stone tremble, and he knew that the conjurer had felt it, too. But immediately that ethereal vine released him. Not that it mattered. If the finding spell hadn’t told the conjurer where he was, Ethan’s own spell had.

For his part, Ethan had some idea of the conjurer’s location. That finding spell had been double-edged. The conjurer had used it to locate him, but in doing so had revealed his whereabouts to Ethan. He was close, no more than a city block or two away. To the west and south. If Sephira hadn’t been on the street, and if Ethan hadn’t been so sure that her men were close by, he would have run. But whether by design or sheer coincidence, his two most dangerous enemies had him trapped. One might have thought that Diver and Derne had lured him here. He didn’t want to believe that Diver would have any part of such a plan, but at that moment he didn’t know what to think.