D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“You need another ale,” Ethan said. “And so do I. Tell Kelf that you’re buying off the shillings I gave him before.”

Diver got up again, eager as a puppy. “You’re a good man.”

Ethan finished his stew, and when Diver brought back the ales, he turned his chair so that he could see the rest of the room. Kannice spent most of her time behind the bar, helping Kelf with the ales and whiskeys. But occasionally she came out into the common area to joke with her patrons or settle down a group that was getting too boisterous.

She might have been small of stature, but there was steel in her voice and ice in those blue eyes when she had need. Ethan had yet to meet a man who wasn’t cowed by her. At one point she glanced his way and saw that he was watching her. She smiled, her color rising, and then went back to what she had been doing.

“Why don’t you marry her?”

Ethan glanced at Diver and sipped his ale. “That’s none of your concern.”

“If you’re still thinking that you and Marielle-”

“I said it was none of your concern, Diver.”

He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t have to. Diver knew him well enough to understand that he had sailed into dangerous waters.

Marielle Harper-Elli, Ethan called her-had once been his betrothed. Among the better families of the North End it had been said that she was too fine for him. She was the daughter of a wealthy shipbuilder; he, the wayward son of a captain in the British navy. But she loved him, and he adored her. Still, in all their time together, he never revealed to her that he was a conjurer, and when he was accused of taking part in the Ruby Blade mutiny, of using “witchcraft” to subdue the ship’s captain, she wrote a letter to him that to this day he could recite from memory. In it she said that he had betrayed her trust, and she vowed never to see him again. By the time he returned, bitter and maimed, from the plantation in Barbados where he had labored and bled and, on more than one occasion, nearly died, Elli had married another and borne the man’s children.

She had since been widowed, but she still insisted that she wanted nothing to do with Ethan or his spellmaking. Ethan knew better than to expect that she would ever change her mind, even as he also knew that a part of him would always long for her.

Kannice knew about Elli. Having ruined one romance with secrets and lies, Ethan vowed never to do so again. He sensed that Kannice harbored hopes that eventually he would forget about his first love and agree to spend the rest of his life with her. She rarely spoke of it, though, and that was fine with Ethan; the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

For long minutes Ethan and his friend sat in uneasy silence, until at last Diver drained his tankard and set it down smartly on the table. “Well, then,” he said, getting to his feet. “Looks like I’ll be working the wharf again tomorrow, so I’d best get some sleep.” He flashed a smile, though it appeared forced. “Good night, Ethan. My thanks for the ale.”

“Take care of yourself, Diver.”

“I always do,” Diver said, and left the tavern.

Ethan remained where he was and drank his ale slowly. No one approached him. Most of those who knew him either feared him for his ability to conjure or saw him as an unrepentant mutineer. He had few friends, though those he had he trusted.

Eventually, as the crowd in the tavern began to thin and the noise died down, Kannice approached his table again.

“Derrey was in a hurry to leave,” she said, pulling Diver’s chair around and placing it beside Ethan’s.

“Not really. He has to work the wharves come morning.”

“Who was that came to talk to him?” she asked, her eyes fixed on her hands as she toyed with one of the silver rings on her fingers.

She doesn’t miss a thing.

“One of his mates from the wharf, I think.”

A faint smile touched her lips as she glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “Why do you protect him?”

“Why do you harry him?”

“If ever there was a man who needed harrying…” She trailed off, letting the words hang.

He knew better than to argue. “I’ll tell him to keep it outside next time,” he said, an admission in the words.

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Eventually Ethan took her hand. She met his gaze, smiled.

“You say it went well with Corbett?” she asked.

“It did. I found all that his wife had lost. He was pleased.”

“And the thief?”

Ethan exhaled and made a sour face. “Daniel Folter.”

Kannice rolled her eyes. “Another fool.”

“Aye,” Ethan said, conceding the point as far as Diver was concerned.

“You let him go?”

“Of course.” He started to tell her that doing so might well prove to have been a mistake, but thought better of it. That would have carried the conversation back around to Diver, and Ethan didn’t want that.

“Why is it that you’re so forgiving of fools?” she asked him.

“Maybe I see enough of my younger self in them to think they’re not beyond hope.”

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth quirking upward again. Then she stood, moved to stand behind his chair, and began to knead the muscles in his neck, her small fingers deft and strong. He closed his eyes and tipped his head forward.

“Just because there’s hope for them doesn’t mean it’s your job to save them all,” she whispered.

“Now you tell me.”

She kissed the top of his head.

“That feels good,” he said, as she continued to rub his neck.

“It’s supposed to.”

He smiled, but just as he did she moved her hands down and began to rub his shoulders. Ethan winced, sucking air through his teeth.

“What’s the matter?”

“I had to fight Daniel to get back those necklaces. My right shoulder’s sore.”

She kissed the side of his neck. “That’s a shame. And your leg?”

“It hurts, too.”

The air around them was redolent of her perfume. “Poor baby. You’re probably too tired and sore to do anything but sleep.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he murmured.

Kannice giggled. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. She took his hand. “Let’s go then.”

“Don’t you have to clean up?”

She waved a hand vaguely toward the bar. “Kelf will get most of it. I let him leave early a few nights ago. He owes me.”

Ethan grinned. “I’ve always liked Kelf.”

She stopped. “Well, if that’s what you prefer…” She held his gaze for several moments, struggling to keep her expression neutral. Finally, she began to giggle again. “Come on,” she said, tugging on his hand.

Before they reached the back stairs leading up to her chamber, the door to the Dowsing Rod swung open and several men rushed in.

“Did ya hear?” one of them asked of no one in particular. “They’re sacking Hutchinson’s house!”

Ethan and Kannice had stopped, and now Kannice took a step toward the men.

“Who are?” she demanded.

“Mackintosh an’ his boys,” the man said.

And another added, “They got Story an’ Hallowell, too!”

“Idiots!” Kannice said. She glanced at Ethan. “They can’t think any good will come of it.”

He shrugged. She knew well enough what he thought of the agitators. After the attack on Oliver’s house, they had argued about it for two days. But he was thinking once more about that conjuring he had felt. Had there been spells at work in addition to whatever else stirred the mobs to attack?

Regardless of the answer, Kannice was right: Attacking the homes of William Story and Benjamin Hallowell was one matter. Story, of the Admiralty Court, and Hallowell, the comptroller of the Customs House, were two of the most hated men in all of Boston. But Thomas Hutchinson was lieutenant governor and chief justice of the province. To be sure, he had enemies among those opposed to the Grenville Acts, but he was also one of the most respected leaders in the colony. If these men were right-if Hutchinson’s home had been attacked-it would anger not only the Crown, but many of those the leaders of these demonstrations hoped to draw to their cause.