D. Jackson - Thieftaker

He considered trying to nap, but though still weary from all the conjuring he had done the night before, and still sore from the injuries Darrow had inflicted on him, he knew that he wouldn’t sleep. Instead, he changed into clean clothes, realizing as he did that he had ruined a couple of shirts and a coat over the past few days. Before long he would have to dig into the pouch of silver Berson had given him and visit the clothier. Thinking about it, he decided that there was nothing stopping him from going this day, right now. It was an odd feeling, as unfamiliar as it was liberating.

He left his room, fully intending to buy himself a coat and some clothes. But as he stepped onto Cooper’s Alley, he saw a carriage waiting in front of the cooperage. Henry was there, speaking with the driver. They both turned at Ethan’s approach.

“It’s for you, Ethan,” Henry said, sounding awed.

“Are you Ethan Kaille?” asked the driver, a young, well-dressed man in a linen suit and powdered wig.

“Yes, I am.”

“Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson requests that you join him at his home in Milton. I’m to take you there.”

Ethan shared a look with Henry, who merely raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” Ethan said, “we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

He winked at the cooper and climbed into the carriage. The driver took his place in front and soon they were rattling through the streets of Boston toward the Neck and the town gate. The leather harnesses of the horses creaked, and the horses’ shod hooves rang brightly on the cobblestone. Once past the battlements, they crossed the causeway into Roxbury, veered south toward Dorchester, and continued on to Milton and the Hutchinson estate. It had been months since last Ethan ventured out of Boston, and despite the length of the journey-nearly two hours-he enjoyed seeing the countryside and knowing that Sephira Pryce was miles away.

Hutchinson’s home stood at the top of a knoll that overlooked the Neponset River and offered a distant view of Boston Harbor. It was a sprawling estate built of marble, with an impressive portico at the main entrance, and smaller wings flanking the central portion of the house. Large trees shaded the yard, and as Ethan climbed out of the carriage and followed the driver up the path toward the house, he caught a glimpse of colorful gardens along both sides of the home. Birds sang, bees buzzed past, and a freshing breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Ethan could see why Hutchinson had chosen to retreat here after the attack on his home in the city. A servant met Ethan at the door and led him through the house to an open veranda at the back where Hutchinson sat alone, gazing out over his land.

The lieutenant governor appeared rested and in far better spirits than he had the last time they spoke. When his servant announced Ethan he stood and dismissed the man before extending a hand to Ethan and indicating that he should sit.

“Thank you for coming all this way, Mister Kaille.”

“Of course, Your Honor. The pleasure is mine.”

“Your journey out here wasn’t a hardship, I hope.”

“Not at all, sir. And if I may, it seems the country agrees with you.”

A reflexive smile touched Hutchinson’s lips and vanished. “I believe it does.” He cleared his throat. “I won’t waste your time on niceties. I had word this morning from Sheriff Greenleaf of a shooting on Orange Street that occurred last night. He said that you were there, with Mackintosh, Samuel Adams, Peter Darrow, and James Otis. Now I hear that none of you was arrested, and I will assume there was good reason for this. But I also gather that this incident was related in some way to the Berson killing, and I would like to know what happened.”

“Yes, sir. Simply put, Peter Darrow killed Jennifer Berson, and he came close to killing me. He was shot by Mister Adams, who acted to save my life.”

Hutchinson gave no sign that any of this came as a surprise. Ethan assumed that he had been told as much by the sheriff.

“Why would Darrow kill the Berson girl?” he asked.

Ethan hesitated, unsure of how much to tell the man about Darrow’s conjuring abilities, not to mention his own.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mister Kaille. Much of what I’ve heard about the events of last night strikes me as… fantastical, to say the least. I don’t know what to believe. Now, you tell me that Darrow killed Jennifer Berson, but obviously you are reluctant to tell me why he would do such a thing. Put yourself in my place, and tell me what I should think of all this.”

Ethan gazed toward Boston. It felt wrong to speak of murders and shootings here in this gentle place. But he doubted that Hutchinson would have much patience for evasions.

“Darrow practiced the dark arts,” he said, facing Hutchinson again. “He was what some would call a witch, and others a conjurer. He used his powers to bend men to his will, and in order to do this he had to sacrifice the lives of others. Jennifer Berson was one such sacrifice.”

Hutchinson stared at him for a long time. “That’s quite an explanation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume that Darrow did these things you describe to further the cause of… of liberty.” As he had the other time he and Ethan spoke, Hutchinson said the word as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ethan shook his head. “No, sir. He indicated to me that he was an agent of the Crown, and an enemy of Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty.”

The lieutenant governor opened his mouth, then closed it again and sat back in his chair. Ethan thought that Hutchinson would object to this as Berson had. But he didn’t. Eventually he simply said, in a voice barely more than a whisper, “I see.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, until Ethan began to wonder if Hutchinson was done with him and expected him to leave.

But after a time, the lieutenant governor regarded Ethan again, seeming to take his measure with his gaze. “I would think that someone who could draw upon such… dark powers would be difficult to overpower. At least he would be for an ordinary man.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hutchinson watched him, clearly waiting for Ethan to say more. When at last he realized that Ethan had no intention of telling him anything else, that faint smile returned. “Very well, Mister Kaille. It’s a long journey back to Boston, and I’m sure you would rather arrive before nightfall. I’m grateful to you for coming all this way to speak with me.”

Ethan stood and sketched a small bow. “I’m honored that you asked me, sir.” He started back toward the entry hall, where Hutchinson’s servant waited for him. He had taken only a few steps, though, when the lieutenant governor spoke his name, stopping him.

“What was Mackintosh’s role in all of this?”

“He was a victim,” Ethan said, “turned to Darrow’s purposes by dark means.”

Hutchinson grimaced, as if Ethan’s words had wounded him. “Of all that you’ve told me, I find that most difficult to believe.”

“I think I understand, sir. But I give you my word, it is the truth.”

“Yes,” the man said, a haunted look in his dark eyes. “Yes, all right. Thank you, Mister Kaille. My driver will see you back to Boston, and will drop you anywhere you wish.”

Ethan bowed again, and left.

The ride back to Boston passed more quickly than had the journey to Milton. Before long, he could smell the sour mud of the Roxbury tidal flats and see the causeway that led toward the town gate and the Boston Neck.

As the carriage entered Boston and drove up the Neck toward the church spires and brick buildings of the South End and Cornhill, Ethan considered where to have the driver take him. Pell would want to hear about his conversation with Hutchinson, and eventually Ethan would need to pay another visit to Elli’s house to see how Holin was doing. That was where Kannice thought he would wind up-he could tell from the way she had looked at him just before he left the Dowser that morning.