D. Jackson - Thieves' Quarry

Senhouse rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed. “I apologize. That was a foolish thing for me to say.” He looked Ethan in the eye. “We need your help. I’m sure I speak for Mister Brower when I say that without your … your expertise in this area, we’re unlikely to find the person who did this.”

“So, you’re hiring me?”

“We’re asking you to help us,” Geoffrey answered. “And in return, I’ve been authorized to offer you ten pounds. Consider it a bounty on the head of the killer. Find him, and the money is yours.”

Ten pounds was a considerable sum. Even Sephira Pryce might have killed for less.

“All right,” Ethan said. He surveyed the ship once more, the bodies strewn about the hold. Aside from the color of the conjurer’s power, he had little information with which to start. Except, of course, for the conversations he had overheard. Spectacles and Sephira were looking for someone who they believed was on one of the British ships. So, Ethan would look for this man as well.

“To start,” he said, turning back to Senhouse, “I’ll need the name of every man on this ship.”

For several seconds, neither Senhouse nor Geoffrey said a word.

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes, his brow creasing. “Whatever for, Mister Kaille? Surely you can’t think that one of these men is responsible?”

Ethan wasn’t about to voice his suspicions about Spectacles. Not yet, knowing so little. Sephira Pryce had too many friends among those who served the Crown. If she learned that Ethan suspected her associate of a crime of this magnitude, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” he said, “but you’ve asked me to inquire into the deaths of these men, and now you need to let me conduct my investigation.”

Senhouse blinked once, obviously taken aback. To his credit, though, he recovered quickly. “Yes, of course. You’re quite right. This way.”

He led Ethan and Brower back to the ladder and up onto the ship’s deck. After the darkness of the hold, the sunlight was blinding, and Ethan had to shield his eyes with an open hand. But he welcomed the cool touch of the autumn breeze and the clean, briny scent of the harbor air.

Senhouse strode to the stern and into the captain’s quarters. Ethan followed the lieutenant back as far as the doorway to the quarters, but faltered there. It had been more than twenty years since last he served on a ship, but still the old habits of a sailor remained deeply ingrained. A common seaman didn’t simply walk uninvited into a captain’s quarters.

Geoffrey, who as far as Ethan knew had never served in the navy, had no such reservations, and walked into Ethan from behind.

“Pardon me,” Brower said, flustered.

Senhouse looked back at them and waved Ethan into the cabin. “It’s all right, Mister Kaille,” he said, with an understanding nod.

Ethan entered, though doing so still felt odd. The air was sour in here as it had been below, the faint hint of stale sweat and rancid food lingering beneath the bitter smell of spermaceti candles.

The man lying on the bed in the far corner of the cabin looked to be no older than Ethan. He had long brown hair that he wore in a plait. A powdered wig sat on a small writing desk bolted to the wall just beside the bed. Because the Graystone was too small to be a rated ship, her commander had not been a captain, but rather a lower-ranked naval officer-perhaps another lieutenant. Senhouse might well have been friends with the man.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Ethan said, his voice sounding loud in the small space. “Who was he?”

Senhouse stared at the body. “His name was Jacob Waite. He was also a lieutenant. He received this posting only last month. You would have thought they had named him fleet commander, he was so pleased.” After a few seconds more, he looked away and seemed to force himself into motion. Crossing to the desk he said, “The manifest should be in here somewhere.”

He began to search the papers on the commander’s desk. When he found nothing there, he knelt down to open the sea chest beside it. Finally he stood again, looking puzzled.

“That’s strange,” he said. “There should be a manifest here.”

“Maybe the purser had it,” Ethan suggested.

“Yes, maybe he did.”

They left the captain’s cabin and went back below to the wardroom, where the ship’s other officers slept. The wardroom was somewhat larger than the captain’s cabin, but more cramped. Six hammocks lined the walls, with small chests beneath each. Four of the hammocks held the bodies of dead sailors.

“That’s Amos Porter,” Senhouse said, pointing to one of the men. “He was first mate. Another lieutenant.” Another friend. Senhouse didn’t have to say this; Ethan heard it in his tone.

“And this was the purser,” Senhouse said, turning to the hammock just to the left of the wardroom door. “Peter Logan.” Senhouse stooped and picked up a sheaf of paper off the floor. “Here it is,” he said.

“He had it out?” Ethan said, joining Senhouse beside the hammock.

“So it would seem.” The lieutenant handed the manifest to Ethan.

Ethan glanced through its pages. In addition to the names and ranks of soldiers, crew, and naval officers, the manifest also listed items of cargo, noted the date and time of the Graystone ’s departure from Halifax as well as where these men had previously been posted, and recorded every encounter with other vessels along the route from Acadia to Boston.

“May I take this with me?” Ethan asked.

Senhouse winced. “I don’t have the authority to say you can. You’re welcome to remain on board and look at it here, but I’d have to ask Captain Gell before I allow you to remove it from the Graystone. ”

“Gell?”

Senhouse walked out of the wardroom; Ethan and Geoffrey followed.

“He commands the Launceston and thus the fleet,” Senhouse said, as they climbed back above decks. “I can speak to him on your behalf. I need to return to the ship anyway. And in the meantime, you’re free to remain here and begin your investigation. I’m sure Mister Brower will be glad to stay with you and assist in any way he can.”

Ethan had seen plenty of corpses in his day. He had witnessed killings and on more than one occasion he himself had killed. Still, the idea of remaining aboard the Graystone , its hold and decks crowded with the dead, didn’t appeal to him at all. On the other hand, Geoffrey appeared terrified at the prospect, which made it a little easier for Ethan to bear.

“That will be fine,” he said. “I’m sure Geoffrey will be most helpful.”

Brower opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without saying a word, seeming to understand that this was not a duty he had any chance of avoiding. “Yes, of course,” he said at last.

“I can give you only so much time on the ship,” Senhouse said. “Before long, we need to gather the dead. In this sun they’re going to … well, they won’t keep for long.”

“Yes, of course,” Ethan said, squinting against the glare as he surveyed the deck again. “What will you do with them all?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “I don’t know. Usually we would give them burials at sea, but we can’t dump them all in the harbor. And I can’t imagine John-Captain Gell-will want to transport so many corpses into Boston.”

“Castle William, then,” Ethan said.

Senhouse considered this, gazing across the water toward the fortress. “Yes, perhaps. That’s an excellent idea. I’ll pass it along to the captain.”

He moved to the port gunwale, pulled out a white handkerchief, and waved it over his head several times. Returning it to his pocket, he faced Ethan and Geoffrey once more.