D. Jackson: Thieves' Quarry

“Well met, Shelly,” Ethan said, stopping to scratch the dog behind her ears.

She licked his hand and fell in stride beside him as he continued toward the Dowser.

Even here, closer to the center of the city, the streets were mostly deserted. On most nights as clear as this one, even this late, there would have been at least a few people walking the lanes, a chaise or two rattling past. But the arrival of the king’s warships in Boston Harbor seemed to have brought a deeper chill to this autumn night.

Reaching the Dowsing Rod, Ethan gave Shelly one last scratching and a pat on the head. “Good night, Shelly,” he said, and stepped inside.

The great room of the tavern shone with candles. The warm air was tinged with the pungent bitterness of spermaceti candles, the sweet scent of pipe smoke, the musty smell of ale, and the savory aroma of yet another of Kannice Lester’s excellent fish chowders.

Kannice, the Dowser’s owner, made the best food found in any of Boston’s publick houses and she served good ales at a reasonable price. When Ethan first met her over six years before, she had already inherited the tavern from her husband, who died of smallpox during the outbreak of 1761. A young widow, whose beauty and sharp humor complemented a keen wit and savvy business sense, she had transformed the tavern from a dreary, broken-down haunt for rogues and miscreants into a reputable and profitable establishment. Her rules were simple: No whoring, gambling, or fighting. If you couldn’t discuss politics or religion without getting into an argument, you were to take your differences out into the street. And if anything you said or did attracted the notice of the watch or the sheriff, chances were she didn’t want you in her tavern.

She relied on her hulking barman, Kelf Fingarin, to keep order and to see to it that no one disobeyed. But Kelf rarely had to do more than serve ale and stew and, on occasion, toss a drunk out into the lane. Kannice was willowy and nearly a foot shorter than Kelf, but most of the time one of her tongue-lashings was enough to tame even the hardest man who set foot in her place.

Ethan stood just inside the door, scanning the tavern for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Hiya Ethan,” came a booming voice from behind the bar. Kelf raised a meaty hand in greeting. “You lookin’ for Kannice?” he asked, his words coming out in one long quick jumble, as they always did.

“Hi, Kelf,” Ethan said, grinning at the huge man and walking to the bar. “She in back?”

Kelf nodded. “Made the chowder tonight. Everyone’s favorite. She can barely keep up. I can tell her you’re here, though.”

“No need. She’ll see me soon enough.” Ethan dug into his pocket and placed a shilling on the bar. “The Kent pale,” he said. “And some chowder when it’s ready.”

“Right. Diver’s in his usual spot.” He nodded toward the back of the tavern. “If’n you’re lookin’ for him.”

“My thanks.”

The barman handed him a tankard of ale, and Ethan made his way back to Diver’s table. The Dowser was crowded and loud this night. Some stood at the bar, eating oysters and drinking ales, while others sat at the tables drinking flips or Madeira wine and supping on Kannice’s chowder. But whether at tables or at the bar, few of them greeted Ethan with even so much as a nod. He had been a prisoner, a convicted mutineer; he was known to most as a thieftaker and a rival to Sephira Pryce. A handful of those in the tavern might have known that he was also a conjurer. He had few admirers and fewer friends. Then again, those friends he did have, he trusted.

Diver sat alone, hunched over his ale. But seeing Ethan approach, he sat up, an eager look on his face.

“Well?” he said, as Ethan took a seat across from him.

“Well, what?”

Diver glanced around to make sure that no one would overhear. “Come on, Ethan,” he said, lowering his voice. “You know. What happened with Tanner and the watches?”

“Sephira happened,” Ethan said, trying hard to keep his tone free of accusation.

Diver’s face fell. “What’s she got to do with it?”

“She told me to ask you.”

“ What? ” His surprise appeared genuine, and Diver wasn’t that good a liar. Whatever he had done to tip off Sephira had been unintentional.

“Who have you told about this job?” Ethan asked.

“No one! I swear it!” His eyes were wide, even fearful. He knew better than to think that Ethan would try to exact a measure of revenge. But they had been friends for a long time; Diver looked up to Ethan the way he might to an older brother. The last thing he would have wanted was to fail him on a job, in particular if it meant losing money to Sephira Pryce.

“A girl, maybe?” Ethan asked.

“No.” But Ethan could see the doubt in his friend’s dark eyes. With Diver, there was always a girl-a different one from fortnight to fortnight, but he was rarely alone. He was tall and handsome, with curly black hair and a smile that could have charmed the queen consort herself.

“What’s her name, Diver?”

“She wouldn’t have told Sephira,” he said, more to himself than to Ethan. “I know she wouldn’t.”

“Diver?” Ethan said, drawing the young man’s gaze once more. “Her name?”

His friend sighed. “Katharine,” he said. “Katharine Chambers. I met her outside Faneuil Hall maybe a month ago. She wouldn’t be working for Sephira. She’s…” He shook his head, perhaps knowing better than to complete the thought aloud.

Ethan had never heard of the girl, but that didn’t mean much. “Have you told anyone else about Tanner?” he asked.

Diver shook his head, his expression bleak. “No, no one.” He looked Ethan in the eye. “You have my word.”

Ethan nodded and took a long pull of ale. “Well,” he said wiping his mouth with his hand, “there’s nothing to be done about it now. I’d suggest you stay away from her, though.”

“So, we don’t get anything?” Diver asked.

“This is Sephira we’re talking about. It’s not like her to share with the other children.”

The young man closed his eyes and rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “I needed that money.”

Ethan didn’t bother asking why. More often than not, when Diver said it that way he meant, I’ve already spent that money.

They sat in silence for some time. Ethan surveyed the tavern while Diver stared morosely into his empty tankard. Eventually Kannice came out of the kitchen, beckoned to Kelf, and vanished again. Soon after, the two of them emerged again bearing a huge tureen of creamy white stew. The tavern patrons roared their approval, and Kelf began to ladle the chowder into wooden bowls.

Kannice had spotted Ethan and she approached him now, her auburn hair shining in the lamplight, a few stray strands falling over her forehead. Reaching their table, she bent to kiss him lightly on the lips, her hair smelling of lavender, her breath tasting slightly of Irish whiskey.

She bobbed her head toward Diver. “He’s been like an eager puppy all night, waiting for you to come in. I’d have thought he’d be happier now that you’re finally here.”

Ethan shrugged, and flashed a rueful grin. “Yes, well, things didn’t go quite as we had hoped.”

Diver glanced up at Kannice before looking away again. Kannice tolerated Diver because he was Ethan’s friend, but she thought him a reckless fool who brought trouble on himself and on those around him. Ethan found it hard to defend Diver, because Kannice often was right. This night’s misadventure was more typical than either Ethan or Diver would care to admit.

Kannice regarded Diver through narrowed eyes and started to say something, but Ethan took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She clamped her mouth shut, and shook her head.