D. Jackson: Thieves' Quarry

The two men sat hunched over the table, their heads close together. The big man didn’t seem to be saying much, but he nodded every so often.

After Ethan had watched them for several moments, his curiosity got the better of him. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood.

Audiam, Ethan said to himself. Ex cruore evocatum. Listen, conjured from blood.

He felt the blood in his mouth vanish. Uncle Reg appeared beside him and power thrummed like a plucked string on a lute, making the air in the tavern come alive for the span of a heartbeat. No one standing near Ethan appeared to notice-only someone who conjured would. But the bespectacled man stiffened noticeably.

Ethan felt his blood run cold. The man had sensed his conjuring, and already was turning to look for its source. Biting down on his cheek a second time, he whispered a second spell. Abi! Go away! A second pulse made the tavern floor hum. The old ghost shot Ethan a filthy look, and vanished. An instant later the bespectacled man swiveled in his chair, his gaze passing over Ethan.

“What is it?” the big man asked, his voice now reaching Ethan’s ears. “Did you hear-?”

But the stranger raised a hand, silencing him as he continued to search the tavern.

Ethan waited until the man had turned to look elsewhere, and made his way back to the table, his eyes fixed on Diver, the hand holding his ale steady. His mind was reeling, though. Whatever else this man was, he was also a speller, or at least someone who had been born to conjuring. Ethan hoped that he wasn’t skilled enough with the craft to know what kind of spell Ethan had cast.

“It is nothing,” he heard the man say at last, his voice low, the words tinged with a barely discernible accent that Ethan couldn’t place at first.

“You was tellin’ me about the ship,” the big man said.

The bespectacled man didn’t respond right away. Ethan assumed that he was still searching the tavern. If Ethan had sensed someone else casting spells near him, that’s what he would have done. He regained the table and sat opposite Diver, though he kept his attention on the conversation now echoing in his head.

“Yes, the ship,” the man said. Forced to guess, Ethan would have said he came from somewhere on the Iberian Peninsula; Portugal perhaps. “It arrived with the others. I do not know yet when it will dock-it does not matter really. What matters is that he does not find his way into the city.”

“Which wharf do you think they’ll dock at?”

“I do not believe that will matter either,” the man said. “We are to keep him out of the city. The rest is of less importance, but it has been made clear to me that he must not reach Boston.”

“Made clear?” the big man repeated. “You mean by Seph-?”

“Shh!” the bespectacled man said sharply. “Do not say anything more.”

“Bu-”

“Nothing more. It was made clear to me. You know by who. We need not speak of it further.”

The big man grunted and said, “All right then. And how’re we supposed to keep him away?”

“That is my concern. You have other responsibilities, which I have already explained to you. See to them, and we will not have any surprises, even if the rest does not go as it is supposed to.”

“You all right?”

Ethan looked over at Diver, who was eyeing him with concern. He held up a hand and shook his head.

“How much we gettin’ for all of this anyways?” the big man asked.

“Ethan-”

“Quiet, Diver!” he whispered harshly. “I’m listening.”

“… pounds, divided the usual way.”

“Aye, well that way still ain’t right. You said last time it’d be changin’. Remember?”

“Listening to what?” Diver asked, obviously wounded by Ethan’s tone.

Ethan glared at him.

“… will change. Perhaps this time. But first we have to complete the task. After that we can talk about a new division of payment.”

The big man grunted again, sounding unhappy.

The stranger and his friend fell into a brief silence. Then Ethan heard one of them put a tankard on the table. A chair scraped across the tavern’s wooden floor.

“I am leaving now,” the bespectacled man said. “I would suggest you leave this place as well. I am not sure it is as safe as we assumed.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing,” the stranger said, his voice low.

Ethan saw the bespectacled man emerge from their section of the tavern and make his way to the door. He watched out of the corner of his eye as once again the man surveyed the room, perhaps hoping that his unseen observer would reveal himself with another spell. Reaching the door, he glanced back one last time, his spectacles flashing in the lamplight. Then he slipped out into the night. Shortly after, the big man left as well, lumbering to the door without so much as a backward glance.

Still Ethan didn’t release the spell, for fear that the stranger lurked outside the Dowser, waiting for him to do just that.

But he faced Diver again. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I had cast a spell and was listening to their conversation.”

“Whose conversation?” Diver demanded. Ethan could tell that he had pushed his friend to the limits of his patience.

“I didn’t catch either of their names. I told you, I saw one of them with Tanner; the other I had never seen before. But he started to say something about Sephira. I’m sure of it. The other man cut him off before he could say more.”

“What were they talking about?”

Ethan repeated their cryptic references to the ship.

“Do you think any of this is important?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. “But there was something else about the one who knows Tanner: He felt my conjuring.”

Diver’s brow furrowed. “You think he-” He stopped, his mouth dropping open and his eyes going wide. “You mean,” he whispered, “you think he’s a speller, too?”

“Aye. And if he is-and if he’s working on something with Sephira-then this could be very important.”

“So what do we do?”

Ethan managed not to laugh. “I’m not sure that ‘we’ do anything. I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to help me with this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it can be dangerous meddling in Sephira Pryce’s affairs. And because you’re not exactly the most reliable person I could choose as a partner.”

Diver’s cheeks colored. “I told you I wouldn’t discuss your business with anyone else,” he said, with an earnestness Ethan had never seen in him before. “And I meant it. I don’t blame you for not trusting me. But I can help you with this.”

Ethan felt his resolve weakening.

Diver grinned. “Come on. Give me another chance. I lost money tonight, too, and I wouldn’t mind getting back at Sephira just a little bit.”

“All right,” Ethan said, knowing that if Kannice were listening, she would call him a fool and worse. “You’re working the wharves tomorrow, right?”

“Aye, but I can skip it if you need me to.”

“No, I need you there.” Diver’s face fell, but Ethan pressed on. “Where will you be?”

“Thornton’s Shipyard,” Diver said, his voice flat. “Or maybe Greenough’s.”

“Good. In that case you can be responsible for watching the North End wharves for Sephira or this friend of hers.”

“How can I do that? You didn’t even let me look at him!”

Ethan described the man and his companion. “Don’t say anything to them. Don’t even go near them. Just watch what they do and report back to me.”

Diver frowned. Ethan could see that he was disappointed by his instructions. “All right. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll be watching the wharves in the South End and Cornhill.” He couldn’t possibly watch all the wharves, of course. Boston’s waterfront was as active as any in New England and was nearly a match for those in New York and Philadelphia, even with the hard times that had befallen the city in recent years. But he hoped that if he could stay near Long Wharf, the busiest in the city, he might learn something of value.