Thieftaker (30 page)

The doctor looked at Ethan, his eyes lingering briefly on the bruise on Ethan’s temple and the bloodstains on his coat.

“Of course,” the man said. He stepped aside and waved them into the house.

The door opened onto a comfortable sitting room, illuminated by spermaceti candles and warmed by a fire in the hearth.

“Doctor Benjamin Church,” Pell said, “may I introduce, Ethan Kaille. Ethan, Doctor Church.”

Ethan and the doctor shook hands.

“Who is it, Benjamin?” came a woman’s voice from another room.

“A patient, Hannah,” the doctor called. “No need to trouble yourself.” He eyed Ethan again. “This way, gentlemen,” he said, and led them to a back room.

He lit several candles, their glow building gradually to reveal a chamber that was far more austere than the previous one. Jars and bottles jostled for room atop of a cabinet against one wall. Next to it, a table held a number of steel surgical instruments. Ethan glanced at them before quickly looking away. Healing himself with conjurings was one thing; surgeons made him queasy.

Dr. Church pulled a chair to the middle of the room. “Sit,” he said.

Ethan did as he was told.

“We’ll start with the shoulder,” the doctor said, stepping to a washbasin and scrubbing his hands. “I’d say that’s the worst of it.”

Ethan cast a quick self-conscious look at Pell. He had already healed that wound, at least enough to stop the bleeding.

Pell misunderstood. Or else he was as squeamish as Ethan. “Perhaps I’ll wait in the other room,” he said, a wan smile flitting across his pale features.

“All right,” Church said absently. “Take off your coat if you can manage it,” he told Ethan. “Your waistcoat and shirt, too.”

Reluctantly, Ethan peeled off the bloodstained coat, removed his waistcoat, and pulled his shirt over his head. The doctor stepped around him and leaned over to peer at the bullet wound, which was still badly discolored, despite Ethan’s spell. After a moment, he straightened again.

“I see,” Church muttered. “I take it the bullet never actually entered your body.”

“No, sir. I was fortunate.”

“Indeed, you were. Still, it would have better if you had cleaned that wound before healing it.”

Ethan stared at him, his mouth hanging open. He had expected questions, even accusations; not this blithe acceptance of his healing spell.

“Come now,” the doctor said. “You can’t believe that you are the first of your kind I’ve encountered.”

“No, sir,” Ethan said, recovering from his surprise. “I had to heal it when I did. I couldn’t afford to lose too much blood.”

“At least not that way.”

Ethan chuckled. “That’s right.”

“The bruise at your temple is new. The rest are a few days old.”

“Yes, and I think I might have a broken rib.” He pointed to the spot where Sephira’s man kicked him.

The doctor began to probe Ethan’s rib with deft fingers.

“It isn’t broken,” he said after a few moments. “Though one of these ribs feels like it’s healed from a previous break.” When Ethan didn’t respond, the doctor went on. “You’ve had a rough time of it. Perhaps you should consider finding another line of work.”

“Pell would agree with you.”

“I’m sure.” The doctor examined his shoulder again, then straightened once more, shaking his head. “Well, Mister Kaille, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for you. Your bruises will heal on their own. The bullet wound should as well. If it becomes fevered or if there is discharge of any sort, come back and see me.”

“I will, Doctor. Thank you.”

Church crossed to the door. “Get dressed. I’ll be with Mister Pell.”

The doctor left him and Ethan pulled his clothes back on with care, inhaling sharply through his teeth whenever he moved his shoulder too quickly or twisted his torso too suddenly. When at last he was dressed again, he joined Pell and Church in the sitting room.

Pell turned at the sound of Ethan’s approach. The minister looked relieved to see him. “Doctor Church was just asking me what you’ve been doing that would lead to so many injuries. I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“It’s all right,” Ethan told the minister. To Church he said, “I’m looking into the death of Jennifer Berson.”

The doctor’s expression sobered. “I see. Forgive me for asking.”

“It’s all right,” Ethan said, remembering at last something that should have come to him long ago. “You know, before Sephira Pryce’s men invited me into their carriage, I was on my way to King’s Chapel to ask you a question, Mister Pell. But perhaps I would be best served asking both of you. The day Ann and John Richardson were hanged, were there any other unexplained deaths in the city?”

Both men considered the question for a few moments.

At last, Pell shook his head. “Not so far as I know.”

“I don’t recall hearing of any, either,” the doctor said. “Why do you ask?”

“Something I heard,” Ethan said. Another thought came to him; a recollection of his conversation with Holin the previous day.

“Did either of you see the Richardsons’ corpses after their hanging?”

“No,” Pell said. “I believe they were cut down and thrown in a shallow grave.”

“And good riddance to them,” the doctor added.

Many people, Ethan knew, shared this view of the Richardsons. He himself did.

Pell was watching him. “There’s no doubt as to how they died, Ethan.”

“No, of course not.” Ethan started to say more, but then stopped himself. “Doctor, we’ve taken up enough of your time. What do I owe you?”

The doctor shook his head. “Nothing. Which is about what I did for you.”

“We’ve intruded upon your evening, bothered you at your home—”

“Thank you, Mister Kaille. Perhaps, in the future, if I have need of a thieftaker, you’ll do a favor for me.”

“It would be my honor, sir,” Ethan said.

Church walked them to the door. “You know, if you’re looking for someone who might have had something to do with Jennifer Berson’s death—”

“Let me guess,” Ethan said. “Ebenezer Mackintosh.”

“You know of him.”

“How could I not? Every person I meet wants to blame him for the girl’s murder. It may be the only point of agreement between Thomas Hutchinson and Samuel Adams.”

“You’ve spoken with Samuel?”

“Yes. James Otis and Peter Darrow, as well. Do you know them?”

Apparently Church found the question amusing. “We’re acquainted, yes.” His tone said much more. Ethan thought it likely that Benjamin Church was allied with Adams and the others.

“I found it interesting,” Ethan said, “that Mister Darrow should help Mackintosh escape punishment for one death, and then accuse the man of complicity in another.”

The doctor’s shrug was noncommittal. “Peter knows Mackintosh better than most. And I, for one, trust his judgment in such matters.”

They stood eyeing each other for another moment. Then Ethan forced a smile. “Well, good evening, Doctor. Thank you for your care and your time.”

“You’re welcome, Mister Kaille.” Church nodded to the minister. “Mister Pell.”

Ethan and Pell left the house and started walking back to King’s Chapel, their collars raised against the rain.

“Where will you go next?” Pell asked after a lengthy silence.

“Why? Are you planning to follow me around the city with the sheriff or men of the watch?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Actually, Ethan reflected, it wasn’t.

“I’m going to the Dowsing Rod,” Ethan said. “And then home, I would imagine. I’ve had a long day. Another one.”

Pell said nothing for several moments. “Why were you asking about the Richardsons?” he finally asked.

“Something a friend told me, about feeling a spell that day.” He raised his shoulders, then immediately winced at the pain. “I’ve wondered if this conjurer might be responsible for a third killing, in addition to Jennifer Berson, and the Brown boy on Pope’s Day.”

They had reached King’s Chapel, and they stopped in front of it. Pell wore a thoughtful look, his brow creased, his hair wet with rain. “I was at the hanging,” he said, his voice low.

“Did you feel a spell?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know. I remember being uneasy. Something about that day wasn’t right. But even now I can’t put a name to it.” Pell took a breath. “Did I feel a spell? At the time I wouldn’t have known. I’ve only come to recognize the feeling these past few days, watching you conjure.” He shook his head. “This is all too new.”

“It’s all right,” Ethan said. He put out his hand, and Pell grasped it. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Ethan laughed. “For saving my life. For taking me to see Doctor Church. For helping me find Jennifer Berson’s killer.”

“I’ve helped?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t understand any of it.”

“I’m not certain that I do either,” Ethan said. “Not entirely, at least. But if I’m right, there’s a conjurer out there who’s using spells, fueled by these deaths, to make others do his bidding.”

Pell’s eyes went wide. “A conjurer can do that?”

“Absolutely. Conjurings can do most anything, if the person casting them is willing to pay a high enough cost. I could make you take your own life, but I would have to take the life of another to do it. I could destroy this entire city, but I’d probably have to bleed myself to death.”

“So this conjurer—”

“This conjurer is skilled and powerful, and entirely willing to spend the lives of others in pursuit of his aims, whatever they may be. I can’t think of anything more dangerous.”

“How will you stop him?” Pell asked.

Ethan smiled wryly. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Good night, Mister Pell.”

He left the minister beside the chapel gate and began to make his way through the streets to the Dowser, nervously surveying storefronts and alleys. He felt vulnerable; for the second time in as many days, he was forced to admit to himself that the simple act of walking through the city had him frightened. He had survived battles at sea and years as a prisoner. He had been wounded and beaten and had gone to sleep many nights wondering if he would live long enough to win his freedom. And here he was, scared of shadows on a deserted lane. A part of him wished that on that first day in the Dowser he’d had the sense to send away Abner Berson’s man.…

“No.” He said it aloud, startling an elderly man who hurried along through the darkness and mist in the opposite direction.

This is what Sephira and the conjurer want,
he told himself. The beatings and the threats were intended to make him give up. Or to kill him. They weren’t going to succeed at either. This conjurer had to be stopped. As Ethan had told Pell, spells cast without regard for life were a threat to every person in Boston. No one would be safe as long as this conjurer walked the streets.

Ethan forced himself to slow down, to stop peering over his shoulder every other moment. By the time he reached the Dowser, he felt better.

Stepping inside the tavern, he took a long steadying breath. This one place never really changed. The same people sat at the bar or crowded around tables, arguing over the same matters, laughing at the same jokes. As always the Dowser was warm and bright, and it smelled of pipe smoke and ale and stew. And as always, stepping inside and being greeted by those aromas made Ethan realize that he was famished.

He walked to the bar, searching for Kannice.

“HiEthan,” the burly barkeep said, running the words together as always.

“Hi, Kelf.”

“Kannice’s in back. Wan’ me t’ get her?”

“Actually, no.” Ethan felt around in his pocket for a pair of shillings and handed them to the man. “She didn’t let me pay a couple of nights ago, and she won’t tonight, either. So this is just between the two of us, all right?”

“Course. What’ll ya have?”

“What’s the stew tonight?” Immediately he raised his good hand, forestalling an answer. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll have a bowl and an ale.”

“I’ll bring it t’ ya.”

“My thanks, Kelf.” Ethan walked to the back of the tavern, winding his way past the usual crowd. Diver wasn’t there, so he sat alone, as he often did, at an empty table far from the door.

A few moments later, Kannice arrived at his table with a bowl of mutton stew and a tankard of pale ale. She placed them in front of him and kissed the top of his head.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, hovering behind him.

He took hold of her hands and kissed them both. “And I you.”

“I hate to…” She faltered. Ethan twisted around in his chair to look at her, taking care not to let her see his newest bruise. She still stood behind him, chewing her lip. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I know things have been hard for you the past few days. But I can’t … well … I need you to pay for the food and drink. I hope you understand.”

Ethan hesitated, but only for a moment. She had given him more free food than he cared to remember. He could afford to pay twice this one night. “Of course, I understand,” he said. He dug into his pocket again, searching for another coin.

Kannice stared down at him, an odd expression on her face, as if … He stopped searching for the coin just as she burst out laughing.

“You would have paid me again, wouldn’t you?” she said breathlessly.

Ethan looked back at Kelf, who grinned at him from behind the bar. Ethan leveled a finger at him and the man threw back his head and laughed.

“He promised me he would keep that quiet,” Ethan said as Kannice sat down across from him.

“Kelf works for me, not for you. Besides, I saw him putting the coins in the till and…” She trailed off, her smile vanishing as she noticed the welt on his head. “What’s happened now?”

“Sephira and her men.”

“They beat you again?” Her eyes fell to his shoulder. “And is that blood on your coat?”

He nodded.

“A knife?”

“A bullet, actually.”

“A bullet!” she repeated, so loudly that others paused in their conversations.

“It just grazed me,” he said, speaking softly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Some.”
A lot, actually.
“I’ve seen a doctor. I’m fine.”

She frowned. “Is that right?”

He held her gaze. “Aye.”

“All right, then let’s go back to Sephira for a minute. She’s not content with beatings and threats anymore?”