Thieftaker (4 page)

Ethan had every intention of pressing his friend further on his association with Daniel, but before he could ask more questions he felt a smooth arm snake gently around his neck, and soft curls brush against his cheek.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Kannice whispered in his ear. Her breath smelled lightly of whiskey, her hair of lavender. Over the past few years he had grown fond of the combination. She kissed his temple, and when he turned to her, kissed his lips softly.

“This job worked out better than I hoped it would,” he said, brushing a strand of hair off her brow. “Hope you didn’t have other plans.”

She shrugged, blue eyes wandering the tavern. “I figured I’d have to make do with one of these others,” she said airily. “But since you’re here…”

He smiled, as did she. Then she looked over at Diver and straightened.

“Derrey,” she said, a trace of ice in her voice.

“Stew smells good tonight, Kannice,” Diver said with brittle cheer.

She inclined her head toward Ethan, though her eyes never left Diver’s face. “You going to make him pay for your meal, too?”

Kannice was younger than both of them and, so, far closer in age to Diver than Ethan. Her husband, whom Ethan had never met, was nearly twenty years older than she, and when he died, back in 1761, leaving her to run the tavern, she was barely more than a girl. But she always spoke to Diver this way, as if he were a wayward child, and she his older sister. Or his mother.

“I was glad to buy him the ale,” Ethan said, keeping his voice low. “I just got paid.”

She pursed her lips, but held her tongue. Diver had enough sense to shut his mouth as well. A moment later, Kelf showed up with a bowl of steaming stew, which he placed in front of Ethan.

“Thereyago.”

“Better bring another for Derrey here,” Kannice said.

Kelf eyed each of them in turn and tromped back to the kitchen to fetch another bowl.

Kannice turned her back on Diver and looked down at Ethan. “I’ll deal with you later,” she said, a coy smile on her lips. She started back to the bar, shouting, “Tom Langer, I swear if you spill another ale in my tavern I’ll banish you for a year and a day!”

Several men behind Ethan laughed uproariously.

“She’s a hard woman, Ethan,” Diver said, watching her walk away.

“Only with you. And I’m not sure it’s undeserved.”

Diver frowned and drank the rest of his ale. Kelf brought a second bowl of stew, placed it in front of Diver without saying a word, and returned to the bar.

“I want to know what you had going on with Daniel,” Ethan said as Diver started to eat.

“I told you,” Diver said, his mouth full. “Nothing at all.”

“That’s the first time you’ve looked me in the eye since we started talking about him.”

Diver’s cheeks reddened. He was a handsome man, his face still youthful, his black curls as yet untouched by gray. Kannice’s hostility notwithstanding, women were drawn to him. He was tall, lean, and dark-eyed, and he had a winning smile and was quick with a jest. But if Ethan had a daughter, he would have done everything in his power to keep Diver away from her.

Ethan continued to stare at his friend, saying nothing, until at last Diver put down his spoon and glanced around, as if to make certain that no one could hear.

“Was Corbett your only job?” Diver asked in a low voice.

“What?”

Diver leaned closer and lowered his voice even more. “Are you working on anything else right now?”

Ethan let out a small laugh and shook his head. “What have you gotten yourself into, Diver?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, I’m not working on anything else. In fact, I’m thinking I should lie low for a time. It seems everyone I meet right now knows too much about me, if you catch my meaning.”

Diver’s eyes widened. “Really? You think Pryce is spreading rumors about you?”

“They’re not rumors if they’re true. And no, I don’t think she would bother with something like this. If Sephira gets tired of having me around, she’ll just have me killed and be done with it.” He took a spoonful of Kannice’s stew, which was savory, just a bit spicy, and as delicious as usual. He never took his eyes off of Diver, though, and now he added, “But we were talking about you.”

“I’m getting to it.” Diver took a breath and scanned the room again. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

“I don’t think anything, yet,” Ethan said, which was not entirely true.

“Well, then it’s not as bad as it’s going to sound. There’s a group of merchants who have put in together to buy a shipment from a French merchant.”

“A shipment of what?” Ethan asked, though he already knew.

“What do you think? He’s French. Wine from France—fifty casks—and a few hundred gallons of rum from the French West Indies. Course the merchants can’t sell any of it the usual way. They can’t have the casks showing up in their warehouses, and they need people to sell them outside the usual places, where the lobsterbacks can’t see.”

Of course. Since Parliament passed the first of the Grenville Acts the year before, it had been illegal for anyone in the colonies to import or sell any wine from France or any rum from the French West Indies. The problem was, as much as the British here in the Americas hated the French, they still had a mighty thirst for French wines and spirits. Since the 1730s, American distillers had purchased smuggled molasses from the French West Indies. Now Grenville and his friends in Parliament had lowered the molasses tariff and banned the import of French rum, in the hopes of ending that illegal trade. All they had done, however, was create a new and lucrative illegal market in spirits from the islands.

If the customs men caught Boston merchants selling French goods, they would confiscate what they found and fine the merchants. But if they found someone like Diver selling them, they would leave the merchants alone and deal harshly with him.

“So they want you to sell them,” Ethan said.

“I get paid two pence for every gallon of wine or rum; and that adds up. I could make more in five days selling this stuff than I make at the wharf in an entire season.”

You could also get yourself thrown in the stocks. Or worse.
Ethan kept that thought to himself; Diver was a fool, but he understood the risks.

“Daniel was supposed to sell them, too, wasn’t he?” Ethan asked.

Diver faltered. “Aye.”

“When does the shipment get here?”

“Tonight. It might be here already. I’m waiting for one of my mates from the wharf. He’s supposed to tell me when it arrives.”

Ethan shook his head and ran a hand over his face. Daniel wouldn’t be leaving the city after all. He couldn’t refuse that kind of money. Ethan had to hope that Folter would manage to avoid Corbett until he sold his share of the contraband.

“You think I’m mad,” Diver said.

“I have for years. Why should it start bothering you now?” He grinned, as did Diver. “No, I was thinking about Daniel. I told him to leave the city. But he won’t go if he’s waiting for this shipment.”

“He might, if you scared him enough.”

“Would you,” Ethan asked, “if you knew the casks were coming?”

“Probably,” Diver said, dropping his voice once more. “But I’ve seen what your spells can do.” He took another spoonful of stew.

They ate in silence for a time. Diver eyed the tavern’s entrance, while Ethan pondered what might happen if Ezra Corbett learned that Daniel was still roaming the streets. Ethan depended on men like Corbett—merchants and craftsmen of means—for his livelihood. If word spread through the city that he had let Daniel go, they would think twice about calling on him when they needed a thieftaker. Sephira Pryce, Ethan was sure, would be all too happy to take their business.

“There we are,” Diver said suddenly.

Ethan looked up to see that his friend was already standing, his eyes fixed on the doorway. A burly man stood in the tavern entrance, motioning to Diver.

“I’ll see you later, Ethan,” Diver said.

“Watch yourself,” Ethan told him. “There are plenty of men in this city who would be willing to sell the wine and rum themselves, and who would think nothing of taking them from you and leaving you a bloody mess.”

Diver nodded and crossed to the doorway. He and the man spoke briefly, the burly man shaking his head repeatedly as Diver’s expression grew grimmer by the moment. At last, Diver turned and walked slowly back to the table.

“What happened?” Ethan asked, as his friend lowered himself back into his chair. “Ship delayed? There’s been more talk of privateers in the waters off Boston and Europe.”

“No,” Diver said, sounding morose. “The ship’s put in, but the shipment wasn’t on board. There’s no telling when it’ll be getting here.” He stared at his empty bowl. “Damn!” he muttered after several moments.

“You need another ale,” Ethan said. “And so do I. Tell Kelf that you’re buying off the shillings I gave him before.”

Diver got up again, eager as a puppy. “You’re a good man.”

Ethan finished his stew, and when Diver brought back the ales, he turned his chair so that he could see the rest of the room. Kannice spent most of her time behind the bar, helping Kelf with the ales and whiskeys. But occasionally she came out into the common area to joke with her patrons or settle down a group that was getting too boisterous.

She might have been small of stature, but there was steel in her voice and ice in those blue eyes when she had need. Ethan had yet to meet a man who wasn’t cowed by her. At one point she glanced his way and saw that he was watching her. She smiled, her color rising, and then went back to what she had been doing.

“Why don’t you marry her?”

Ethan glanced at Diver and sipped his ale. “That’s none of your concern.”

“If you’re still thinking that you and Marielle—”

“I said it was none of your concern, Diver.”

He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t have to. Diver knew him well enough to understand that he had sailed into dangerous waters.

Marielle Harper—Elli, Ethan called her—had once been his betrothed. Among the better families of the North End it had been said that she was too fine for him. She was the daughter of a wealthy shipbuilder; he, the wayward son of a captain in the British navy. But she loved him, and he adored her. Still, in all their time together, he never revealed to her that he was a conjurer, and when he was accused of taking part in the
Ruby Blade
mutiny, of using “witchcraft” to subdue the ship’s captain, she wrote a letter to him that to this day he could recite from memory. In it she said that he had betrayed her trust, and she vowed never to see him again. By the time he returned, bitter and maimed, from the plantation in Barbados where he had labored and bled and, on more than one occasion, nearly died, Elli had married another and borne the man’s children.

She had since been widowed, but she still insisted that she wanted nothing to do with Ethan or his spellmaking. Ethan knew better than to expect that she would ever change her mind, even as he also knew that a part of him would always long for her.

Kannice knew about Elli. Having ruined one romance with secrets and lies, Ethan vowed never to do so again. He sensed that Kannice harbored hopes that eventually he would forget about his first love and agree to spend the rest of his life with her. She rarely spoke of it, though, and that was fine with Ethan; the last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

For long minutes Ethan and his friend sat in uneasy silence, until at last Diver drained his tankard and set it down smartly on the table. “Well, then,” he said, getting to his feet. “Looks like I’ll be working the wharf again tomorrow, so I’d best get some sleep.” He flashed a smile, though it appeared forced. “Good night, Ethan. My thanks for the ale.”

“Take care of yourself, Diver.”

“I always do,” Diver said, and left the tavern.

Ethan remained where he was and drank his ale slowly. No one approached him. Most of those who knew him either feared him for his ability to conjure or saw him as an unrepentant mutineer. He had few friends, though those he had he trusted.

Eventually, as the crowd in the tavern began to thin and the noise died down, Kannice approached his table again.

“Derrey was in a hurry to leave,” she said, pulling Diver’s chair around and placing it beside Ethan’s.

“Not really. He has to work the wharves come morning.”

“Who was that came to talk to him?” she asked, her eyes fixed on her hands as she toyed with one of the silver rings on her fingers.

She doesn’t miss a thing.

“One of his mates from the wharf, I think.”

A faint smile touched her lips as she glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “Why do you protect him?”

“Why do you harry him?”

“If ever there was a man who needed harrying…” She trailed off, letting the words hang.

He knew better than to argue. “I’ll tell him to keep it outside next time,” he said, an admission in the words.

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Eventually Ethan took her hand. She met his gaze, smiled.

“You say it went well with Corbett?” she asked.

“It did. I found all that his wife had lost. He was pleased.”

“And the thief?”

Ethan exhaled and made a sour face. “Daniel Folter.”

Kannice rolled her eyes. “Another fool.”

“Aye,” Ethan said, conceding the point as far as Diver was concerned.

“You let him go?”

“Of course.” He started to tell her that doing so might well prove to have been a mistake, but thought better of it. That would have carried the conversation back around to Diver, and Ethan didn’t want that.

“Why is it that you’re so forgiving of fools?” she asked him.

“Maybe I see enough of my younger self in them to think they’re not beyond hope.”

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth quirking upward again. Then she stood, moved to stand behind his chair, and began to knead the muscles in his neck, her small fingers deft and strong. He closed his eyes and tipped his head forward.

“Just because there’s hope for them doesn’t mean it’s your job to save them all,” she whispered.