As Ethan neared Henry’s cooperage, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and froze. Shelly lay by the side of the lane and had raised her head at his approach. Ethan swallowed, then took a tentative step toward her, remembering his dream from two nights before.
The dog got to her feet and trotted toward him, her tail wagging, her mouth open and her tongue hanging out in what looked like a grin. Ethan knelt down to greet her and she licked his hand before letting him scratch behind her ears.
“Shelly,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. If there had been any other way…” He shook his head, his throat tight. Was he crazy to be apologizing to a dog?
She padded closer and licked his cheek, and when Ethan stopped scratching her she pawed at his hand to get him to start again.
“I miss him, too,” he said, his voice still low.
After another few moments, he stood and let himself into the cooperage. Henry sat on a low stool by his workbench, sipping water from a cup.
“Resting?” Ethan asked, closing the door behind him.
The old man glanced Ethan’s way. “Hello, Ethan. Aye, I’m tired today.”
Ethan crossed the shop and sat on a finished barrel. “You all right?”
The cooper shrugged, his open mouth revealing the gap in his front teeth. “A bit thad, really. Pitch died.”
What could he say? That he knew? That he was a conjurer and had needed the dog dead more than he needed him alive? So he said the only thing he could, meaning it in ways that Henry could never know. “I’m sorry, Henry. I know he meant a lot to you.”
“Aye, he did,” Henry said, sounding wistful. “Him and Shelly both. The odd thing is, I don’t know why it happened. I found him out front this morning. He didn’t look hurt; I don’t think he’d been sick. There wasn’t a mark on him. He just died, like he was old.” He shook his head. “But he wasn’t. At least I don’t think he was.”
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tell Henry what he had done. But he was afraid. He had faced Sephira and her men, he had fought the conjurer Darrow. But he lacked the courage to tell his friend what he had done to save his own life. “I’m very sorry,” he said again, the words feeling woefully inadequate. He leaned forward and gripped Henry’s shoulder briefly before standing again and walking back to the door.
“What about you, Ethan? You all right?”
“Tired, but otherwise fine, thank you.”
“No more trouble with Sephira Pryce?” He sounded more hopeful than concerned, as if he thought another visit from the Empress of the South End might be just the thing to lift his spirits.
Ethan suppressed a smile. “No, I think I’m done with Sephira, at least for now.”
“Oh,” Henry said, sounding distinctly disappointed. “Well, that’s good, I suppose.”
“See you later, Henry,” Ethan said, letting himself out.
“Bye, Ethan,” the old man called.
He walked around to the back, slowly climbed the stairway to his room, and went inside, taking care to lock the door. He believed what he had told Henry: His inquiry was over. Whatever interest Sephira had in protecting Darrow, there was nothing more she could do now. She might want the money Berson had given him, and she probably would have enjoyed setting her men on him again, but she had no reason to go out of her way to track him down. Still, he felt better with the door locked.
He considered trying to nap, but though still weary from all the conjuring he had done the night before, and still sore from the injuries Darrow had inflicted on him, he knew that he wouldn’t sleep. Instead, he changed into clean clothes, realizing as he did that he had ruined a couple of shirts and a coat over the past few days. Before long he would have to dig into the pouch of silver Berson had given him and visit the clothier. Thinking about it, he decided that there was nothing stopping him from going this day, right now. It was an odd feeling, as unfamiliar as it was liberating.
He left his room, fully intending to buy himself a coat and some clothes. But as he stepped onto Cooper’s Alley, he saw a carriage waiting in front of the cooperage. Henry was there, speaking with the driver. They both turned at Ethan’s approach.
“It’s for you, Ethan,” Henry said, sounding awed.
“Are you Ethan Kaille?” asked the driver, a young, well-dressed man in a linen suit and powdered wig.
“Yes, I am.”
“Lieutenant Governor Hutchinson requests that you join him at his home in Milton. I’m to take you there.”
Ethan shared a look with Henry, who merely raised his eyebrows.
“Well,” Ethan said, “we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
He winked at the cooper and climbed into the carriage. The driver took his place in front and soon they were rattling through the streets of Boston toward the Neck and the town gate. The leather harnesses of the horses creaked, and the horses’ shod hooves rang brightly on the cobblestone. Once past the battlements, they crossed the causeway into Roxbury, veered south toward Dorchester, and continued on to Milton and the Hutchinson estate. It had been months since last Ethan ventured out of Boston, and despite the length of the journey-nearly two hours-he enjoyed seeing the countryside and knowing that Sephira Pryce was miles away.
Hutchinson’s home stood at the top of a knoll that overlooked the Neponset River and offered a distant view of Boston Harbor. It was a sprawling estate built of marble, with an impressive portico at the main entrance, and smaller wings flanking the central portion of the house. Large trees shaded the yard, and as Ethan climbed out of the carriage and followed the driver up the path toward the house, he caught a glimpse of colorful gardens along both sides of the home. Birds sang, bees buzzed past, and a freshing breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Ethan could see why Hutchinson had chosen to retreat here after the attack on his home in the city. A servant met Ethan at the door and led him through the house to an open veranda at the back where Hutchinson sat alone, gazing out over his land.
The lieutenant governor appeared rested and in far better spirits than he had the last time they spoke. When his servant announced Ethan he stood and dismissed the man before extending a hand to Ethan and indicating that he should sit.
“Thank you for coming all this way, Mister Kaille.”
“Of course, Your Honor. The pleasure is mine.”
“Your journey out here wasn’t a hardship, I hope.”
“Not at all, sir. And if I may, it seems the country agrees with you.”
A reflexive smile touched Hutchinson’s lips and vanished. “I believe it does.” He cleared his throat. “I won’t waste your time on niceties. I had word this morning from Sheriff Greenleaf of a shooting on Orange Street that occurred last night. He said that you were there, with Mackintosh, Samuel Adams, Peter Darrow, and James Otis. Now I hear that none of you was arrested, and I will assume there was good reason for this. But I also gather that this incident was related in some way to the Berson killing, and I would like to know what happened.”
“Yes, sir. Simply put, Peter Darrow killed Jennifer Berson, and he came close to killing me. He was shot by Mister Adams, who acted to save my life.”
Hutchinson gave no sign that any of this came as a surprise. Ethan assumed that he had been told as much by the sheriff.
“Why would Darrow kill the Berson girl?” he asked.
Ethan hesitated, unsure of how much to tell the man about Darrow’s conjuring abilities, not to mention his own.
“I’ll be honest with you, Mister Kaille. Much of what I’ve heard about the events of last night strikes me as… fantastical, to say the least. I don’t know what to believe. Now, you tell me that Darrow killed Jennifer Berson, but obviously you are reluctant to tell me why he would do such a thing. Put yourself in my place, and tell me what I should think of all this.”
Ethan gazed toward Boston. It felt wrong to speak of murders and shootings here in this gentle place. But he doubted that Hutchinson would have much patience for evasions.
“Darrow practiced the dark arts,” he said, facing Hutchinson again. “He was what some would call a witch, and others a conjurer. He used his powers to bend men to his will, and in order to do this he had to sacrifice the lives of others. Jennifer Berson was one such sacrifice.”
Hutchinson stared at him for a long time. “That’s quite an explanation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I assume that Darrow did these things you describe to further the cause of… of liberty.” As he had the other time he and Ethan spoke, Hutchinson said the word as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Ethan shook his head. “No, sir. He indicated to me that he was an agent of the Crown, and an enemy of Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty.”
The lieutenant governor opened his mouth, then closed it again and sat back in his chair. Ethan thought that Hutchinson would object to this as Berson had. But he didn’t. Eventually he simply said, in a voice barely more than a whisper, “I see.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, until Ethan began to wonder if Hutchinson was done with him and expected him to leave.
But after a time, the lieutenant governor regarded Ethan again, seeming to take his measure with his gaze. “I would think that someone who could draw upon such… dark powers would be difficult to overpower. At least he would be for an ordinary man.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hutchinson watched him, clearly waiting for Ethan to say more. When at last he realized that Ethan had no intention of telling him anything else, that faint smile returned. “Very well, Mister Kaille. It’s a long journey back to Boston, and I’m sure you would rather arrive before nightfall. I’m grateful to you for coming all this way to speak with me.”
Ethan stood and sketched a small bow. “I’m honored that you asked me, sir.” He started back toward the entry hall, where Hutchinson’s servant waited for him. He had taken only a few steps, though, when the lieutenant governor spoke his name, stopping him.
“What was Mackintosh’s role in all of this?”
“He was a victim,” Ethan said, “turned to Darrow’s purposes by dark means.”
Hutchinson grimaced, as if Ethan’s words had wounded him. “Of all that you’ve told me, I find that most difficult to believe.”
“I think I understand, sir. But I give you my word, it is the truth.”
“Yes,” the man said, a haunted look in his dark eyes. “Yes, all right. Thank you, Mister Kaille. My driver will see you back to Boston, and will drop you anywhere you wish.”
Ethan bowed again, and left.
The ride back to Boston passed more quickly than had the journey to Milton. Before long, he could smell the sour mud of the Roxbury tidal flats and see the causeway that led toward the town gate and the Boston Neck.
As the carriage entered Boston and drove up the Neck toward the church spires and brick buildings of the South End and Cornhill, Ethan considered where to have the driver take him. Pell would want to hear about his conversation with Hutchinson, and eventually Ethan would need to pay another visit to Elli’s house to see how Holin was doing. That was where Kannice thought he would wind up-he could tell from the way she had looked at him just before he left the Dowser that morning.
The truth was, though, all he wanted to do was go to the tavern, eat a bit of stew, and be with her. So that was where he went.
She made no effort to hide her surprise, or her pleasure, when he walked in.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” she said from behind the bar.
He crossed to the bar and sat on an old stool. “I talked to Berson and visited Thomas Hutchinson’s estate in the country. The only place I could go to top that was the Dowser.”
Kannice stared at him openmouthed. “You were at Hutchinson’s estate? In Milton?”
“Yes,” he said, as if it was nothing unusual.
“HiEthan,” Kelf said, emerging from the kitchen.
“Hi, Kelf.”
“Is it beautiful?” Kannice asked. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
Ethan nodded. “It was very nice. I wouldn’t mind living there myself.”
“Ethan went to visit Thomas Hutchinson in Milton,” Kannice told Kelf.
“Nice,” Kelf said, sounding unimpressed.
Kannice stared at the barman for a moment before facing Ethan again, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“I swear I’m not.”
She regarded him briefly. “And you didn’t go anywhere else?”
“I went home and changed my clothes. But I didn’t go to Elli’s if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away. “I shouldn’t-”
“It’s all right,” Ethan said, touching her chin so that she would face him again. “I had Hutchinson’s driver drop me here, because this is where I want to be.”
Before Kannice could reply to that, the tavern door opened and Sephira Pryce walked in, followed by Yellow-hair and Nap.
Ethan stood and took out his knife. Kelf stepped out from behind the bar, and though Ethan put out a hand to keep him back, there was a part of him that would have enjoyed watching him and Nigel have at it. Ethan had seen both men fight and he would have been hard-pressed to choose a likely winner.
“I don’t allow their kind in here,” Kannice said, eyeing Sephira with open hostility, and pointing to her toughs. “I’m not sure I allow your kind, either.”
Sephira smiled and sauntered to the center of the room, ignoring Kannice, her boot heels clicking loudly on the wood floor. She surveyed the tavern, her gaze coming to rest at last on Ethan.
“What a charming place, Ethan. It’s like a stable, but for people. I can see why you like it so much.”
“What do you want, Sephira?” he asked.
“I just came to congratulate you,” she said, flipping her hair. “It’s not every day that a man kills someone as well known as Peter Darrow and gets away with it. I’m very impressed. I’d show you how impressed, but I’m afraid your little friend might get jealous.”
Kannice stalked out into the main room. “His little friend?” she repeated. “I’ll show you just how little I am, you ha’penny whore!”
Ethan grabbed Kannice’s arm and pulled her back. Nigel and Nap took a menacing step forward, as did Kelf. For a moment Ethan thought he might actually have to conjure to keep Kannice and Kelf from getting themselves killed.
But though Sephira’s mask slipped for an instant, she recovered quickly. “She’s fiery, Ethan. I like that.”
Ethan stared back at her, toying with his knife. “I think you had better go, Sephira.”
She flushed, looking daggers. Ethan couldn’t imagine she was accustomed to being dismissed.
“All right,” she said, her voice tight. “Remember, though: You might have defeated Darrow, but you’re still nothing more than a poor man’s thieftaker. You work in this city because I allow it.”
“So you’ve told me.”
She eyed him for a few seconds more before flashing one last smile at Kannice and turning on her heel to leave.
“Why did you care about this, Sephira?” Ethan asked her. “What was Darrow to you?”
Her grin was taunting, and he thought she would leave without answering. But then she said, “He was nothing. A means to an end. I like things as they are, as they’ve been. Change…” She shrugged. “Change could be bad for business.”
Ethan gaped at her. “You knew he was working for the Crown?”
Sephira sighed and shook her head. “Ethan, the sooner you understand that I know everything that happens in this city, the easier life will be for both of us.” She opened the tavern door. “Until next time,” she tossed over her shoulder, and was gone.
Nigel and Nap followed her out into the street.
Once they were gone, Ethan took a breath and sheathed his blade. Kelf watched the door, as if he expected them to storm back in at any moment.
“She’s got some nerve coming in here like that,” Kannice said. “She may be the Empress of the South End, but if she comes in here again, I’ll wipe that grin off her face myself.”
“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me that I need to be more careful?” Ethan asked her. “Don’t you always tell your customers to leave their fights out in the street, away from your tavern?”
Kannice turned her glare on him. “What of it?”
Ethan threw his hands wide. “You just called Sephira Pryce a ha’penny whore!”
“Kind of liked that myself,” Kelf said, heading back into the kitchen.
Kannice smiled grudgingly. “She deserved it.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Ethan told her. “But now you’re going to have to watch yourself, too. You made an enemy today.”
She stared into his eyes. “I’m not afraid of her,” she said, dropping her voice. “I share my bed with a conjurer.”
“And I share mine with the most fearless woman in Boston.”
Kannice took his hand. “You want some stew?”
He shook his head. “I need a coat. Come with me?”
“A coat? A nice one this time, or another rag like that last one?”
“Rag?” Ethan repeated. “That was no rag.”
“Hmmm.” She retrieved her own wrap from behind the bar, took his hand again, and pulled him toward the door. “I’ll choose this one,” she said. “I know just the place to get it.”
He halted, forcing her to stop as well. He pulled her close, and kissed her.
“What was that for?”
Ethan brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “For being willing to take on Sephira Pryce to defend me.”
“That wasn’t for you,” she said, tugging him toward the door again. “I didn’t like her calling my place a stable.”
Ethan laughed and followed her out into the city.