The Dowsing Rod was owned and run by Kannice Lester, who had become the sole owner of the tavern several years ago, after her husband Rafe died. Kannice served decent ales at a reasonable price, but she was known throughout Boston for her stews, which most people, Ethan included, thought were the best in the city.
From without, the Dowser looked clean and reputable. Kannice wouldn’t have had it any other way. She made it clear to all her guests-even Ethan-that she wouldn’t tolerate gambling or whoring or any other sort of mischief within the walls of her inn.
“Leave it in the streets,” she always told them. “Or you won’t be welcome here again.”
Ethan had yet to meet anyone brave or foolish enough to defy her.
Stepping into the tavern, Ethan expected to be greeted by the usual din of laughter and shouted conversations. But the Dowser was half empty, unusual even for a Monday night, and those who stood at the bar or sat at tables arrayed around the hearth spoke in hushed voices. The air within was heavy with the smell of candles and pipe smoke, and the mouthwatering aroma of one of Kannice’s famous fish stews. Though the crowd was small, Ethan saw several familiar faces, including Devren Jervis-Diver-an old friend who occasionally helped Ethan with his work.
Of all the people Ethan knew who frequented the Dowser, Diver came closest to getting himself banned from the tavern. He did so with some frequency, and, as Kannice had pointed out on more than one occasion, if it wasn’t for Ethan’s friendship with the man, Diver would have been tossed out into the street long ago. He sat alone at a table near the back of the tavern. Catching Ethan’s eye, he raised his tankard and gave it a little wave.
Ethan had to laugh. The evening mist and a few stubborn midges still clung to his waistcoat, and already Diver was asking him to buy his next ale. Ethan walked to the bar, where a few men stood drinking ale and eating oysters.
“Evenin’, Ethan,” said Kelf Fingarin, the hulking barman. “Wha’ kin I getchya?” Actually, he said it so quickly that it came out as a single word: WhakinIgetchya? Ethan understood only because he had been in this tavern a thousand times. Newcomers weren’t so lucky, and in addition to being the size of a Dutch merchant ship, Kelf also had a quick temper. He was certain that his words were as clear as an autumn morning in New England.
“What’s Diver drinking?” Ethan asked.
“Th’ cheap stuff, as usual.”
Ethan wrinkled his nose. “You have any of the pale left?”
“From Kent, you mean?”
Ethan nodded.
“I might have a bit.”
Ethan tossed two shillings onto the bar. “I’ll have two. And keep them coming.”
Kelf grinned and grabbed two tankards. “Someone jest got paid.”
“Where’s Kannice?” Ethan asked.
Kelf was already filling the first tankard. He jerked his head toward the entrance to the kitchen. “’N back, gettin’ more stew. I’ll tell ’er ya’re here.” He placed the first ale on the bar, began to fill the second.
“There’s another mob out in the streets,” Ethan said.
“Don’ need t’ tell me,” Kelf said. “Look ’round. Half them who’re supposed t’ be here are with th’ rabble, an’ th’ rest are too scared t’ leave their homes.”
“You know why?”
The barman shrugged and put the second ale on the bar next to the first. “Stamp nonsense again.”
Ethan took the ales. “My thanks, Kelf.”
He wove his way past tables and chairs, nodding and smiling to the few people who met his glance and offered a greeting. When he reached Diver’s table, he placed one ale in front of his friend and sat.
“I’m grateful, Ethan,” Diver said. “I’ll get the next one.”
“We’re paid through a few rounds,” Ethan said. “You can pay next time.”
Diver raised his ale. “Well, then!”
Ethan tapped his friend’s tankard with his own and they both drank, Diver draining most of his.
Diver wiped his mouth on his sleeve and peered down into his drink. “The good stuff, eh?”
“I got paid,” Ethan said. “Enjoy it.”
Diver sipped from his mug again. But he said nothing more and soon began to drum his fingers nervously on the table.
“You all right?” Ethan asked.
“Fine!” Diver said. “Just… I’m fine.”
A cheer went up from the bar; looking past Ethan, Diver smiled. Ethan turned in time to see Kelf and an attractive, auburn-haired woman emerge from the kitchen carrying a large tureen of what had to be more fish stew. Kannice Lester was willowy and stood at least a full head shorter than the barman, but her arms were corded from years of lifting pots of stew, of keeping her tavern clean, of making sure there was wood for the hearth and for the stove in her beloved kitchen. At a word to Kelf, she and the barman hoisted the tureen onto the bar in one fluid motion. She began to ladle the soup into empty bowls as patrons converged on her from all around the room. After a few moments she spotted Ethan, and a smile lit her face. She whispered something to Kelf, who immediately returned to the kitchen. Kannice continued to serve out the stew.
“So who paid you?” Diver asked Ethan, leaning close.
Ethan tore his gaze from Kannice. “Corbett,” he said. “His wife’s got her jewels back and I’ve got my coin.”
Diver’s eyebrows went up. “Already?”
“Don’t look so impressed. It was Daniel.”
“Daniel? He swore to me that he’d given up thieving.”
“Well, he’s as much a liar as he is an idiot.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Did you have business with him?”
“Of course not,” Diver said, suddenly interested in the tankard in front of him. “I know Daniel’s trouble. I stay away from him.” He glanced up at Ethan, though only for an instant. “Is he… did you…?”
“I didn’t give him up to Greenleaf,” Ethan said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And I didn’t kill him, either, though Sephira wouldn’t have been so forgiving. I told him to leave Boston, so if he owes you money, I’d suggest you collect in the next day.”
“I told you, I have no dealings with him.” Diver said the words forcefully enough, but he wouldn’t look Ethan in the eye.
Diver was nearly ten years younger than Ethan, and had long looked up to him as he might an older brother. They had known each other for more than twenty years, since Ethan first arrived in Boston and Diver was just a boy working the wharves. The younger man was clever, but he had been orphaned as a small boy and raised by an uncle who never liked him. Early on he had turned his wits to activities that might well have landed a less fortunate man in prison or on a boat to a British penal colony. He put to sea as a hand on merchant ships for a time, and about five years ago, around the time Ethan was released from his servitude in the West Indies, Diver came back to Boston to work the wharves once more. In the years since, he had also helped Ethan track down the occasional thief. He actually seemed to have a knack for such work, though Ethan often wondered if this might not be because of Diver’s own shady dealings and his connections with Boston’s less virtuous citizens.
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.
“Now you tell me.”
She kissed the top of his head.
“That feels good,” he said, as she continued to rub his neck.
“It’s supposed to.”
He smiled, but just as he did she moved her hands down and began to rub his shoulders. Ethan winced, sucking air through his teeth.
“What’s the matter?”
“I had to fight Daniel to get back those necklaces. My right shoulder’s sore.”
She kissed the side of his neck. “That’s a shame. And your leg?”
“It hurts, too.”
The air around them was redolent of her perfume. “Poor baby. You’re probably too tired and sore to do anything but sleep.”
He laughed. “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he murmured.
Kannice giggled. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. She took his hand. “Let’s go then.”
“Don’t you have to clean up?”
She waved a hand vaguely toward the bar. “Kelf will get most of it. I let him leave early a few nights ago. He owes me.”
Ethan grinned. “I’ve always liked Kelf.”
She stopped. “Well, if that’s what you prefer…” She held his gaze for several moments, struggling to keep her expression neutral. Finally, she began to giggle again. “Come on,” she said, tugging on his hand.
Before they reached the back stairs leading up to her chamber, the door to the Dowsing Rod swung open and several men rushed in.
“Did ya hear?” one of them asked of no one in particular. “They’re sacking Hutchinson’s house!”
Ethan and Kannice had stopped, and now Kannice took a step toward the men.
“Who are?” she demanded.
“Mackintosh an’ his boys,” the man said.
And another added, “They got Story an’ Hallowell, too!”
“Idiots!” Kannice said. She glanced at Ethan. “They can’t think any good will come of it.”
He shrugged. She knew well enough what he thought of the agitators. After the attack on Oliver’s house, they had argued about it for two days. But he was thinking once more about that conjuring he had felt. Had there been spells at work in addition to whatever else stirred the mobs to attack?
Regardless of the answer, Kannice was right: Attacking the homes of William Story and Benjamin Hallowell was one matter. Story, of the Admiralty Court, and Hallowell, the comptroller of the Customs House, were two of the most hated men in all of Boston. But Thomas Hutchinson was lieutenant governor and chief justice of the province. To be sure, he had enemies among those opposed to the Grenville Acts, but he was also one of the most respected leaders in the colony. If these men were right-if Hutchinson’s home had been attacked-it would anger not only the Crown, but many of those the leaders of these demonstrations hoped to draw to their cause.
“Has anyone been hurt?” Kannice asked, sounding disgusted.
“Not tha’ we know,” the first man said. “Hutchinson an’ his family have got away, an’ so did th’ other two. Bu’ their homes are wrecked.”
One of the men behind him suppressed a chuckle and looked sidelong at another. This man laughed, too.
“All right, you lot,” Kannice said. “You’ve had your say. Now get out.”
“Bu’ we’re thirsty,” the first man said, sounding aggrieved.
“Well, you’ll have to find your drink elsewhere.”
They looked like they might argue, but at that moment Kelf stepped out from behind the bar, and planted himself in the middle of the great room, his massive arms crossed over his chest. The men grumbled among themselves, but shuffled out of the tavern.
When they had gone, Kelf faced Ethan and Kannice. “Ya think it’s true?”
“Hallowell’s place is on Hanover Street, isn’t it?” Ethan asked.
“Yes,” Kannice said. “And I think William Story lives near the Court House.”
“I heard them,” Ethan said. “There were mobs at both houses.”
Kelf looked from one of them to the other. “But Hutchinson-he lives in th’ North End, don’ he? Did ya hear anything from there?”
“It was hard to tell,” Ethan told him. “But if the rest of it’s true…”
“Then this is, too,” Kannice finished for him. “And there’ll be hell to pay.”