Thieftaker by D. B. Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

taken. She’s t’ be buried on th’ grounds there.”
    Naturally. The King’s Chapel Burying Ground was the oldest cemetery in Boston, and the only one a man like Abner Berson would have deemed appropriate for the interment of his child.
    “Mister Caner, the rector there, knows yah’re comin’,” the man went on. “Once yah’ve seen her, yah’re t’ come t’ th’ Bersons’ home.”
    “All right,” Ethan said, although he was already having second thoughts. He had his reasons for taking the job, but he had also had his reasons for refusing at first. Perhaps the stranger read the doubt in Ethan’s eyes, because he stood, put on his hat, and strode to the tavern entrance, as if determined to leave the Dowser before Ethan could change his mind. He paused by the door and looked back at Ethan.
    “Until later, Mister Kaille,” he said, and left.
    For several moments Ethan sat staring at the door, wrestling with the urge to run after the stranger and give him back Berson’s money. At last, knowing that by now he had waited too long, he reached for the pouch, which still sat on the table. He held it in his palm, enjoying the weight of it, the soft jangling of the coins. Then he stood and slipped it into his pocket.
    Turning toward the bar, he froze. Kannice was watching him, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line.
    He walked over to her. “You have something to say to me?”
    “I thought you weren’t taking any jobs for a while.”
    “This one’s different,” he said. “I couldn’t say no.”
    She didn’t respond.
    “That man works for Abner Berson. His daughter’s been killed.”
    “I heard,” she said, her voice flat. Ethan had been sure she would have much to say about him working on a killing, but if she did, she kept it to herself.
    “They want me because there were spells involved. He didn’t say it, but I’m sure. I think I might even have felt the conjuring that killed her. That’s why Berson didn’t go to Sephira Pryce.”
    “And do you have to work every job that calls for a conjurer?”
    “Would you rather I left it to Sephira or the sheriff? They know nothing about spells. Or rather, they know just enough to cast suspicion on every speller in Boston, myself included. It has to be me, Kannice. I’m the only one who knows enough about conjuring to find the truth.”
    Kannice went back to wiping the bar, rubbing at the wood with such fury that Ethan half expected her to take off the finish.
    “She died last night,” Ethan said. “Berson’s man made it sound like she was killed by the same mob that destroyed Hutchinson’s house.”
    She frowned, but she didn’t look at him. “You don’t believe that any more than I do,” she said quietly. “The men who wrecked those houses might be fools, but they’re not murderers.”
    “Not all of them. But one of them might be.”
    Kannice cast a hard look his way, but continued to clean the bar.
    “I have to go,” he told her at last.
    She nodded, a strand of hair falling over her forehead. He started to reach out to brush it away, then stopped himself.
    “Will you be back here tonight?” she asked, pushing the strand away herself.
    “I don’t know. Probably not.”
    Her frown deepened.
    “Anyway,” he went on. “It’ll probably be a late night.”
    She straightened, her eyes meeting his. She draped the polishing cloth over her shoulder and tipped her head to the side. “If you change your mind…”
    “Aye,” he said. Both of them knew he wouldn’t. He stood there another moment, neither of them speaking. Finally, Kannice went behind the bar, and retreated into the kitchen.
    Ethan left the tavern.
    The warmth of the previous night had given way to a cooler morning. The sky was a clear, bright blue, and a freshening wind blew in off the harbor, carrying the smell of fish and brine, and sweeping away the heavy pall of smoke that had been inescapable the night before. The streets were crowded with carriages and