Thieves' Quarry (The Thieftaker Chronicles) by D. B. Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

forty-four guns. A smaller frigate of perhaps thirty guns lay to the north of her. He saw as well a post-ship, and several sloops-of-war and armed schooners. It wasn’t a fleet that would have struck fear in the hearts of French naval captains, but it was more than enough to pacify this city and its harbor. All the ships had their sails struck; no doubt their captains were awaiting orders. With just a glance Ethan counted hundreds of men on the various vessels. And rumor had it that another wave of ships and soldiers was on its way to the city from Halifax. The occupation would begin soon enough, and it would be massive.
    As he neared Long Wharf, which jutted out into the waters of the harbor more than a third of a mile, Ethan saw a group of men standing on the wharf, speaking among themselves, their gestures animated. All of them were well dressed in matching coats, breeches, and waistcoats—ditto suits, as they were known. Several of them wore tricorn hats and all wore powdered wigs. These were men of means. Still, Ethan might not have taken note of them had he not spotted a familiar face in their midst.
    Geoffrey Brower, the husband of his sister Bett, and to hear her speak of him, a customs agent of some importance, stood among the men. He was taller and leaner than the others, with a high forehead and a supercilious expression on his lean face. Ethan didn’t recognize any of Geoffrey’s companions, but given how similarly all of them were dressed, he assumed that they were customs men as well. He stopped where he was and watched them.
    Every few seconds as they spoke, the men looked out toward the British fleet, particularly those ships at its north end. Looking that way himself, Ethan noticed that a pinnace holding several British regulars in their bright red coats and white breeches was approaching one of the ships, a sloop-of-war. The sloop had its sails struck, as did the other vessels, but Ethan could see no one on its decks. Not a soul.
    Several more regulars in another rowboat made their way toward the sloop from the northern end of the island. And not long after, a second pinnace from one of the larger ships closest to the city’s waterfront approached Long Wharf and the dock near where Geoffrey and his colleagues stood. The boat drew alongside the pier and two of the soldiers on board held her steady while Geoffrey and two other men stepped onto the vessel. Once the agents were settled, the oarsmen began to row the boat out into the harbor. Within a few minutes it became clear to Ethan that they too were headed toward the sloop.
    Something had happened to the warship, something serious enough to worry the fleet’s commanders as well as Crown officials here in the city. Still watching the rowboats, and glancing now and then toward the sloop-of-war, Ethan started toward the wharf. Three of Geoffrey’s friends had remained behind, and he considered casting another concealment spell, like the one he had used the night before to follow Tanner, so that he could eavesdrop on their conversation.
    He reached for his blade, only pausing long enough to look around and make certain he wasn’t being watched.
    His caution might have saved his life.
    Perhaps twenty yards ahead of him, partially hidden in a narrow alley, stood none other than the bespectacled man and his companion. They hadn’t yet noticed Ethan, although they would have had he spoken his spell. They were gazing out over the harbor, as he had been. Spectacles held a brass spyglass, which he raised now to his eye. It seemed to Ethan that he had it trained on the sloop.
    Rather than halt again and thus draw attention to himself, Ethan kept his head down and walked past the men. But his pulse raced. Whatever had happened to the British sloop-of-war had drawn the attention of Sephira’s conjurer friend.
    Or perhaps the man had done something to the ship. Something that demanded a spell powerful enough to wake all of Boston’s conjurers from their