“Busy is good, right?”
“I suppose. I could use a couple of days without busy.”
Ethan grinned. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to wish you a good morning.”
“You had a visitor,” Henry said, before Ethan could let himself out again.
Ethan felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end, and he had to resist the urge to reach for his blade. “When,” he asked, his voice tight.
“Just a little while ago.”
“One person, or several?”
“One. He went upstairs, stayed there for a minute or two, and then came back down. I saw him leave,” the cooper added, anticipating Ethan’s next question.
A few years ago, Sephira and her men had lain in wait for Ethan in his room, and Nigel and his friends had beaten Ethan to a bloody mess. Henry was in the shop at the time, and failed to notice their arrival. He had felt guilty about it ever since, and had gone out of his way to keep a closer eye on Ethan’s room.
“Big guy?” Ethan asked.
The cooper bobbed his head.
Some of the tension drained out of Ethan’s back and shoulders. At least it hadn’t been Spectacles.
“All right. Thank you, Henry.”
“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself.”
Ethan smiled and let himself out of the shop. He whistled for Shelly, who emerged from the shadows along the side of Henry’s shop and trotted over to him, her tail wagging and her tongue lolling from her mouth.
“Come on, Shelly,” he said. He drew his knife and walked around to the back of the shop.
The dog loped ahead of him, stopping at the base of the stairway and looking back at Ethan expectantly. She was hungry-no surprise there-but otherwise she gave no indication that she was alarmed. Ethan put the knife away again. If there had been someone in his room, Shelly would have known it.
“All right,” he said, patting her head. “How about a piece of cheese?”
She licked his hand.
Ethan climbed the stairs, slowing as he turned at the small landing halfway up and saw his door. A folded scrap of paper had been affixed to the doorframe with a small blade that jutted from the wood. He climbed the rest of the way, pried the knife out, and unfolded the paper.
The note, written in Sephira’s neat hand, read, “Don’t sleep. Don’t even blink. -S.”
Ethan exhaled slowly. It was a familiar warning, one that she had given him before. Unfortunately, Sephira’s threats seldom turned out to be idle.
He let himself into the room, retrieved a small piece of hard cheese, and went back out onto the landing at the top of the wooden stairway.
“Here you go, Shelly,” he said, and tossed the cheese down to her.
It landed on the cobblestones, bounced twice, and came to rest a couple of yards from where she stood. She bounded forward, sniffed the cheese, and was about to eat it when she suddenly stopped and looked back. She bared her teeth, her hackles rising, and turned, a deep growl rumbling in her throat.
Ethan grabbed his knife and pushed his sleeve up so that he could cut his forearm for a conjuring. But to his surprise, it wasn’t Sephira or Nigel or even Mariz who had come for him. Instead, he saw Geoffrey Brower in his green silk suit, and with him a young man Ethan didn’t recognize. This second man wore the dark blue and white uniform of a British naval officer.
“Ethan,” Geoffrey said, eyeing Shelly and even taking a step back. “Call off the dog! Please! We require a word with you!”
Chapter Five
“It’s all right, Shelly,” Ethan called, although he wasn’t at all certain that he wanted anything to do with Geoffrey or his companion.
Shelly looked up at Ethan and gave a tentative wag of her tail. But then she eyed the two men and growled again. Her hackles were down though.
“She’ll leave you alone,” Ethan said. “You’re free to come up.” With that he stepped back into his room. He left the door open.
Moments later, he heard the two men ascending the stairs. He sat at the small table beside his bed, leaving a single chair for his visitors. Geoffrey and the other man soon reached the top of the stairway, but Geoffrey faltered at the door.
“Come in,” Ethan said. “There isn’t much room, but I don’t imagine you’ll be staying long.”
The two men exchanged a quick look. Geoffrey appeared to brace himself, as he might when preparing to step into rank waters. Then he entered the room. The naval officer followed. Brower looked paler than usual; his overlarge forehead was furrowed. He looked like he had spent the entire day frowning.
The officer was about as tall as Geoffrey, but he stood with his shoulders hunched. He was blandly handsome, with a square face and wide-set blue eyes, but he had a weak chin and had fixed an even weaker smile on his lips. He wore a powdered wig though he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or thirty years old. The wig was long and accentuated the length of his face. It also seemed that his uniform didn’t fit him quite right, although Ethan couldn’t have said if it looked too small or too big. It was overly tight across the man’s middle, but it appeared too loose in the shoulders and chest.
“This is William Senhouse,” Geoffrey said, breaking a brief silence. “He is third lieutenant aboard the Launceston, the lead frigate of the fleet currently anchored in the harbor.” He indicated Ethan with an open hand, seeming to cringe at what he was about to say. “Lieutenant Senhouse, this is Ethan Kaille, my wife’s brother, and a thieftaker of some renown here in Boston.”
It might have been the nicest description of Ethan ever to pass Geoffrey’s lips.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Kaille,” said Senhouse, stepping forward and proffering his hand.
Ethan half rose from his chair, shook the man’s hand, and sat back down.
Geoffrey, noticeably uncomfortable, glanced around the room. “Ethan was in the royal navy for a time,” he said, answering a question no one had asked. His gaze came to rest on Ethan again. “Weren’t you?”
Ethan shifted in his seat. “That’s right,” he told Senhouse. “I served under Thomas Cooper at Toulon.”
“Ah!” Senhouse said, nodding. “On the Stirling Castle. Very good. A bit before my time, but a fine ship.”
Ethan said nothing. An awkward silence settled over the room once more.
“Forgive me for being rude, gentlemen,” Ethan said. “But I’ve already had a long day. What brings you here?”
The men again exchanged glances.
“We need your help,” Geoffrey finally said with another grimace.
Bett, Ethan’s sister, had turned her back on spellmaking long ago, although she still possessed the ability to conjure. Like so many in New England she equated conjuring with witchcraft and believed that those who cast spells were servants of Satan. Preachers in New England’s finest churches still railed against magicking and the dark arts in their sermons, and rather than admit that she came from a family of conjurers, Bett counted herself among the virtuous who fought such devilry.
Years ago, she had made it clear to Ethan that she wanted nothing to do with him or his spellmaking. Her marriage to Geoffrey had given her everything to which she had ever aspired. She lived in a large comfortable house, enjoying the society of Boston’s finest Tory families, and she pretended that she had never been born a Kaille. For his part, Geoffrey seemed to share Bett’s aversion to conjuring and her desire to pretend that she and Ethan were not related. As a customs official, he had much to lose from any association with Ethan and his scandalous past. Ethan could hardly imagine how difficult it had been for him to come here, much less ask Ethan for aid.
He sobered at the thought. It would have taken a true crisis to bring Geoffrey to his door.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
To Ethan’s surprise, Geoffrey deferred to Senhouse.
“I think it would be wisest if we were to show you,” the officer said, his voice crisp.