“That figures,” Fowler said.
“What do you mean?”
The soldier shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Let me decide that,” Ethan said. “Why does it figure that I’m a thieftaker?”
Fowler’s mouth twisted to the side, and he stared off over the camp. “Simon’s a friend. I wouldn’t tell ya nothin’ if he was here still. But desertin’…” He shook his head. “The man’s an idiot.”
Ethan waited for the corporal to say more.
“All the time I knew him-and that’s been a while now, since we fought the French-he would talk about this bit of treasure he had put away. That’s what he called it. Treasure. Like he was some privateer sailin’ the Barbary Coast.”
“Did he tell you where it came from?”
“He tried to be all mysterious about it. But eventually he got around to tellin’ me that he stole it from someone he worked with. You, probably.”
“Me?” Ethan said, frowning.
“Well, at some point he mentioned a thieftaker. So I just assumed…”
“Did he ever give you a name. Pryce, maybe? Sephira Pryce?”
“Sephira? A woman?” A dry laugh escaped the man, like a grunt. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“What does it explain?”
Fowler shook his head, the faint smile lingering on his face. “The bastard. The bloody, cowardly bastard.” He scratched his chin again and let out another laugh. “Aye, it could have been this woman. I seem t’ remember the name Pryce coming up once or twice. But he never gave a Christian name, and he definitely never let on that it was a woman. He always talked about how dangerous this person was, how he’d risked his bloody neck stealin’ this treasure of his.” He shook his head once more. “And now I find out it was from a woman.”
Ethan almost told him that Sephira was no one to be trifled with, and that he himself always kept a wary eye on the streets to make certain that Sephira and her men weren’t coming for him. But for now he was content to let Fowler think the worst of Simon Gant. It seemed the best way to keep him talking.
“What else did he tell you about this treasure of his?” he asked. “Do you know what it is, or where he’s got it hidden?”
Fowler didn’t answer right away. Ethan could see him working out the math in his head, figuring the possible value of whatever information he possessed.
“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? The where and the what, as it were. Without that, you’ve got nothin’, do ya?”
“What do you want?” Ethan asked.
Fowler grinned. “Half.”
“How do I know what you have to tell me is worth half?”
“Ya don’t. But without me you’ve got nothin’. So no matter what it is, you’re better off splittin’ it than not.”
“I don’t think so,” Ethan said. “If you knew enough, you would have already found his riches for yourself. But you don’t know much of importance. Or maybe you know all too well how risky it would be to try to steal Gant’s treasure out from under him. Either way, half is too much. I’ll give you a quarter.”
Fowler shook his head, an exaggerated frown on his face. “No, that’s-”
“All right,” Ethan said, turning and starting away. “Thank you for your time.”
“Now wait a minute!”
Ethan walked without looking back.
Before long he heard the man hurrying after him. Fowler caught up with him and grabbed his arm.
“Hold on!”
Ethan stopped and faced him once more.
“A third,” the man said.
“A quarter. And if you don’t let go of my arm, I’m going to break your nose in front of all your friends.”
Fowler straightened, but he released his grip on Ethan’s arm. “Fine. A quarter.”
Ethan nodded. “Done. What and where?”
“I’m not exactly too sure of the where. But the what is more than enough t’ make up for that.” He leaned in closer, his breath stinking of the previous night’s whiskey. “Pearls!” he whispered. “Gobs of them!”
“Pearls,” Ethan repeated to himself.
“That’s right. Enough that you’d never have t’ work again. Even if ya gave me a third.”
“A quarter,” Ethan said absently. He remembered hearing, back when he first returned to Boston from the Caribbean, of a stolen shipment of pearls. Much of what he heard came from whispers in the street or the back of a tavern, because the pearls were taken not from a merchant or gem trader, but from a smuggler who had no recourse with the customs commissioners or the sheriff. He didn’t recall anyone linking the theft to Sephira, but that meant nothing. Even then, she was skilled at taking credit when she wanted it and avoiding blame when she didn’t.
Pearls were valuable enough to draw Sephira’s interest. They were surely dear enough to drive a man like Gant to kill.
“What else do you know?” Ethan asked.
“What else do ya need?”
“He never told you anything about where he hid them?”
Fowler shook his head. “I don’t think he trusted me that much. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“That I believe,” Ethan said. “Very well. If I find the pearls, and I can sell them or get a reward for returning them, you’ll get a quarter.” It was an easy bargain to make, since Ethan had little interest in finding the pearls. Fowler didn’t need to know that, though.
The soldier’s grin returned. “Don’t try t’ cross me, Kaille. I’m paid t’ carry a musket, and I don’t think much trouble would come of usin’ it on a man like you.”
“Probably not,” Ethan said. Before Fowler could walk away, Ethan asked, “Did you ever see Gant with Caleb Osborne or Jonathan Sharpe?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “How do you know them?”
“Answer the question.”
“Aye,” Fowler said. “Now that ya mention it, they was thick as thieves, those three.”
“My thanks,” Ethan said.
He left Fowler there and headed back to the Crow’s Nest. He needed to have another talk with Dunc. When he reached the run-down tavern, though, the door was locked. Ethan rapped hard on the faded wood and waited. After a few minutes he knocked a second time.
“Open up, Dunc!” he called. “You wouldn’t want me to do anything to damage the place.”
Seconds later, he heard a bolt thrown and the door opened just enough for the Scotsman to stare out with one eye.
“Go away, Kaille,” Dunc said, his voice thick. “We’re closed. It’s Sunday.”
“You’re never closed. Not even on Sundays.”
“Well, we are today.”
He tried to push the door shut again, but Ethan jammed his hand against the wood, stopping it. “What’s with you today, Dunc?”
With a heavy sigh, Dunc pulled the door open all the way. Dark purple bruises covered much of his face. His other eye was completely closed and badly swollen, and his left arm hung in a sling.
“You look worse than I do,” Ethan said, chancing a grin.
Dunc’s smile was thin and fleeting.
“Was this because of me? Because of the questions I asked you the other night?”
The Scotsman shook his head. “No.” But he didn’t look Ethan in the eye as he said it.
“It wasn’t because of me, but it was related to what I asked you.”
“Let it go, Ethan.”
“Gant, or Sephira’s boys?”
“It doesn’t-”
“Gant, or Sephira’s boys?” Ethan asked again, his voice rising.
Dunc, stepped back from the doorway, walked to the bar and sat. Ethan entered the tavern and after closing the door once more joined Dunc at the bar.
“Do you want an ale?” Dunc asked.
“No, thank you. Was this about the pearls?”
Dunc gaped at him. “How…?” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
“Was it?”
“Gant came in here looking for them,” he said, the words muddied by the swelling of his jaw and lips and cheeks. “Thought I had them. I don’t,” he added quickly, correctly guessing what Ethan’s next question would be.
“Why would he think you did?”
The way Dunc looked at Ethan one might have thought that he had asked the most foolish question ever. And maybe he had. Just about every smuggler who came to Boston wound up here. It would have been the most obvious place to hide the pearls. Except …