“But I thought Gant had the pearls,” Ethan said. “How could he not know where they were?”
“Maybe he had a partner.”
Ethan tapped a finger against his lips, considering this. For the first time since Geoffrey and Senhouse had shown up at his door, he thought he might have an idea of what all this was about. “Gant did have a partner,” he said. “Caleb Osborne.”
“You know Osborne, too?” Dunc said. “Oh, right, of course. I bet you spellers all know each other.”
“No, I never knew Osborne. And now he’s dead.”
“Aw, come on, Ethan. I didn’t want to know that.”
“Has Sephira been in here looking for the pearls, too?” Ethan asked.
“Nigel and Nap have. Not long after Gant. They were more gentle about it than he was, but they threatened worse.” He wiped a trickle of spittle from the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t want to be there when Gant and Nigel meet up.”
“Really? I would.” Ethan straightened and patted Dunc’s good shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Dunc. Stay out of trouble.”
“I try. It seems to find me anyway.”
As Ethan reached the door he paused and looked back at the Scotsman. “You don’t happen to know where Gant lives, do you?”
“I doubt he has a place now, but I’ve heard people say that he used to live near here. On Hull Street, I think, behind a coppersmith’s shop. I forget the name.”
“That’s all right. I’ll find it. Hull Street was where he lived before he left to join the war?”
“Aye,” Dunc said. “Word was he had a brother who lived there after he did. The brother left soon enough; went back to England. I think the place has been deserted ever since.”
“All right. My thanks.”
“Kaille,” Dunc called to him, as Ethan opened the door. “Could you … You can heal, right? With witchery, I mean?”
Ethan smiled. “Aye, I can heal.” He closed the door again and went back to the bar. He pulled out his knife, pushed up his sleeve, and said, “Why don’t we start with the arm?”
After easing the pain in Dunc’s shoulder and healing the worst of his bruises, Ethan left the Crow’s Nest for Hull Street. He soon found the coppersmith’s shop and, making sure that he wasn’t seen, walked around the side of the building to the yard in back. The moment he stepped into the overgrown grass, he felt the cool brush of a conjuring on his face. Another detection spell. Had Mariz left this one, too, hoping that he would find Gant returning for the pearls? Or had this one been left by Gant, to warn him of intruders? Ethan reached for his knife again, and stood still, waiting for the first pulse of an attack spell. None came, leading him to think it must have been Mariz’s detection conjuring. It seemed that Sephira’s conjurer still hadn’t recovered from Gant’s assault.
A small shack, its wood weathered and gray, stood before him. It had a single window along its side, though the shutters had been broken. The door in front stood ajar, its hinges rusted. Beyond the house sat an old cart, its wood bleached as well and one of its wheels broken, so that it leaned heavily to one side. Ethan was certain that the house and yard had been deserted for months, at the very least. Stepping up onto the small porch at the front of the structure, he pulled the door open with some effort. The wood scraped the porch wood and the hinges creaked.
The house looked as bad within as it did from outside. A table rested on two legs and one of its sides; the other two legs lay in the middle of the room beside two broken chairs. A bed stood in the corner, its ropes so slack that they drooped to the floor. The floor itself was covered with straw and rat droppings. But Ethan could see as well signs left by a recent visitor: streaks of warm color where the broken furniture had been moved, scraping the ancient planks and clearing away the dust and dirt. At least one floorboard had been ripped up.
He scanned the rest of the house, including a second, smaller room off the back of the first, but there was little more to see. He could have torn up the rest of the floor, but if Gant hadn’t-and he assumed that it was Gant who had come most recently-he saw little use in doing so himself. This had been a waste of time, something he didn’t have in abundance.
As he crossed back to the door he heard voices. He considered another concealment spell, but this space was too small. If the men were coming to search the house, it wouldn’t take them long to find him. Instead, Ethan stepped outside, his knife poised over his arm.
Nigel, Nap, and Gordon halted at the sight of him. Nigel reached into his coat pocket, but appeared to think better of pulling whatever weapon he had hidden there.
“Kaille,” he said. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Same thing you are. Looking for Gant. He isn’t home.”
“Was this Gant’s place?” Yellow-hair asked, with what Ethan assumed was an attempt at feigned innocence.
Ethan didn’t bother to answer.
“Miss Pryce won’t be happy that you were here,” Nigel said. “She don’t like it when you stick your nose in where it don’t belong.”
“Aye, well, when I start caring about Sephira’s likes and dislikes, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He started past the men, although he never turned his back to them, and he kept the blade edge poised over his forearm the entire time. “Gant isn’t here,” he said again. “There’s nothing to see.”
“We’ll be the judge of what’s worth lookin’ at,” Nap told him.
Ethan had hoped they would say as much. He would have wagered the twenty pounds Geoffrey had promised him that they were looking not for Gant, but for the pearls.
“Suit yourselves.”
They watched him go, but didn’t follow, and once Ethan was beyond their sight, he hastened toward Wood Lane. He and Sephira were after the same man. And for now at least, he was half a step ahead of her.
Chapter Fourteen
Ethan approached Number Fourteen Wood Lane warily, making sure that he wasn’t seen and searching the street and the nearby alleys for Simon Gant or more of Sephira’s toughs. Seeing no one who struck him as suspicious, Ethan climbed the ramshackle stairway again and knocked at the door of Caleb Osborne’s daughters.
He heard footsteps within the room and a woman’s voice called, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Ethan Kaille, Miss Osborne. I wonder if I might ask you and your sister a few more questions.”
A long silence met his request.
“Miss Osborne?”
“Hester isn’t here right now.”
“Well, perhaps you can tell me what I need to know.”
Again, she didn’t respond.
“Miss Osborne? Molly?”
At last she pulled the door open and gazed out at him. If anything, she looked paler than she had the last time he saw her. She was dressed the same, her hair up once more, her dark eyes wide and alert. She glanced past him, even rising up onto her toes to look down the stairway and into the alley.
“Hester isn’t here,” she said again.
“That’s all right. You can answer a few questions, can’t you?”
“I suppose I can.” She peered down the stairs again and retreated into the room. Ethan followed and started to close the door.
“Leave it open,” the woman said.
“All right.”
She sat and picked up some sewing that had been left on the floor beside her chair. The fabric with which she was working bore a floral pattern that was as bright and cheerful as the rest of the room was gloomy.
“What are you making?” Ethan asked.
Her smile transformed her face. She was quite pretty when she didn’t appear to be terrified. “More cushions,” she said, pointing at the one on the chair nearest her own. “We sell them to some of the shops here in the North End.”
“You do good work.”
She beamed. “Thank you.”
“The last time I was here, I asked you if your father had ever worked with Sephira Pryce.”
“Yes, I remember. And we told you that he hadn’t, at least not as far as we knew.”