This time he didn’t expect her to answer. He merely wanted to see how she reacted to the question. But even looking for her response, he was surprised by what he saw in the scintilla of time before she managed to fix another defiant smile on her lovely face.
“Of course we didn’t,” she told him.
But her expression had said, Gant is dead? Not only had she not ordered the man killed, she hadn’t yet known of his murder.
Ethan stood, his knife still in hand, the blood on his arm beginning to dry. Reg hovered in the corner by Mariz, unseen by Sephira.
“I think it’s time I was leaving,” Ethan said.
“Yes, I agree. I’ll be waking my men, and I don’t think you want to be near here when I do.”
Still, neither of them moved.
“Thank you for telling me what you did,” Ethan said. “Why did you answer at all?”
“You mean aside from the fact that you were threatening me with your damned witchcraft?”
“Yes, aside from that.”
“A moment of weakness,” she said, sounding far more like herself. “Not one I’m likely to repeat.”
“Why, Sephira?”
She shrugged. “You said that Hutchinson intends to put you and the rest of your kind to death. I want that pleasure for myself. Now, go.”
Ethan grinned; so did she.
He descended the stairs and let himself out of the house, cutting over to the waterfront and winding through the heart of the South End, where he would be harder to find. Ethan knew that Sephira would send her men after him at the earliest opportunity. A few seconds of honesty and a shared grin couldn’t unmake years of hostility. He had forced his way into her home; she would have to punish him for that. He doubted that she would allow her men to kill him-she had told him in the past that she needed him around to conduct inquiries that lay beyond her talents-but Nigel, Nap, and the others would be none too gentle in conveying Sephira’s displeasure.
Chapter Twenty
Ethan expected Sephira and her men to begin their search for him at Henry’s cooperage; he would have been well advised to stay as far from Cooper’s Alley as possible. But the rank smell of Boston’s prison clung to his clothes and hair, like the stink of ale on a drunkard, and Ethan had no desire to have it following him around the city all day. He hurried up to his room, retrieved a pitcher, and took it down to the nearby street pump. Returning to his room with the icy water, he stripped down to his undergarments and put on a fresh pair of breeches. He didn’t dare take the time to pour the water into a cooking pot and start a fire, nor did he think it wise to conjure. Instead, before putting on a shirt, he stepped outside onto the landing at the top of the old wooden stairway and scrubbed his scalp and torso with the frigid water, his teeth chattering in the cold air. It was bracing to say the least, and it left him feeling more alert and ready to face what remained of the day.
He put on a fresh linen shirt and his other waistcoat. He didn’t have a second coat, but with everything else clean, including himself, the outer garment didn’t feel as grimy or smell quite so bad.
Taking care to see that his knife was on his belt and that the two remaining mullein leaves were in his pocket, Ethan left the room and started to pull the door shut. It was then he noticed the folded piece of parchment on the floor just inside the doorway. He stooped, snatched it up, and unfolded it. He recognized Diver’s hand right away, but it took him longer to decipher the scrawled words.
Have been contacted by buyer. Wants to meet. Need more instructions. Staying with D. Find me at Dowser.
— Derrey
Ethan crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it into the room, where it skittered across his table and fell to the floor. With all that had happened in the past day-Gant’s murder, his own arrest, his encounters with Hutchinson and Greenleaf and Sephira-he had forgotten about Diver and the task he had left to his friend. And he had failed to tell him that the pearls might not be in New Boston after all. He was glad to see that Diver had taken his warnings to heart and had chosen to stay with Deborah, and he couldn’t deny that he was excited to hear that their ruse had worked, that someone had contacted Diver. But he had wanted to keep a closer watch on his friend, and he feared that his negligence might have placed Diver in greater danger. For all he knew, this “buyer” was the conjurer who had killed Gant and the king’s soldiers.
He locked his door and headed toward the Dowsing Rod, walking as swiftly as his bad leg would allow, but keeping to side streets, and watching for any sign of Sephira’s toughs. He didn’t see any of them and soon reached the tavern. Entering the Dowser, he scanned the tables for Diver. The young man wasn’t there. Kannice was, though, and seeing him she rushed out from behind the bar and threw her arms around him.
“I’ve been worried sick,” she said, her lips brushing his neck.
“I’m all right.”
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “That man-the doctor-he said you’d been arrested.”
“I was. I spent last night in the gaol as a guest of Sheriff Greenleaf.”
“How did you get away?”
“I haven’t yet,” Ethan said, keeping his voice down. “Thomas Hutchinson wants me to find Gant’s killer by morning. If I don’t, he’s threatened to hang every conjurer in the city.”
Kannice’s expression turned stony. “Well, that seems reasonable.”
“Where’s Diver?” Ethan asked.
She shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”
He swore under his breath. “I was afraid of that.”
“He was looking for you,” Kannice told him. “He was acting strangely, even for Derrey. Like he was scared.”
“He probably was. I’m afraid I might have gotten him in trouble.”
“This is Derrey: He’s perfectly capable of getting himself in trouble.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “But this time I did it for him. He’s trying to sell some pearls he doesn’t actually have, and he’s doing it because I asked him to. How long did he wait for me?”
“Most of the night,” she said. “I told him that you had been arrested, and that the doctor was trying to get you released. I tried to send him home, but he kept insisting that you would show up eventually and that he just had to wait. ‘Ethan’ll know what to do.’ That was what he kept saying. I sent him away when we closed.”
“I’m hoping he didn’t go to his room,” Ethan said. “Did he have a girl with him?”
“No, he was sitting alone, at the usual table.”
Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn. Have you seen him with a girl recently-red-haired, pretty?”
“I haven’t noticed. The way Derrey is, there’s always a new one, isn’t there? Even if I had seen her, I wouldn’t think much of it.”
“You’re sure?” Ethan asked. “Her name is Deborah.”
“Deborah Crane?”
Both of them turned. Kelf had stepped out of the kitchen, a cask of ale balanced on his massive shoulder.
“You know her?” Ethan asked, crossing to the bar.
“Diver’s friend, you mean,” the barkeep said, the words running together.
“Yes.”
“Right. That’s her. Deborah Crane.”
“Do you know where she lives?” Ethan asked.
The big man put down the cask and thought for a moment. “Cornhill, I think. On one of them little streets off of King.” He frowned. “Pierce’s Alley!” he said suddenly, his face brightening. “That’s it. Can’t remember the number, but I know it’s on the alley.”
“How do you know so much about her?” Kannice asked.
The barkeep blushed to the tips of his ears. “Well, I might have been with her once or twice a while back. Before Derrey, of course.”
Kannice eyed him, looking doubtful. But Ethan reached across the bar and patted the big man’s shoulder.
“I’m grateful to you, Kelf,” Ethan said, and started toward the door.
“What if he comes back while you’re gone?” Kannice asked.